Page 9 of You Were Warned: Part One

I nod and leave them to it. The walk to the bar takes five minutes along the residential path, and I love the island at this time of morning. It’s quiet, the rides are still, and the salt air smells amazing. I have been here for eight months, and I still enjoy the walk.

The bar is where I love spending time. Ares hired me after Clay collected Khodi for an early morning perimeter check and ate breakfast with us. Word got back to Ares that he needed to step away and let me cook, and I was more than happy to have a job again. Cooking keeps my hands busy and my head quiet. It’s the same thing the service gave me for years: a task, a purpose. But here nobody is shooting at me, which is an improvement.

I start with the tomatoes first, fresh ones which I normally wouldn’t have, except the Jester left a crate outside the bar door with a note that said: picked yesterday. I wanted to save them for something worthy, and Kelly’s recipe qualifies. The peppers go in next, then the onions, garlic, spices—cumin, coriander, and smoked paprika—and then the pomegranate molasses. I was skeptical until the smell hits, and now I understand. This is not a dish you want to rush.

I’m halfway through cracking the eggs into the sauce when I hear the bells.

“We’re not open.”

“The door was unlocked.”

The Jester pulls up a stool, and I can see him through the service pass.

“That smells good,” he says.

“It’s not ready yet.”

“I can wait,” he adds, and I glance over at him.

I crack the last two eggs and put on the lid. “You just get back?”

“Earlier this morning,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate, so I don’t ask.

That’s the thing about living here—it’s okay not to ask. Everyone has a backstory, and most are filled with trauma and shit they would rather keep buried. So unless the information is offered, the only one who knows our story is Nixie.

I go back to cooking, and the Jester watches me. He is an interesting man, always cheerful, but when that cheerfulness isn’t being directed at someone, it seems to settle. He doesn’t need to be the center of attention. Sometimes he’s perfectly content to just watch.

“Question,” he says after a while.

“Okay.”

He chews his lip for a second. “A hypothetical.”

“Sure.”

He leans his forearms on the bar. “If you knew someone who was suicidal, what would you do?”

I don’t immediately move because he posed it as hypothetical, and I don’t want to alarm him.

“Depends on the situation,” I say honestly.

“Say you found out recently, and the person doesn’t know you know.”

“How recently?”

“Recent enough that nothing has happened yet, but it’s close.”

I come around and lean against the counter, placing the spatula down. I look at him through the pass, but he’s staring at the bar.

“You talk to them.”

“If talking wasn’t an option.”

I think about it for a second. “Why is it not an option?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Complicated reasons.”

“Uncomplicate them.”