Edith studies him further, he fidgets with the edge of his napkin, not touching his food, and not looking at Edith. He was always like this—never quite knowing how to be in a space that wasn’t defined by either silence or conflict. His eyes flickered up, meeting hers briefly before darting away again. His stomach twisted at the thought of her asking about them—about why he’d left. Edith, however, didn’t press. She was watching him, not with expectation, but with a quiet patience that made Thistle uneasy.

“You’re not the same,” she said softly, the words just shy of a question, "I can tell you’re different."

Thistle’s throat tightened. She didn’t mean it as an accusation, but it felt like one. He hadn’t been able to change much over the years, or at least he hadn't felt like it, and hadn't figured out how to get better, “I guess I’m not,” he muttered.

His fingers drummed absently on the edge of the table, the soft tap-tap of it trying to anchor him, but it was no use. “Things… happened. And I didn’t know how to come back. Not after everything.”

Edith leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely, observing him. “I know,” she said, a softness entering her tone. “You never really left, Thistle. You just shut yourself off. Like you were trying to banish yourself.”

He stiffened. “I didn’t shut anyone off,” he shot back quickly, though the words didn’t have the bite he intended.

“You did,” she said, her voice gentle but unwavering. “You always assume people are going to hate you. It’s like you wait for them to. You expect them to, so you treat them like they already have.”

Thistle’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, he just sat there, staring at the table.

“I’m not good at—” he paused, biting the inside of his cheek. The words felt too fragile to speak aloud, but he forced it, like glass shards leaving his throat, “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to make it stop.” He forced himself to meet her gaze, the vulnerability there was raw, “I didn’t think you would want to stay after everything.”

The silence between them stretched for a long time before Edith spoke again, “You never gave me a chance to decide.” Her voice was quiet now, as if the words had taken on weight too heavy to carry.

She pushed the last of her food aside, folding her hands in her lap. “You don’t trust anyone, Thistle. Not even me.”

His chest tightened at that. The words stung. He had never meant to hurt her, but somehow, he always managed to.

“I didn’t want to drag you down,” he said, his voice low. He could still remember her face that night—the way she’d pleaded with him to stay, to open up to her, and how he'd pulled away. It wasn’t just about them, not really—it was about him. About his own fears, his own flaws that he couldn’t face, “I just… I thought it was better this way.”

Her gaze softened, but there was something bittersweet in it, “I didn’t need you to be perfect, Thistle. I just needed you to try. I–have been trying too, I was never perfect either and I don’t want you to think I’m suggesting that I’m better than you.”

Thistle swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over him. He does nothing but try. But not then, not when he was too afraid of what would happen if he did, try in a relationship. He’d never dare to be happy.

Thistle leans his arm on the table, grabbing his head with his other hand, “Listen, I try, I really do. I’m just incapable of being a good person.”

Her eyes widened, “Of course you are, but–why do you think that?”

The café fell quiet again, before Thistle suddenly shot up and began to walk away, “I have to go.”

Edith gets up and calls out, “Wait, Thistle please! You didn’t even eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Thistle says as he exits the café.

Edith stays, and doesn’t follow. The cool air outside the café wrapped around Thistle as he stepped onto the cobblestone streets, his thoughts a swirling mess. Edith’s words lingered, biting at the edges of his mind. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking, his boots crunching softly with each step. The subtle hum of conversation and laughter filled the air, contrasting Thistle's current mood. Thistle’s focus was on finding Riona and Cass. He wasn’t sure where they’d wandered off to, but he wasn’t in the mood to use the communication stone. He needed the walk—to clear his head, to steady his thoughts. 

As he rounded a corner, he spotted the pair near a small stall lined with glittering trinkets. Cass was holding up a necklace made of what appeared to be fiery-red gemstones, a wide grin plastered on her face. Riona stood beside her, arms crossed but smiling faintly as Cass prattled on about how the gems caught the light.

“See? Look at how they sparkle! This would look so cool with my hood, don’t you think?” Cass asked, holding the necklace up to her neck.

“It’s definitely flashy,” Riona replied, her tone amused. “But it’s way too expensive for a souvenir. I don’t have that many credits.”

Cass pouted. “Oh, come on! You think I can haggle them down?”

“You can try. I’m not getting involved when they kick you out,” Riona teased.

The sight made Thistle stop in his tracks for a moment. He didn’t usually think about how well Riona and Cass got along. For a moment he thought if maybe they didn’t need him, but he drowned the thought immediately.

“Hey,” Thistle called out as he approached.

Cass looked up and beamed, “Thistle! What took you so long? Did you and Edith have a nice chat?”

Thistle’s jaw tightened slightly, “Um, yea.” he chuckles behind the lie.

Riona tilted her head, studying him. “You could’ve called us, you know. We’ve been out here, waiting.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… needed to clear my head. Figured I’d just walk.”

Riona’s eyes softened slightly. She didn’t press further, but she exchanged a look with Cass, who shrugged and went back to admiring the necklace.

“Anyway,” Thistle said, trying to change the subject. “Torin’s probably almost done looking at the sensor. He only said we’d have to wait a bit.”

“So we’re heading back to the palace?” Riona asked.

“Yeah. I want to check on his progress.”

Cass reluctantly set the necklace back down, giving it one last wistful glance. “Fine, but next time we stop, I’m buying something cool.”

The three of them started making their way back toward the palace, the warm glow of the town fading slightly as the grand structure came into view. Thistle stayed a few steps ahead, his hands stuffed into his pockets, besides the one holding his staff, while Riona and Cass walked side by side behind him.

“You didn’t have to leave her behind so soon, you know, we could’ve stuck around for a little longer.” Riona said casually after a moment.

Thistle didn’t turn around, “I wasn’t in the mood.”

Riona didn’t pry. The weight on Thistle's chest hadn’t lifted, but being around Riona and Cass helped in a way he didn’t quite understand.

When they reached the palace doors, Torin was waiting for them, his staff in hand and a smirk on his face. “Took you long enough, I’ve been done for like, an hour.” he said, holding up the sensor, “I’ve got good news, bad news, and complicated news.”

“What’s the good news?” Thistle askes.

“I can fix the censor!”

Thistle raised a brow, “We knew that already, what the bad news?”

“Oh, well I don’t have the right kind of tempered glass to fix, and re-imbue this.”

Thistle sighs, “And the complicated news?”

Torin nervously smiles, “The glass I need gets shipped from the Azurite Barony, and we haven’t gotten a shipment in a few months. So you’ll need to go get some from the source. Don’t worry, it’s not far though, you should be able to get there before dusk.”

“Ugh, ok.” Thistle slouched.

“Oh, and maybe go talk to the Baroness on behalf of me, and ask her what’s going on with the shipments. If I had to guess, it probably has something to do with the blight, right?”

“Yea.”

“Well, I guess you outta be off. It was nice seeing you again.” Torin hugs him again, patting his back, “Good luck, come back when you get that glass.”

“Alright, see ya.”

They left the palace and headed for the exit.

“Thistle!” a voice calls out.

Thistle closes his eyes in annoyance, feeling a sense of déjàvu.

Thistle doesn’t turn around, “Hi, Edith.”

“Please, wait,” she hands him a calling stone, “please call me when you get the chance. I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

“Um, ok. Sure.” Thistle suddenly remembers something he wanted to do earlier, “Oh right,” he reaches into his back pouch and pulls out the journal he found in the Citrine City, “here, take this. I have reason to believe this belonged to the husband of someone who evacuated here a while ago.”

She takes the journal, “Oh, ok. Wait, were you scavenging ruins again?”

“Scavenging ruins? No–ok well I mean that isn’t what I went there for, so technically yes, but that's besides the point.”

She chuckles, “Ok, I’ll see if it belongs to anyone. Please be careful out there.” she leans forward and faces up to reach Thistle's cheek, kissing it softly, “I still believe in you. Come back sooner next time, will ya.”

He gives a soft smile, “Yea, we’ll see.”

As Thistle turned to rejoin Riona and Cass, he felt the weight of the calling stone in his hand. He stared at it for a moment before tucking it into his pouch, alongside his growing collection of worries.

“Ready to go?” Riona asked, adjusting her sword on her side as they approached the edge of the plaza.

Cass bounded up beside them, her energy still boundless despite the long day, “So where to next?”

Thistle chuckled softly, “The Azurite Kingdom,” he said simply, “Let’s just hope it’s less… eventful than here.”

“Doubt it.” Riona quipped, smirking.

As they walked together toward the outskirts of the suburbs, the crimson light from the stained-glass ceiling dimmed, signaling the waning daylight above.