"Do you think she'd agree?"
Their footsteps made soft, syncopated splashes on the wet cobblestones as they walked away from the clinic, the capital's grand, rain-blurred architecture rising around them like sleeping giants.
Cecilia leaned heavily on Eastiel's arm as they walked.
"I don't know. It's fine if she doesn't want to. We still have options," Cecilia answered, her gaze fixed on the misty middle distance, already calculating alternatives.
Eastiel nodded, the movement causing a small cascade from the edge of the umbrella. The rain was persistent, a curtain of steady silver, but not violent. The droplets were fat and heavy, hitting the cloth above them with a dull, rhythmic plink, but not the sharp staccato of a storm.
A quiet settled between them, filled only with the sound of the rain and their own breathing. Then, Cecilia's voice, softer now, almost lost in the downpour's hush, asked him something.
"East, can you… hold me?"
