10-19-2025, 01:57 AM
Carter had just about reached the limit of his patience for faintly awkward small talk when the doors to the lobby whispered open again. He turned, intending to rise and inquire about Cyrena's status. He disliked not knowing things, but he paused when he saw the woman who entered.
She didn’t walk like hospital visitors usually did. She strode, sharp and poised. Bag slung over one shoulder, tray in hand like an afterthought. Her eyes cut to the desk and her tone snapped off commands with the kind of confidence that didn’t bother with explanation. It was the kind power that only came from recognizing it in another of like kind.
At first he thought she was simply a well-kept partner come to collect the sulking Jay. But then she approached him, coffee tray in hand, and for a moment he watched her in profile. Curious, she was vaguely familiar, and he tried to place her.
Her jaw was sharp and the eyes were intelligent. Beautiful beneath the veneer of dishevelment she put out. It was her bearing that tugged at something half-buried in memory. The kind of bearing girls had when they were raised at elbows of power, the daughters of monarchs and titans who knew when to shut up and when to speak sharp truths.
And then she said his name. He blinked once, slowly. Something about the way she said Gui twisted something into place.
And before he could help himself, he said: “Isobel?”
It was instinctive, the way he said it, brow lifted, trying to match her face with the one in his memory though this woman’s voice carried more bite, and her eyes were too cold.
She didn’t walk like hospital visitors usually did. She strode, sharp and poised. Bag slung over one shoulder, tray in hand like an afterthought. Her eyes cut to the desk and her tone snapped off commands with the kind of confidence that didn’t bother with explanation. It was the kind power that only came from recognizing it in another of like kind.
At first he thought she was simply a well-kept partner come to collect the sulking Jay. But then she approached him, coffee tray in hand, and for a moment he watched her in profile. Curious, she was vaguely familiar, and he tried to place her.
Her jaw was sharp and the eyes were intelligent. Beautiful beneath the veneer of dishevelment she put out. It was her bearing that tugged at something half-buried in memory. The kind of bearing girls had when they were raised at elbows of power, the daughters of monarchs and titans who knew when to shut up and when to speak sharp truths.
And then she said his name. He blinked once, slowly. Something about the way she said Gui twisted something into place.
And before he could help himself, he said: “Isobel?”
It was instinctive, the way he said it, brow lifted, trying to match her face with the one in his memory though this woman’s voice carried more bite, and her eyes were too cold.