In the next few weeks, Varek visited more. Days stretched a little longer, the air was warmer, the sun stronger. He invented errands he didn’t need to run, intentionally forgot parts of supply runs just to come back later, or slipped out briefly, unseen.

At times, he found her at the market. Over the weeks, she noticed him lingering around her stall longer, no longer pretending to inspect jars with as much care. He started arriving earlier, sometimes stopping by on his way back as well.

They wandered the nearby parks and woods, shared roasted nuts on benches, and watched the crowds. The spring air smelled faintly of new growth, carrying the sweetness of blooming elderflowers through the market. Syraa told him stories about the people they passed until Varek finally let go of his guard and laughed freely.

“See that fat one over there?” she pointed. “The butcher. One day he was so drunk he nearly butchered his own daughter instead of the goat.”

Varek broke out laughing.

“He took three days to sober up!” she added, grinning.

“Oh, and that wiry one?” she went on, nodding to a young man. “Sticky fingers. Tries to steal from everyone.” She tilted her head, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Varek’s gaze lingered a fraction too long before she spoke again.

“My sigil surprised him once, like the one from the other day. He flew so far, cartographers had to be sent to find him!”

Varek buried his face in his hands, laughing harder than he could remember in years. He was still smiling when a young man waved at Syraa.

“That one’s Brennar. Well… Bren, for me. It’s complicated,” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Why?” Varek asked, sensing her discomfort.

“Well…” she hesitated, “his mum wanted us to…”

“Get engaged?” he asked before she could finish. She nodded, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“And were you? Or are you?” The knot in his throat tightened, a flash of something he didn’t want to name.

“Oh, gods, no. Neither. No way,” she said, laughing nervously. “We’re friendly, but none of us wanted any more. His mother eventually gave up.”

Varek let the market’s clamor fill the pause before asking quietly, “So you keep in touch?”

“Casually,” she said. His eyebrows lifted.

“What does that mean?” he pressed, wary of the edge creeping into his voice.

“Means it’s superficial,” she admitted, cheeks coloring.

“I know what the word means, Syraa,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I’m curious what it means to you.”

She sighed. The scent of herbal drinks drifted from a street peddler’s cart. Birds chirped overhead, carrying the quiet warmth of the afternoon.

“Nothing, Varek. I told you. We didn’t want anything from each other. If we meet, we’re friendly. That’s all.”

He swallowed, scolding himself. Don’t be ridiculous, he thought.

“Would you like a tea?” he offered with a small smile.

She relaxed, the tension leaving her shoulders. He watched her nod, the faintest grin tugging at her lips. It was a quiet victory, but one he felt deep in his chest.

Other times, he sat with her in the shop. These visits became something she anticipated, and he found himself seeking refuge in their calm routine. He brought new springflowers on her desk every time he visited.

He allowed himself moments of silence, eyes scanning her jars, meticulously turning each label to face forward. At times, she caught herself watching him a moment too long — how he tiptoed to reach the higher shelves, or how he seemed utterly absorbed even by the most mundane of books.

Every time he dropped his cloak, it was as if a weight lifted from his shoulders. She let him linger in silence, refilled his tea, and gave him space. Until, finally, the words bubbled up.

“There’s this boy among the new recruits,” he said, eyes fixed on the jars. “He got beaten yesterday. Can’t seem to find his balance with the sword…”

She hummed, listening.

“The others… they’re picking on him. The enforcers are training them, but sometimes I interrupt. But I can’t always be there.”

He stirred his tea absently, voice low. “Sometimes I feel like the Arcanum enjoys breaking people more than training them. If I have to hear one more enforcer lecture on discipline while some poor kid stumbles through drills…” He shook his head, hands tightening around the mug.

Syraa stayed quiet, letting him speak, letting the words spill.

“You know, I just wish things could be simpler,” he murmured. “Quiet… like this. Not every day a test, a fight, a battle. Is that too much to ask?”

She glanced at him, sensing the weight he carried and couldn’t let go of.

“Why are you in the Arcanum if you hate them?” she asked quietly.

He gave a small, sad smile. “I like to think I didn’t really have a choice,” he started. “I was only eight when I got in. What does an eight-year-old know…” his voice trailed, memories pressing in.

“This was after my village was burned to ash. My family… they died there. One officer found me still alive and took me in.” He shrugged, gaze dropping.

Syraa’s brows furrowed, but she let him continue.

“This was… what, over seventeen years ago. And I still don’t see the way out – unless you die.”

She pulled a chair out for him, and lowered herself in the other.

“I know why the townsfolk dislike the order, but… why do you? It sounds like they saved you.”

Varek let out a bitter laugh. “It seemed that way for the first decade. Until I got to know it was all a lie. It was their doing. Our village, like other villages, just fell victim to their war machine. Do you know how it feels like to realise, you were raised by your family’s murderers?”

His voice dropped, almost swallowed by the quiet shop. He didn’t raise his eyes. Syraa’s fingers fiddled with the edge of a jar, a subtle tremor in her hands, but she stayed.

“I’m so sorry, Varek…” she whispered.

“I shouldn’t burden you with this,” he said, calmer now. “The less you know, the safer you are.”

He lifted his mug, letting the silence stretch, steam curling between them. The warm light of the shop, the scent of herbs, the quiet murmur of the street outside — all of it offered a small reprieve from the weight he carried. And for a moment, they just sat there, sharing the fragile calm, neither needing words.