Chapter One  

The sky over London was a subdued grey, thick clouds dimming the early afternoon light. It had just rained—a light, misty kind of rain that clung to glass and left the pavement slick like oil. Inside the Lavender Tea Shop, the scent of cinnamon, espresso, honey, and lavender syrup danced together in a humid swirl. Malachai Bennett sat tucked into a corner seat near the window, a textbook open beside a cooling americano he’d forgotten to drink. His glasses slid down his nose he didn’t bother to adjust as he scribbled notes into the margins of Cardiovascular Pathophysiology: A Clinical Approach. Tired rings clung under his eyes, but he barely noticed them anymore. The human heart was endlessly complicated, and he had no intention of letting it win again.

"Is this seat taken?" The question was warm,—sunlight given a voice. Mal looked up. Standing there, wrapped in a ridiculous green scarf that clashed wonderfully with their orange corduroy trousers, was someone holding a potted flower. They smiled shyly with their whole face.

Mal blinked. “Uh… no. Not taken.”

“Then mind if I sit?” they chirped, settling down with the pot placed gently on the table.     

“I can’t trust anyone in my room to take care of it. Too busy.” Mal stared for a moment longer than polite, then looked at the flower. Pink petals. Slightly fuzzy leaves. It looked delicate. 

“Excuse me?”

“My Malva moschata,” they said proudly. “Musk mallow, if Latin isn’t your thing. He’s from home.”

“Home?” Mal asked.

“A tiny town nobody in London has ever heard of,” they replied with a chuckle. “Up north. The kind of place where buses are a rumor and sheep outnumber the people. Sort of Teindland. I’m Claris Jordan, by the way. They, or he,—dealer’s choice.” Mal nodded, adjusting his glasses. This chaotic, whirlwind trailof thought, and how fast Claris spoke was oddly endearing.

“Malachai Bennett. He or him. Med student.”

Claris’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh, smart and serious. You’ve got that 'don’t talk to me unless it's urgent’ face.”

“It usually works,” Mal muttered, half hoping it would deter futher conversation, half hoping the other guy would laugh.

Claris tilted their head, a sly grin stretching their face further. “Then I must be an emergency.” Mal stared, then snorted unexpectedly.   

“That was awful.”

Claris grinned, pleased with themselves. They chatted while the coffee cooled. About nothing in particular—flowers, rainy days, the worst tropes in scifi movies, Claris’s dislike of hospital walls too grey and unacceptable, and Mal’s caffeine dependency. When Claris stood up to leave, they hesitated.

“I’ve got another check-up next week. Might stop by here again,” they said casually. Mal nodded, pretending to focus on his notes.

“Maybe… you’ll still be here, with your big scary book?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. I  like your company.” Then Claris was gone, and Mal sat alone again in the grey light, the smell of flowers faint in the air. He didn’t realize he was smiling until he flipped to the next page.