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Chapter 11: Things That Aren’t for Her

The sky over the West Side was unusually clear.

Golden rays bled between rooftops, dust spinning in lazy spirals through the warm light.

Oren didn’t wear his holster today.

No gun.

No badge.

Just an old grey hoodie and a stubborn look on his face.

Rook walked beside him, hands in her pockets, eyes low.

Still dressed in her usual black — shapeless, oversized, colorless.

> “Where are we going?” she asked.

> “Bookstore,” he replied.

She didn’t ask why.

Didn’t seem excited.

But didn’t resist.

---

Later – The Bookstore

She stood in front of the classics section.

Not moving.

Just staring.

A single, frayed copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes sat crooked on the bottom shelf.

She didn’t touch it.

Just looked.

> “Want it?” Oren asked.

She shook her head.

> “Why not?”

> “I already read it.”

> “So? You can read it again.”

Rook hesitated.

> “I only read things I don’t remember.”

Oren blinked.

She didn’t explain.

She never did.

---

Outside – Ice Cream Cart

Oren handed the vendor a few coins and turned with two cones.

Vanilla with caramel drizzle.

Rook stared at it like it was a foreign object.

> “Go on,” he said, grinning.

“Everybody loves ice cream.”

She didn’t take it.

> “I don’t.”

> “You’re a liar.”

> “No. Just… not a loved child.”

That stopped him.

She looked down at her shoes.

> “Only loved children deserve ice cream.”

> “Who told you that?”

> “No one.”

She said it like it was truth carved into her bones.

Oren set her cone down gently on the bench.

He didn’t push.

He just said:

> “That’s not true.”

> “It feels true.”

> “Then I guess it’s time we change that.”

---

Two Hours Later – Shopping District

They walked past stalls of clothes and shoes and soft-colored scarves.

Rook followed in silence, her posture slightly guarded.

> “Pick something,” Oren said.

> “Why?”

> “Because black makes you look like a thundercloud.”

> “Clouds don’t matter. They pass.”

He grinned faintly.

> “Still. Let’s find something you don’t look like a fugitive in.”

---

She stood frozen in front of a long coat — dark blue, lined with soft tan fleece inside. It looked too warm. Too nice. Not built for her kind.

> “I’ll get it,” Oren said.

> “I didn’t ask for it.”

> “I know.”

> “Why?”

> “Because someone should.”

---

She didn’t say thank you.

But when she put it on…

…she didn’t take it off.

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End of Chapter 11