FSE

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Chapter 3.

15:30, Tuesday, the 17th of April, 2028.

-----

I was in a good mood that day. What Brie had said still dug at me, but the night overall had been so smooth I was still buzzing. Michael was quiet, and Tom got Elizabeth to help Alys, so I didn't have to sit and watch her fail.

We were busy, with school having recently finished, but busy in the way that made you work a little harder and made you slip into that familiar rhythm of beeps and timers. Orders stacking up without tipping over. Fryers humming. Oil popping in small, controlled bursts instead of violent spits.

The kind of busy that made your body move before your brain had time to complain.

I liked that rhythm. There was something honest about it. You either kept up or you didn’t. No essays. No ‘maybe next year'. Just hands, heat, and timing.

Tom barked numbers. Michael muttered confirmations. Elizabeth’s voice carried over everything, sharp but not cruel, correcting Alys before mistakes became disasters.

And Alys-

She wasn’t drowning.

She still moved too cautiously, wings folding and unfolding in small, controlled adjustments so she didn’t knock into anything, but she wasn’t freezing. Elizabeth showed her how to line the sizzling meat up properly so she didn’t fumble at the grill.

She dropped a batch of patties into a tray cleanly. No spill. No panic. Well done.

I noticed.

Didn’t comment. Just noticed.

It was easier not being the one stuck beside her. Not feeling obligated to supervise. Not watching every near-miss like it was about to become my problem.

Instead I worked. And because I was in a good mood, it didn’t feel like a grind. The orders blurred into something almost satisfying. Wrap. Fold. Slide. Salt. Repeat.

At one point Tom nudged my shoulder with his elbow. “Someone’s chirpy.”

“Shut up,” I said, but I was smiling.

"Date go well?”

I didn’t answer that. Didn’t need to. He grinned anyway and went back to shouting about nuggets.

The rush peaked around five and bled out slowly after that. The after-school crowd thinned. Families replaced loud gangs of uniformed kids. Then it was just the late stragglers, and the hum of machinery slowing down.

By the time I started closing tasks, getting ready for a changeover, I still felt light. Tired, sure, always, but not quite dragged through concrete.

Michael clocked out first, offering a vague nod on his way past. Tom disappeared into the back office to do whatever managerial things he did when he wasn’t in the thick of it. Elizabeth stayed a bit longer to make sure Alys didn’t accidentally bleach the wrong surface.

I wiped down my station, hands moving automatically. The smell of cleaner cut through the oil, sharp and sterile. My muscles ached in that familiar, earned way.

When I headed toward the lockers, the corridor felt quieter than usual.

I popped mine open and grabbed my trusty backpack. The zipper caught for a second before giving way.

Inside, tucked between a spare shirt and a half-crushed cereal bar, was the manga I’d been rereading on breaks. The spine worn slightly at the edges. Volume seven.

I slid it further down into the bag without thinking about it.

Metal scraped softly behind me.

I stiffened before I registered why.

A wing brushed against the locker door beside mine, the faintest hollow thud.

“That’s seven.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. Not shy either.

I turned my head slightly.

Alys stood closer than she ever did in the kitchen, almost too close. No apron. No condescending hat. Her wings were folded in tighter than usual, edges tucked carefully so they didn’t take up the entire break-room.

She was looking at the edge of the book sticking out of my bag.

I shifted the bag a little toward my hip without meaning to.

“You read Konosuba?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Kinda. Friend loaned it. Not big on manga.”

She nodded once, like that confirmed something. “...Eight’s better.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

A beat passed.

There wasn’t oil between us. No noise. No orders to fill. Just the hum of the back freezer and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights.

“You read it?” I asked because it felt like the obvious thing.

She adjusted one wing, folding it in more deliberately so it didn’t press into the locker beside her. The movement was careful. Oddly practiced. “It’s enjoyable.”

Another small pause

“My brother gets the shipments in on Fridays,” she added, like it was a detail that didn’t matter much. “He works at the comic shop. In the human town. Dead Ink. We don't have any good shops in my… territory. Just Hrod's knick-knacks and meat sellers."

And that pause, like she'd prepped to say something else, like syllables were hard.

I blinked. “Didn’t know that.”

She shrugged, but there was something almost defensive in it. “Didn’t come up.”

Fair, really.

I zipped my bag halfway, then stopped.

Dead Ink.

I hadn’t been in months. I usually swung by on shopping days if I had the time. Most of the time I didn’t buy anything. Just looked at expensive figures and booster packs.

“They get the new issue tomorrow,” she said, still looking at my bag instead of me. “Of that.”

She tapped lightly against the fabric near where the book was tucked with a prosthetic claw. Too close again.

“Oh. Nice.”

Silence again.

Not awkward. Just suspended.

“I’m heading in anyway,” she continued. “Need to pick something up.”

There it was. Casual. Offhand.

Not quite an invitation.

Just information.

I adjusted the strap on my bag. The afterglow from last night still sat warm in my chest. Brie’s laugh. The porch light. The way she’d looked at me.

It made everything feel… easier.

“I’ve got to go in too,” I said. “Shopping day. Sister wants eggs.”

She glanced at me properly then.

Her eyes were sharper outside the kitchen. Less overwhelmed. More certain. Bright, even the milky one.

“What time?” she asked, before she could seem to stop herself.

I shrugged. “Probably twelve? Ish?

She considered that.

“Yeah,” she said. “Around twelve.”

Like she’d already planned it. Like I had no choice. Or maybe I was just predictable.

Tom’s voice carried faintly from the office. Something about rotas.

Alys shifted her weight, one clawed paw scraping lightly against the tile. “They open at ten.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be leaving then.”

Of course she would.

I huffed a small breath through my nose. “I’ll probably be there twelve-ish then. Groceries first.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t smile, although it was hard to see with the mask. Didn’t look embarrassed. Just nodded, like it was settled.

No handshake. No ‘see you'.

Just overlapping plans. It would be almost a coincidence if we actually met up.

Elizabeth stepped into the corridor then, carrying a roll of paper towels. “You two done loitering?”

Alys stepped back immediately, wings brushing the lockers again with a muted thud. “Yeah.”

I slung the bag over my shoulder. “Yeah.”

The moment dissolved as easily as it had formed.

We clocked out separately.

#

11:10, Wednesday, the 18th of April, 2028.

Like every day I didn’t have work, I slept as long as my body would let me.

That Wednesday, it wasn’t very long.

I was only ever scheduled on the busier days. Wednesdays usually slipped past without me clocking in. The reduced hours came with trade-offs. Fewer burns from splattering oil. Fewer hours of that relentless beeping drilling into my skull.

Less money.

Wage covered rent. Barely. Everything else – food, bills, anything resembling a future – came out of whatever I could scrape into savings. If my hours dipped, there wasn’t much to be done about it. I couldn’t exactly summon shifts out of thin air.

Sarah’s PIP covered her half of the flat and junk food. That was it.

I sat up slowly, the old weighted blanket dragging down my legs before sliding off in a heavy fold.

Phone. Instinct.

Brie had asked if I was doing anything that day. For a split second I’d almost cancelled on Alys; reflex, not thought, before remembering I had absolutely no way of contacting her. I didn't even know if she knew what a phone was.

Then Brie had followed up almost immediately to apologise. Study group.

I exhaled.

Wide awake now, nerves flaring for no good reason, I shoved the blanket to the floor and scrubbed at my eyes. Eye boogers. Sleep. I cracked my wrists together, joints popping loudly..

Wednesday was grocery day. If it hadn’t been, I probably would’ve rolled over and wasted the entire afternoon. I’d done that before…

Too often, some might say.

The bathroom was cold. Tile underfoot, air sharp against my bare skin. I crouched by the sink and reached for the half-empty box of paracetamol. Two tablets dry against my palm. I swallowed them with tap water that tasted faintly metallic – I made a note to email the landlord.

The small rounded mirror on the side of the sink didn’t do me any favours.

I grimaced.

Stubble had turned into something worse. Not deliberate. Not styled. Just neglect. I hadn’t shaved in days, not even for Brie, and it showed. Without work that day, I almost left it.

Then I looked again.

And froze.

Same pale skin. Same dull eyes. Same half-formed beard that never quite filled in properly.

Hair aside, I looked like him.

My jaw tightened, teeth grinding.

I grabbed the electric shaver Brie had bought me ages ago and a small black towel. The buzz filled the bathroom as I cleaned myself up, short strokes, deliberate. Watching the shadow disappear felt less like grooming and more like erasing.

Even seeing echoes of him in my own reflection made my skin crawl.

I didn’t know how Will could stand working with him.

When I finished, I wiped my face and cleaned the razor with the same towel. Looked up again.

Better.

I tried a small smile. It survived.

Out of the bathroom and back into my room. As I pulled open drawers for clothes, I noticed the pile by my desk. Shopping bags stuffed with rubbish. I’d been using them as makeshift bins during a rough patch and had apparently decided that was sustainable.

It wasn’t. I tied them off and stacked them properly by the door. Small fix. Still a fix.

Dressed, I checked my phone again. Nothing new. I salute-reacted Brie’s message so she knew I’d seen it, then slid the phone back into my pocket.

Sarah’s door got two knocks. She’d installed a lock last month. It had annoyed me more than it should’ve, but I’d adjusted.

“Heading out!” I called. “Message me what you need.”

A muffled response I didn’t quite catch.

Jacket. My (only) good trainers. Wallet. Keys.

I made it out in time to catch the number 4 bus just as it pulled up, doors hissing open like it had been waiting for me.

Uneventful, numb minded, but not tiring. I sat, head leaned back, watching the grey streets and skyscrapers pass. The market was on. Fish would be out for sale.

City centre. I pressed the button, stepped off when the doors opened, and started on the list.

Sarah actually sent it. Miraculous.

Mostly pies. Pre-baked or easy to cook. The kind that required just enough effort to pretend they weren’t junk. For myself, I bought actual ingredients.

Spending time at Brie’s had been a reminder. Real food tasted different. Better, maybe – something about the effort. I picked up what I’d need to replicate it, plus a few small bags of pre-diced vegetables because I wasn’t that committed to the bit.

And, because I’d been nagged about the Nightreign sequel for weeks, I added a case of off-brand energy drinks to the basket. Cheaper in bulk. No loyalty to logos.

I checked the time.

12:30.

I’d mentioned being at Dead Ink at twelve.

There was a very real temptation to head home instead. Coffee. PC. Lose a few hours to code and pretend productivity counted as social interaction.

But also-

Xenomorph figurines and a dragon.

The mental coin flipped.

She won.

I shifted the grocery bags so the weight wasn’t dragging one arm longer than the other and headed toward the shop.

#

Dead Ink was big. Corporate backing pretending to be indie. Enough money to look niche without actually risking it. Posters plastered the windows. Magic the Gathering. Attack on Titan, despite the year. Pokémon. Dragon Ball. Bright colours sun-faded at the edges.

There were leaflets taped near the door. Game nights every Sunday. Social media handles printed underneath. Community, curated and scheduled.

I paused long enough to take a picture. Sent it to Will and Jacob.

Then stepped inside.

The smell hit immediately.

Plastic, collected sweat, cheap dollar store deodorant and miscellaneous anime con funk.

The first floor was mainly merch: figurines, masks, card game sets, and shirts that went up to sizes I’d never seen before. There were a few scant Western comics off to the right in cardboard boxes, but I hadn't touched them in years.

The figures, though, mainly the immaculate alien collectibles, were always so good to see. I pulled back a red Xenomorph empress I couldn't afford, tilting it, ‘inspecting’ the paint.

Childish as it sounded to say out loud, or even in my own head, looking at stupid stuff I didn't have the money for always made me want to work harder, to do more. If I were rich, I reasoned, picking out a Terrifier bust, I could buy whatever junk I wanted and not feel like I’d messed up.

On the way, I overheard two workers whisper-shouting to one another, complaining about a new worker not knowing how to use the till.

At first I didn't bother listening in, and when I did, I only did so because they said the magic word – one I’d heard too much as of late – 'dragon'. I stopped in my tracks and pretended to dawdle near the stacks of My Little Pony Funko Pops.

"It's not really his fault," said the younger one to the right; a dark-skinned guy in his twenties, nails painted black. "He works hard, people like him, and he knows his stuff.” There were very few customers up top, basically none, so I kind of got why they were having such a private conversation.

Still… a little open.

"Yeah, but isn't it unfair to everyone who applied and didn't get the position, all because they need jobs? People with more experience were turned down,” countered the older one.

The stipend, I remembered Tom saying, was being lowered. I didn’t know why, but it seemed it wasn’t just us humans that were being affected.

I… actually agreed with the older one, at least to a certain extent. It was unfair.

“It’s him behind a till,” said the young one, exasperated. “He does his job. Why do you even care?” His tone raised, dipping into actual upset, like he had skin in the game.

“Just because you’re all…” His face wrinkled. “Buddy-buddy, Eric, doesn’t mean he gets-"

“You better not fucking…”

They noticed me. I raised up a cheap Alien pin I’d picked. “Just this, please.” Eric remained; his colleague did not, disappearing into a room in the back, the door closing shut behind him. I kept my hands in my pockets as I was rung up. “...You guys alright?"

He quirked his lips and scanned the cheap pin. “As much as we can be. New staff.” I thought about mentioning Alys, relating to and consoling him, but I didn’t. Apathy won. “You need your receipt?”

“Yeah, cheers.” Immediately, I put the pin on my backpack, pocketed the receipt and headed down the metal steps to the manga section. Alys hadn’t been upstairs and she had mentioned manga.

I didn’t read much; I hadn’t really since high school. Actual books got more appealing the more time passed, and I’d only been reading Konosuba since Will had lent it to me after I’d mentioned liking the anime ages back.

Really, I was only there for her, a chunk of that coming from how pained she’d looked after catching me looking. If I was nice to her, I reasoned, there was a chance she wouldn’t mention anything about my staring.

I hurried toward the manga shelves before I could think too much about it, or the uncomfortable feeling behind my ribs.

Halfway there, I caught a shape of blue in my periphery.

Scales far lighter than Alys’. Green eyes. Taller than her by only a head. Broader through the shoulders, but not quite as well built or muscular. No wings, and something about that made me pause.

He stood with his weight to one side, like the shop bored him. 'Morose' was the word that came to mind. Or maybe just tired. The kind that I could relate to.

Alys was beside him.

Mask in place, as always. Matte black fabric covering the lower half of her muzzle. Despite it, I could see the edge of scar tissue above it, pale and uneven where it met scale. Harsh lines. Old damage.

She was clutching a hardback to the grey under plating of her chest and talking — not loud, not flailing, but animated. One claw tapped the cover in emphasis.

My brain stalled mid-step. I’d never seen her so active, so emotive.

She lifted the book, angling it toward the blue dragon’s snout, as if trying to get him to see a specific panel.

He looked down at it. Expression unchanged. Long-suffering.

Her eyes flicked up. Caught me.

Just for a fraction of a second. Then back to the book. Like she hadn’t.

We both saw each other. Neither acknowledged it.

I turned away first.

The manga was alphabetised, thankfully. I ran a finger along the spines, scanning for the volume I wanted.

Ten.

Ten.

Seven.

Four.

No one.

I checked again, slower this time. Nothing.

My stomach dipped in that small, stupid way it does when something minor goes wrong. Either they hadn’t stocked it yet or someone had beaten me to it.

I leaned back from the shelf and exhaled through my nose.

Pointless trip. It’s not like Alys and I had planned anything.

I was too broke to impulse-buy anything else. A book I could justify. ‘Reading.’ Self-improvement. A pack or a figure? That was indulgence. Indulgence cost money I didn’t have.

Waterstones was closed for renovations too. So no ‘real’ books to check out.

“James?”

I didn’t respond at first.

“It’s James, right?”

I turned.

The blue dragon was looking straight at me, one front paw lifted in a casual half-wave. Up close he was even larger than I’d thought. Heavy tail resting against a display unit. Expression permanently hovering somewhere between unimpressed and amused.

Alys grabbed his haunch and muttered something low and sharp.

He ignored her.

“Uh. Yeah," I said. “Hey.”

Alys’ eyes met mine properly this time. Hard to read with the mask, but the rest of her face was tense. Not angry. Just braced.

“Oh. Um. Hey," I added, because that seemed required. “How’ve you been? You get here on time?”

“Good,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Yep. Good.”

Silence.

The lighter blue dragon sighed like the world personally exhausted him.

“You’re insufferable,” he told her, voice dry as dust. “Go. Speak to your friend.”

“I am speaking-”

“You’re vibrating,” he cut in. “It’s embarrassing.”

He nudged her forward with his shoulder. Not rough. Just enough.

She pushed back immediately, claws digging in lightly.

I stepped closer before it turned into something worse.

“I’m James,” I said, offering a hand.

He looked at it for half a second like he was evaluating whether handshakes were still socially relevant, then took it. Firm grip. Confident.

“Rhys. Alys mentioned you,” he added. "Said you work together. That you fixed a machine for her. That you’re good at your job.”

Alys’ eyes widened a fraction.

I shrugged. “Not really. I’ve just been there longer than most people.”

Compliments made my skin itch.

“You work here?” I asked, deflecting.

“Unfortunately,” Rhys replied. “Shift ended thirty minutes ago. Perks of corporate loyalty include a fifteen per cent discount and existential dread.”

Alys nudged him again.

He didn’t react.

“You read manga?” he asked me.

I blinked. “Yeah. A little bit. Not as much now.”

“You were staring at the shelf like it owed you money.”

Accurate.

"What are you getting?” I asked, glancing down.

Alys held up the book, sheathed claws holding tight, pawpads pressed.

Berserk. First omnibus. Thick. Heavy.

“That’s… a choice,” I said, nodding politely.

Her claws tapped lightly against the hardback, a steady, rhythmic click. “I’ve read parts online,” she said. “But I wanted it properly. Physical. Better. I don’t like computers.”

“It’s brutal,” I said, remembering the horse especially. “From what I’ve seen.”

“It is, but it’s good,” she replied, and there was something steadier in her tone. “You should read it,” she added, stepping a fraction closer before catching herself and stopping. “Everyone says it’s one of the best.”

“I’ve seen… panels,” I admitted. “Memes. Not properly read it.”

“You’re missing out,” Rhys said. “Tragic. Culturally deficient.”

“Right.”

A brief lull, one I used to look between them. Similar snout. Similar build. Different eyes.

“So,” I said, because if I didn’t ask, I’d overthink it later. “Are you two—”

“No,” Rhys said immediately. Flatly. “She lives in my house.”

I hesitated. “...Roommates then?”

“Technically.”

Alys groaned softly. “He’s my brother.”

She shot him a look that rven with the mask, it was sharp, sudden. Her eyes narrowed, ridges along her brow tightening. For a split second she looked less like the careful, quiet girl from the fryer station and more like something older. Predatory.

Rhys actually flinched, almost nervous. Something about that threw me off.

“I thought you might be related,” I said quickly, breaking the weird tension. “Didn’t want to assume. Seemed… rude.”

"Speciesist?" Rhys offered, deadpan.

“That’s not a word.”

“It could be,” he said. “Humans invent new ones constantly.”

Alys made a small, stifled sound that might have been a laugh. The fear in me faded, but the sudden switch left me shaky.

“Humans have too many words,” Rhys said, like he’d been waiting to circle back to it. “No offence. Your language is… chaotic.” Pause. “Unstable,” he corrected himself after a second. “That’s better.”

His tone wasn’t excited. Just faintly accusatory. Like English had personally wronged him.

“We were taught it,” he went on. “But the spelling makes no structural sense. ‘Cough.’ ‘Through.’ ‘Though.’ Pick one.”

Alys shifted beside him. “It is… inconsistent,” she added carefully.

The pause before the word was small. Measured. Like she’d tested two others first and discarded them.

“You’re not the first to say that,” I said. “I’ve got friends online trying to learn it. They complain constantly.” I smiled despite myself. Discord calls at two in the morning. Someone arguing about phrasal verbs. “I’m just glad I grew up with it. I can’t imagine learning it from scratch.”

Rhys gave a short, humourless laugh. “We didn’t have a choice.”

Alys nodded once. “You speak very fast,” she added, almost apologetically. “Sometimes.”

“Sorry.” I didn't know why I was apologising.

“It’s fine.” A small shrug. “I just have to… rearrange it.”

That sounded exhausting.

“You both speak it well,” I said. “Honestly.”

Rhys tapped his chest with two claws. “I do.”

He paused.

“And Alys manages.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. It wasn’t teasing. Not warm, either. Just an acknowledgement delivered sideways.

She didn’t react beyond tightening her grip on the book.

There was a brief, strange quiet between them. Not hostile. Just… unpractised. Like siblings who hadn’t yet relearnt how to stand next to each other.

I checked my watch.

“It’s getting a little late for me,” I said. “Sarah will be wanting her junk food. Probably should-”

Alys’ eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”

She glanced at Rhys who was already turning toward the stairs. “Come on.”

No shoulder shove, no banter. Just this movement.

I followed because the exit was in the same direction, and I didn’t live in the basement of a comic book shop.

Upstairs, the younger worker was still on the till. The one I’d overheard earlier.

Rhys’ posture shifted subtly as they approached. Straighter. A bit less slouched. He smiled, too, broad and almost goofy. Eric returned it, but said nothing. I watched, hands back in my pocket. They seemed… close.

I wondered if the older guy had been onto something.

Alys hung half a step behind her brother.

Payment went through without incident. No commentary.

By the time Alys had slid the omnibus carefully into her backpack — adjusting the straps so the weight sat evenly between her sharp wings — they caught up with me near the door.

Outside, the air felt cooler.

“Right,” I said. “I’ve got dinner to sort, so. I’ll see you around. Or-” I glanced at Alys. “I’ll see you.”

I held out a hand automatically.

Alys stepped forward to take it, but Rhys stepped in first.

“Do you want to get dinner?” he asked.

I paused. “Sorry?”

“Food,” he clarified. “Not-” He made a vague rolling circular gesture with his forepaw. “N-Not courting. Just eating. The three of us.”

Alys watched.

“There’s a place here Alys said you get discounts at,” Rhys continued, glancing over at her and then back.

He paused.

“You don’t have to,” he added. “I’m not going to judge you if you’d rather eat… whatever it is humans eat.”

“Three Instant noodles,” I said before I could stop myself, three fingers raised, pretending I wasn’t planning on spending actual effort for once.

“That sounds horrid.”

“It builds character.”

“I have enough character.”

There was something slightly forced about his casualness. Like he was pushing through a script he hadn’t rehearsed in years. I didn't push.

Instead I looked at Alys.

Her eyes flicked between us. Not hopeful. Not exactly. Just alert.

Curious.

Hungry, too, probably.

“Yeah…” I said slowly. “Sure. Why not?"

Rhys nodded once, decisively. “Good.”

We started walking.

He fell into step beside me, tail low, swishing slow and gentle. Banter came easier to him than I’d expected from a literal dragon; dry observations about customers, complaints about corporate merchandising, and an oddly ranty discussion about how humans romanticised ‘suffering in fiction.'

Weirdly enough, he reminded me of my older brother, Chris. Same blunt edges. Same way of filling silence with commentary rather than questions or real conversation

When I mentioned that, he stared at me, brow ridge raised.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment,” he said.

“Depends on the day, really.”

“Hm.”

Behind us, Alys walked a fraction slower.

She wasn’t sulking. Not exactly. But she wasn’t included either. Rhys hadn’t once looked over his shoulder to check her position, which felt not entirely right.

The distance between them wasn’t physical, I noticed without meaning to. It was something different. A gap that had existed long before I showed up, I was willing to bet.

I slowed down until I was walking beside her instead.

“So,” I said quietly. “How’ve you been? I think we’ve had opposite shifts. Cept yesterday. Keep seeing you as I finished.”

Alys glanced up at the sky, which was dimming into early evening blue.

“Stressful,” she said after a long moment.

The word sounded carefully selected.

“It’s harder than I thought,” she went on. “Some stations need two paws. Or two… full paws. And I can’t ever touch the ground.”

She lifted her right paw slightly, flexing it. The movement was tight and controlled. The prosthetic digits moved was surprising ease. Not cheap, I guessed. I wondered how they were maintained but didn't feel like poking a probably sore subject.

“And some of the workers are…” She hesitated.

“Annoying?” I offered.

A small, surprised sound escaped her.

“Yes. A bit.”

Her English slipped at the edges — her rhythm slightly off, an article missing here and there. Subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice. I did, because I sucked.

“But I get it,” she added quickly, like she might be in trouble. “They’re busy. I’m new. It makes sense they let me… learn alone.”

It wasn’t aimed at me. It still hit.

I thought about the mop. About standing four feet away and pretending not to see.

“Maybe,” I said, then cleared my throat. “That’s kind of how it was for me at first. Have you worked with Elizabeth much? The tall blonde woman.”

Alys nodded. “Yes. She fixed my clock-in mistake. Twice.”

“She’s solid,” I said. "Honestly, one of the reasons I didn’t quit early on.”

That earned a small glance from her.

“The first few weeks are the worst,” I continued. “After that it evens out. Doesn’t get easier exactly. Just… familiar.”

She considered that.

“At least familiar is predictable,” she said.

“Exactly.”

We walked a few more steps in quiet.

“Oh,” she added. “Thank you. For the kiosk.”

I shrugged. “It would’ve been pretty awful of me not to help. Especially when I was right there.”

I met her eyes briefly.

“Only someone properly cruel would just stand and watch.”

...

...I didn’t reply.

As we walked, I pulled my phone out and switched my data on long enough to check the 40.

For once, it was running on time.

I aimed for the one at 13:45 anyway. Trusting public transport felt like suicide.

I killed the data and slid the phone back into my coat pocket just as we reached the restaurant. Rhys moved first when we stepped inside. Claimed a table by the left-side windows like territory mattered. I followed, sitting opposite him. Alys took the blank space to his right. There were no chairs, but really, they didn’t need them.

After connecting to the place’s horrendous Wi-Fi, I opened the app and swiped to the hidden employee offers. Nine nuggets. Fries. Medium Fanta.

Predictable but reliable.

After paying, I leaned back, faux-casual, fingers drumming nervously against the table. "What are you two getting?” I asked.

Rhys squinted up at the menu board. “Is the Fang Burger too on-the-nose?”

“Yes,” Alys said immediately.

He ignored her. “I don’t want to be stereotypical. But it looks good.”

“It has a terrible name,” she added, adjusting the strap of her mask slightly where it sat against her jawline.

“I know, right?” I said. “But it’s decent. Lots of tomatoes and lot of chicken.”

“I don’t know a dragon who dislikes tomatoes,” Rhys replied, nudging his sister.

Alys didn’t comment. She’d already pulled a tablet from her bag and placed it on the table with a solid thunk. It was thick. Matte black. Raised edges around the screen like armour plating.

I leaned in. “...I’ve never seen a tablet like that.”

She angled it toward me without hesitation and up close it looked genuinely indestructible. Industrial.

“Drop-proof,” Rhys said. "Fireproof. Scratchproof."

He flipped it over before she could stop him and tapped a sheathed talon against a thin jagged crack near the back corner.

“Except she still managed to break it.”

Alys shot him a sharp, solid look. “It works,” she said evenly.

“How?” I asked, genuinely curious.

She hesitated only half a second, and then, “...I dropped it.”

“From a table?” Rhys prompted, totally innocent, eyes nearly batting.

She met my eyes instead.

“Nearly a mile.”

I blinked.

“I wanted a better picture,” she continued. “The city looks different from high up.” Her tone had steadied. There was no embarrassment in it now. “It slipped,” she said. “I tried to catch it. I was… unsuccessful.”

Rhys snorted. “You dived after it.”

“Yes.”

“You nearly flattened a bus.”

“At least nobody was in it.”

I stared at the crack again. “What is that thing made of? Adamantium?”

She tilted her head. “That’s… not real.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It is similar to a Reonian alloy,” she said, tapping the back of the device with a sharp claw. “High heat tolerance. Impact resistant.”

“Reon,” I repeated.

Both of them went quiet.

“That’s your home planet, right?” I added, immediately aware that I shouldn’t have.

“Yes,” Rhys said flatly.

I rushed to fill the gap. “I-It’s just weird to think about. You’re technically aliens.”

Alys’ eyes sharpened.

“We are literally aliens,” Rhys said. “And so are you to us.”

“Right.”

I let out a small breath. “I-I always picture aliens as green humans. Not-”

“Us?” Alys supplied. She wasn’t offended. If anything, she looked faintly amused. “Your media lacks imagination,” she continued.

Rhys barked a dry laugh. “Or it’s got too much. There’s literally no middle ground. I’ve seen some weird stuff.”

“Probably because there’s billions of us,” I said. “How many dragons are there on Reon?”

The air thinned.

Idiot.

Rhys’ jaw tightened slightly. Alys’ claws stilled against the tablet screen.

“Oh- shit. Sorry. I forgot things are… rough.” I rubbed at my forehead without thinking.

“It’s fine,” Alys said quickly, too quickly.

Then she inhaled and steadied herself.

“I am the one who mentioned it,” she added. “So it is… shared fault.”

“Still—”

She cut in gently. “Water under the bridge.”

The phrase wasn’t perfectly placed, but it was close enough.

“James,” she said, and there was something off about the way she used my name. “Can you show me how to apply your discount?”

I nodded, grateful. “Yeah. Sure.”

She slid the tablet across. Our digits brushed for a second as I took it and navigated to the offers section, cleared her cart, and applied the employee code.

“There,” I said, turning the screen back.

She didn’t take it immediately. “Quick,” she observed.

“I’ve had practice.”

“I noticed,” she said.

There was a faint curve to her eyes above the mask.

Rhys watched the exchange without comment, expression unreadable.

As they finalised their order, my number was called. I left the backpack on the seat without thinking about it. If they wanted to rob me, they’d didn’t need stealth. I thanked the guy at the counter, took the tray, and turned back toward the table.

Halfway there, I finally noticed it.

The staring. Not subtle glances. Not curiosity that flickered and died. Full, unapologetic staring. Phones half-lowered. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Burgers hovering.

They’d probably been doing it the entire time.

I set the tray down and sat. Looked back at them.

Most people snapped their attention elsewhere when they saw me looking. A few didn’t. Brave. Or stupid.

I scowled as I unwrapped my food. Alys and Rhys both caught it.

“It happens,” Rhys said, shrugging like it genuinely didn’t matter. “Makes me feel like a celebrity.”

“I don’t like it,” Alys muttered. Her talons pressed into the sides of her tablet, metal creaking faintly. The middle of her snout wrinkled.

I leaned back without meaning to.

“At least at work,” she went on, voice tight, “people are too busy to stare. Too busy to be rude.”

Predator. That was the only word that fit. Not because she was about to attack—but because the room felt like prey pretending not to notice her.

Then—

She exhaled.

A thin ribbon of smoke slipped from her nostrils, slithered from beneath the mask and curled toward the ceiling. Her broad shoulders lowered. The tension bled out of her frame like air from a punctured tyre.

“But…” Her gaze shifted toward the window. Reflections of people, cars, a world that wasn’t hers. “This isn’t our world. So… I can understand why they’re staring.”

That kind of restraint wasn’t easy, I thought, swallowing. Not when half the room looked at you like a problem.

Our food came. We ate.

Alys turned slightly before taking her first proper bite, shoulder angling toward us. She slipped the mask down just enough, quick and practiced.

Rhys immediately looked away.

I didn’t.

A few days ago, I’d tried to catch a glimpse. Leaned too far. Looked too long. She’d noticed. The way her excitement had faded still made my chest ache.

I dropped my gaze to my tray.

Focused on the slightly burned fries. On grease soaking through the thin paper. On anything that wasn’t the brief movement of her paw at her jaw.

“Stereotypes aside,” I tried, needing a distraction. “How is it? Better than eggs?”

“I think,” she said carefully – burger gone in those few scant bites – like she was arranging the words instead of just choosing them, “they need to stereotype harder." She swallowed. "This is good. Very good,” she added, straightening a little. “But next time they should bring me a basket of fresh tomatoes and maybe an entire chicken carcass. For realism.”

Rhys snorted.

“You do work at a fast-food place,” I said. “Maybe you could consult. Reptile-oriented menu improvements. Any other groundbreaking ideas?”

She tipped her head, pretending to weigh it seriously.

“I think, hypothetically, not for myself, that anyone with blue scales should receive complimentary meals.”

“Hypothetically.”

“The publicity would be excellent,” she went on. “Very inspiring. ‘Local establishment supports cultural diversity.’ The cost would be… small.”

“Small,” I repeated. “Define small.”

She smiled, a little crooked. “Are you saying I eat too much?”

“Wouldn’t dare,” I said, leaning back, arms on the back for pure show. “But I am impressed you managed to fly high enough to drop your tablet the other day.”

Rhys burst out laughing, but Alys didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t. I used a machine, but the structure couldn’t support me.”

“Tragic,” I agreed gravely.

She shook her head, a soft huff of amusement slipping out, then looked at me a second longer than necessary. “You know,” Alys said, voice quieter. “it’s easier to ignore them when you’re here.”

I went still.

No drama. No fluttering lashes. Just that steady crimson eye holding mine.

“You glare very convincingly,” she added, almost thoughtful. “It’s… reassuring.”

There it was. Breathing returned to me. Just awkward phrasing from someone with imperfect English. I scoffed lightly. “Happy be intimidating background presence.”

“Very brave,” she said, and there was something warmer through it. “I feel much safer...”

It could have been teasing. It probably was. It still made my chest flip.

We went back to eating. Talking. Arguing about poultry portions like it was a matter of national importance. The staring never really stopped. It hung around her like static—fear, curiosity, that thin line between both.

She laughed at something Rhys said, head tilting back, the underplating of her neck exposed. The sound wasn’t soft. It cut clean through the noise. She drew eyes without trying. She always would.

It would’ve been simple to pull away after today. Step back into the blur. Avoid the weight that came with being visibly on her side.

Safer, and I was almost tempted to. I didn’t want to become a work pariah solely for her sake.

But sitting there – watching her swipe sauce from her talons with unnecessary precision, listening to her insist that tomatoes were culturally essential – I felt the ever-constant apathy slip. Just a little, just a crack.

And, for the time being, that felt enough.