Bread & Brotherhood

[Quillon Hawke]

Quillon slung the carrier bag over his shoulder, careful of his ribs, and secured the last of the Brotherhood’s supplies. He was preparing to leave when her voice caught him.

His brow lifted, just slightly. Not in surprise, but with the calm curiosity of a man who had expected interest at some point. Still, something in her tone pulled at him. It was honest and unpolished. Not a practiced flirtation, but genuine intrigue. That… interested him more than her words.

He turned fully toward her.

“You could,” he said simply, the edge of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Buy me coffee.” He let the idea set for a moment, before continuing. “Or if you'd rather see how I spend my days when I'm not picking myself off the pavement, you could come to the Temple.”

He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out his Wallet. The screen was faintly cracked, the glass along one corner spiderwebbed. He held it up.

“Do you text?”

The smile flickered again, more in the eyes than the lips. They exchanged numbers, his fingers tapping her name into his contacts and digitally sharing his information in return.

He offered a nod as the device disappeared back into his coat. Then he took a step back, his frame straightening with the quiet presence he always carried. Control and confidence.

“I do hope you’ll come. Not just to see the temple, but to see me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Not rudely. Just with certainty. As though he trusted she’d follow through.

Quillon gave her a last look then turned and walked down the cracked concrete path toward the street, the sigil of the Brotherhood catching the late light on his shoulder as he moved through the fading afternoon.