Page 114 of Heimlock

You shared too much.

You’re too much.

Shame keeps my anxiety ramped up to the highest level, making it hard to think. Today, I’m heading out to do some fares as a distraction. The paperwork Fynn needs me to tackle is too much for me to process right now. And while I’m genuinely pleased that he’s happy, watching him with Orliana while I silently suffocate is overwhelming.

They’re currently in his office and I’m fairly certain they’re doing something naughty. I hear something crash, and Orliana giggles. Even though it makes me smile, I can’t sit here, balancing a stupid budget, while that’s happening through the wall.

After shifting and getting saddled, I lose myself in the wind and sunshine, hoping for some form of ‌distraction.

Being a Dragxi was never my dream. Fynn always loved the idea, but it was something that happened to me, rather than being chosen. After escaping Father, it made sense to join my brother’s destiny since I never sought one of my own.

Now, I’m thirty-five and while it doesn’t bother me, flying people around on my back, there’s a stirring, quietly asking for more. Unfortunately, whatever that ‘more’ might be hasn’t made itself known yet.

At least I can make my hours, essentially my own boss, and the money is good. Plus, I can spend time with my brother, and that’s always been important.

Over my collar, a new fare is submitted, needing to be picked up in the market district. It’s situated on one of the larger floating cliffs, holding dozens of restaurants, shops, a couple of parks, and bars.

When I land, a portly Ogre climbs on, not sparing his Dragxi a second look.

Where to?

“Piebald Station, please.”

Taking off for the Pegasus transportation station, I stay quiet as he talks on the phone. So lost in my thoughts about Kyrielle, I almost miss what he’s saying.

“Yeah, I slipped it into that water bottle he’s always carrying around.”

An awareness prickles along my spine, bringing with it a memory from weeks ago. Of a conversation … But no, it couldn’t be …

“I told you, Yarquis; they’re so picky, there was no way they’d take a second look at a chef who can’t control their bowels.”

Oh, this is definitely the culprit. I almost laugh and join the conversation, to share the serendipitous moment, but I’m confident that won’t be received well.

“We’re sitting down tonight at Royals to go over the contracts.” A pause, then, “I deserve this Yarquis. After what he put me and the team through? Nyla lost a pinky and Eula has a permanent scar on the side of her neck from that oil. He didn’t deserve it.”

I land at Piebald Station, almost disappointed as he pays and walks away, still mid-conversation. Flying back to headquarters, I’m unsaddled and the second I’ve shifted back, I’m texting Kyrielle.

Trinte: Do you remember that fare I told you about? The chef who embarrassed himself during a meeting?

I hold my breath, hoping she doesn’t make me wait long. Not that I expect her to be waiting on standby for a text, but I crave any form of contact with her.

When the text bubble immediately appears, I exhale with relief.

Kyrielle: The one who soiled himself?

Trinte: Yep, that’s the one. His nemesis was just on my back, talking about how he poisoned the guy’s water bottle.

Kyrielle: NO WAY. That’s insane.

Trinte: I’m sad he got off before the conversation was finished. Sounded like the guy deserved it, though.

Kyrielle: I would hope so.

I stare at the text, willing her to say more. Nothing arrives. No how’s your day or I miss you. Neither of us has said the latter. I want to — every minute of every day. But that’s how a budding relationship gets ruined. What if missing her is too much? What if not saying that I miss her is a bad move?

More anxiety appears, racing my thoughts. I’m not good at this … this dating thing. Are we dating? I don’t even know when I’ll see her next. Sure, we agreed to take things slow, but I didn’t mean this slow.

“Why are you frowning at your phone?”