“But Amon is Kacey’s bond, remember? Herbonded,” she says gently, like my reaction is unnecessary but forgivable. “And you have all night to make me laugh.”
There’s a soft smile lining her face, even though I haven’t said another word, and the last thing I did say was borderline insane.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” The words slip out before I can stop.
I think the silence would’ve been better. I’m sure Sai would’ve agreed. That was the first thing he told me not to say.
But her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows. “That’s alright, I don’t either,” she murmurs, like it’s a secret meant just for us.
Then she turns, glancing back out over the river. The fading light dances across the surface, caught in the slow current.
“You like being by the river. I always find you here.”
She studies the water. “I guess, after being surrounded by towering buildings and neon lights for five years, it’s nice to be around nature.”
“I can show you more.” My voice drops into a rasp. I clear it quickly, but the implication lingers, because that’s an understatement.
I want to show her everything. More than a river, more than just nature. She turns back to me, her gaze gently searching my face, reading me, like she knows I mean it in so many other ways.
I gesture towards the man-made waterway. “I can show you where the river comes from.”
She smiles. “I’d like that.”
I stare, enamoured, as always.
It takes me a moment to realise she’s agreeing. I nod, like I planned this. Even though I hadn’t planned anything. Not a single thing.
I step closer, holding my hand out cautiously, and she places two fingers in my palm, and that’s it. She leads me out to a smaller room, grabbing a jacket from a chair—with just those two delicate fingers curled in my much larger hand.
That’s all.
That’s enough.
Enough to pull me along. Enough to command a demon capable of tearing the realms apart.
Once she was afraid to brush against me and now, with nothing but two fingers, she leads me like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Like it’s nothing. Like she owns me.
Because she does.
I stare at our joined hands in silence, possessiveness curling low in my chest, my world narrowed to that small, perfect connection.
She clears her throat and I remember I’m supposed to be flitting. That’s why she’s touching my hand. I flit to my brother’s empty office, tightening my hold on those two fingers, then flit again.
The capital is always alive, tonight should be no different, but somehow, it feels brighter, sharper. Because she’s here.
Light spills out from shop windows, painting the streets in warmth and shadow. The hum of voices and distant music drifts on the cool evening air. Her head tilts up when we pass a cluster of floating lanterns bobbing above us, her free hand brushing along the rows of cherry blossom trees we pass.
Jasmine takes it all in, her face lit with awe.
And I drink her in.
Every tiny thing.
She likes it. I think. The noise, the colours, the chaos.
I hate it. Too many people, too loud. Too open.
