"The marriage contract fair will take place—"
Bay stops.
His phone emits a long beep.
At that moment Malik, who was checking something on his phone while discussing the state elections with one of the band members, speaks.
"Wow! I just got a wild alert. Listen, apparently there was a bombing at one of the matchmaking agencies called Fate’s Choice. Half the floor was blown out, it was an assassination attempt aimed at Blue Lowen."
I shoot to my feet like I’ve been struck by lightning.
"Which is like, what, the tenth attempt on his life? The guy’s like a moving target," Malik adds with laughter.
I rush toward him as he sits on the other side of the table and lean over his phone.
"Show me, show me, is he alive?"
Malik lifts his brows. "You know him?"
"Yes," I can’t say he’s my uncle for obvious reasons, so instead I add, "he’s the man who developed my anti-allergy therapy, I really hope he’s alive!" I say nervously, my lips trembling, my fingers getting sweaty.
Malik scrolls through the article.
"Looks like he is, superficial scratches, one of the security guards turned out to be a purple alpha and shielded him during the explosion."
"Oh wow," I murmur, "that’s wild."
Shock floods my system. I pull out my inhaler and take a few deep breaths.
I know my uncle isn’t a particularly well-liked person. Many activists from the Beta Empowerment movement and other groups critical of Malden products dislike him, and I also know there have been several attacks on him before, but none of them were this powerful. I stare at the photos of the devastated office floor in the agency.
"A bomb, that sounds serious," I mutter.
"You know Blue, like personally?" Malik asks. "I heard that man is basically a monk. Apparently, he doesn’t have reproductive organs; they were removed after some accident at a shooting range."
"It’s true, Blue is particular, a bit rough around the edges, sharp and strict, but he’s only ever shown me kindness," I say in a slightly defensive tone.
"The most important thing is that he survived," Malik says encouragingly, and the rest of the band quickly loses interest in the topic, but I notice Bay is hunched over his phone, typing something.
He lifts his head from the screen and says,
"Guys, I have to get going, something came up, thank you for the great concert, fantastic job, but I have to run."
A wave of disappointment washes over me, because we barely started eating and I hoped we could talk a little longer, but clearly that won’t happen.
As if reading my mood, Bay turns toward me.
"I hope you’ll come to our concert in three weeks, Alex, I’ll be glad to see you again," he says, and even though his face stays neutral and his tone probably sounds perfectly ordinary to the others, I can sense a certain insistence in it, almost like he’s encouraging me to really show up.
"I’ll try to make it, after therapy I usually feel awful, but I hope it won’t be that bad and I’ll manage to get there."
Bay nods.
"See you, Alex," then he stands, turns, and walks out of the restaurant. I spend the rest of the meal talking with Malik and the other band members, who keep me company in a friendly way, but of course once Bay is gone the whole meeting loses all meaning for me, so right after dinner I say goodbye and head home in an Uber.
Meanwhile, a certain idea starts forming in my head, slowly and unhurriedly, but it begins to take shape.
???
