Page 29 of Ash and Burn

"At least people listened about staying inside," Calix observed, scanning the reduced crowd with tactical awareness. "Until we identify those rogues and their purpose, caution serves everyone better than curiosity."

Arvid nodded, pulling out her datapad from her small bag as they approached the first market stall. "Well, let's see what we can figure out here."

For the next hour, they moved methodically through the market stalls, Arvid documenting everything she observed while questioning vendors about their wares. Dried herbs hung in fragrant bundles beside containers of powdered minerals she didn't recognize. Preserved foods filled glass jars with labels written in flowing script. Each vendor answered her questions with helpful enthusiasm, though none of their products immediately struck her as potential culprits for Ash Fever.

"Tell me about the communal gatherings Dorn mentioned," she said as they paused near a beverage stall. "What's typically served at those events?"

Calix considered the question, his brow furrowing with concentration. "I haven't attended them in months—not since the outbreak began. But traditionally there are specific dishes and drinks, ceremonial items that connect us to our dragon heritage."

"Such as?"

"Ember-root stew, flame-kissed bread, crystallized fire-fruit." He paused. "And Flameroot tea. It's considered a cultural staple—supposed to strengthen our senses."

Arvid's stylus stilled against her datapad screen. "Interesting. We will need to study all these items closer in the lab. Nothing is jumping out at the moment, but I think we are getting closer."

Suddenly, exhaustion and hunger hit her like a tidal wave. The day's events—the ambush, the investigation, the emotional whiplash of being near Calix— caught up with her all at once. Her datapad felt heavy in her hands, and she realized she'd been running on adrenaline and determination for hours without pause.

Calix noticed immediately, his sharp gaze cataloging the subtle signs of fatigue and hunger she couldn't quite hide. "That's enough for today. We're going back to Ashspire now."

For once, Arvid didn't argue. She had enough data to begin her analysis, and the thought of some quiet time to process everything—including the confusing pull she felt toward the man beside her—actually sounded appealing.

"Alright," she conceded, surprising them both with her compliance. "I suppose I have enough information to work with for now."

As they turned to leave the market, Arvid caught herself stealing glances at Calix's profile, and she quickly looked away before he could catch her staring.

Professional distance, she reminded herself firmly, even as every step beside him felt impossibly right.

Ten minutes later, the front door of Ashspire closed behind them with a resonant thud that seemed to echo through Arvid's bones. The familiar warmth of the estate wrapped around her like an embrace, though she refused to acknowledge why. Her stomach chose that precise moment to produce a growl so loud and demanding that it might have registered on seismic equipment. Heat flooded her cheeks as Calix's attention immediately zeroed in on her with laser focus.

"When exactly did you last eat?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

Arvid shifted her weight, suddenly aware of how hollow and shaky she felt. "I had a pastry from the cafeteria vending machine this morning."

His dark eyebrow arched in disapproval. "That barely qualifies as food, let alone proper nourishment."

The way he said it—protective, almost possessive—sent an unwelcome flutter through her chest. She'd spent years carefully avoiding anyone who might try to take care of her, yet here stood this impossibly commanding man making her want things she'd convinced herself she didn't need.

"I can make us something," he continued, already moving toward what she assumed was the direction of the kitchen. "Follow me."

The casual way he issued the instruction should have triggered every defensive instinct she possessed. Instead, she found herself trailing behind him through corridors lined with ancestral portraits and ancient artifacts, her scientific mind noting the way his presence seemed to fill every space they entered.

The kitchen, when they reached it, proved surprisingly normal despite its impressive size. Copper pots hung from wrought iron hooks above a massive stone island, and the scent of herbs and spices lingered in the air like an invitation. Calix moved through the space with the same confident authority he displayed everywhere else, pulling ingredients from an advanced refrigeration unit.

"I'm helping," Arvid announced, unable to simply stand there while he worked. "I refuse to watch you do everything."

His hands stilled on a package of what looked like meat. "You don't need to⁠—"

"Yes, I do." She was already moving toward the sink. "Point me toward the vegetables."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or approval. He gestured toward a collection of unfamiliar but appealing produce arranged in baskets near the window. "Those need washing and chopping."

Minutes later, working beside him felt oddly natural, their movements falling into an easy rhythm that spoke to something deeper than mere professional relations. Arvid found herself stealing glances at his hands as he seasoned the meat, noting the way his fingers moved with decisive confidence. When he reached across her to grab a pan, his scent—that intoxicating combination of spice and rain—wrapped around her like a drug.

This is dangerous, she reminded herself, focusing intently on reducing vegetables to uniform pieces. You're here to work, solve the outbreak, then return to your perfectly manageable life on Earth.

The thought should have filled her with anticipation and purpose. Instead, it created a hollow ache in her chest that she absolutely refused to acknowledge.

"You're very good at that," Calix observed, nodding toward her precise knife work.