Page 14 of Something Worth Keeping
“A coffee shop,” Thorn confirmed. “And Cillian? Congratulations. This is...I’m genuinely pleased for you.”
The words settled something in Cillian’s chest. He inclined his head, then dissolved back into shadow, already planning.
/~/~/~/~/
Two days. It took two full days for Julian to finally leave his apartment. Cillian spent forty-seven hours and thirty-three minutes watching his beacon through the window, cataloging every movement, every expression, every moment of that beautiful, precise mind at work.
Julian researched. He ate meals at the exact same times. He spoke to Gerald the succulent. He slept for exactly seven hours each night. Cillian would watch the rise and fall of his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his breath, longing to hold him close.
But he didn’t leave his apartment. It wasn’t until the third morning, when Julian packed his messenger bag,checked his phone, and walked out the door at 9:47 a.m.
Cillian followed at a discreet distance, maintaining his human form through sheer force of will. The sunlight felt wrong against his skin - it was too bright, and he felt exposed. He’d wrapped himself in an expensive dark suit - the kind wealthy humans wore to blend into upper society - and forced his eyes to shift from black to something closer to dark gray.
According to Thorn, he still didn’t blink enough.I’ll have to remember that.
Julian walked four blocks to a small coffee shop, tucked between a bookstore and a dry cleaner. Cillian watched through the window as Julian ordered. He was having a black coffee with no sugar and a blueberry scone. After collecting his items, he went over and settled at a cornertable with his laptop and a worn paperback.
Perfect. Isolated within reason. A defensible position with clear sightlines.
Cillian pushed open the door. The little bell chimed. Julian glanced up, and Cillian watched recognition flicker across his face. Those sharp eyes widened slightly behind his glasses, and pink bloomed across his cheeks.
Cillian crossed the space between them. Every human in the shop fell away. There was only Julian, haloed in morning light, looking at him with that unnervingly direct gaze.
“May I sit with you?”
The words came out raspy, but Julian blinked once, then gestured to the empty chair. “Yes. Please.”
Cillian sat. He folded his hands on the table to keep from reaching across and touching Julian’s wrist, feeling forthe pulse that had haunted him for three days. Julian set down his book -The King in Yellow, Cillian noted - and studied him.
“You’re him,” Julian said. “The shadows.”
“Yes.”
“You’re very tall.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re wearing a suit that costs approximately four thousand dollars.” Julian tilted his head. “Did you steal that, too?”
“No. I purchased it in 1987.” Cillian paused. “Is it inappropriate?”
“It’s Armani. It’s fine. Although the cut is dated.” Julian’s gaze tracked over him, cataloging details. “Your eyes are different than they were in the alley. Less void-like. Is that difficult to maintain?”
“Extremely.”
“You can stop if it’s uncomfortable. I’ve already seen the real version.”
Something in Cillian’s chest cracked open. He let his eyes shift back to full black, and Julian didn’t even flinch. Just nodded once, as if confirming data.
“Better,” Julian said. “Lying takes energy. You should conserve it for more important things.” He pushed his coffee aside and leaned forward. “I was hoping to see you. I have questions.”
“I will answer them.”
“Are you going to order something? The staff gets anxious when people use their seats but don’t purchase items.”
Cillian glanced toward the counter. A young woman with purple hair was indeed watching them nervously. He stood, crossed to the register, and ordered black coffee. He had nointention of drinking it - human food tasted like ash most of the time - but he could perform the ritual.
When he returned, Julian had pulled out a small notebook. “Okay. First question. What’s your name?”
