Navir kept walking, though his thoughts lagged behind his steps.
Gray sky turning red.
Heat without flame.
Silhouettes burning as they drifted.
And the crescent seared beneath his bicep, still warm in memory, even now.
He spotted Tarefin near a roadside stall, the man angled toward a seller, examining a small wrapped bundle.
His hair fell to the nape of his neck, dark-silver and unremarkable in length, loose enough to move when he shifted.
Nothing about him looked threatening. That made it worse.
Navir slowed, letting the market noise mask his approach.
Tarefin's head turned, briefly, neither hurried nor cautious. Just enough for his gaze to slide over Navir, acknowledge him, then return to the seller as if nothing had happened.
That single glance tightened Navir's chest.
"You're hard to forget," Navir said.
Tarefin finished the exchange, passed payment, and only then turned fully. His red eyes were steady, measuring.
"Am I?" he replied calmly.
"I know… you've been watching me before we met at the café," Navir said.
"People notice patterns," Tarefin said. "Some more than others."
Navir's arm tingled beneath his sleeve. The crescent. The heat. "You felt familiar," he said. "Before today."
A pause, thin, deliberate.
"Familiarity isn't always memory," Tarefin said. "Sometimes it's proximity."
"To what?" Navir pressed.
Tarefin's gaze dipped, just once, to Navir's left arm. Not staring. Acknowledging.
"Change," he said quietly.
The word landed harder than any threat.
Navir stepped closer, the thought striking hard and certain, "he knows something."
"I know what begins," Tarefin answered.
"And what people mistake for imagination."
Silence pressed between them.
"Be careful," Tarefin added, turning away. "Some questions don't wait for permission."
He walked away as he spoke.
Navir stayed where he was, heart steady, mind racing.
This wasn't coincidence.
And it wasn't concern.
It was attention.
Arisha didn't speak until Navir lifted the small bag of groceries to show her and kept it in hand as they moved away from the crowded stalls.
Once they reached a quieter side street, where the market noise dulled to a distant hum, she slowed. She didn't ask how he was, not yet. Instead, she watched him walk beside her, the way his shoulders stayed tense, controlled, as though he were carrying something heavier than the bags in his hands, something he didn't want anyone else to see.
"I noticed you've been drifting," she said at last. Calm. Observant.
Navir frowned. "I'm fine."
She didn't argue. Instead, she glanced at his left arm. Not openly. Just enough to notice where his sleeve lay too still. "Does it still feel warm," she asked, "after it fades?"
His steps slowed. "What are you talking about?"
"The gray sky when it turns red ," Arisha said, softly. "The heat that doesn't burn the ground. The wandering shadows."
Navir stopped.
Arisha turned to face him fully now, her expression unreadable, not afraid, not curious. Certain. "You think it's imagination because it leaves no marks," she continued. "But it leaves you. For a moment."
His throat tightened. "How do you… "
"You got lucky Navir, it was over before I could intervene." Arisha said.
Navir blinked, a brief flash of surprise crossing his face. He straightened, shoulders easing, voice calm yet certain. "I didn't do it alone, someone… helped me," he said quietly, gripping the groceries a little looser, assurance threading through each word.
She studied him for a long moment, her voice dropping to something almost careful.
"You should be thankful," she said, putting her hand consolingly on his shoulder.
"You came back when it ended," she said.
Then, quieter, sharp enough to cut,
"Most people don't."
Later, in the quiet rear of the healer's courtyard, Samaveh noticed Navir's wandering gaze as they both sat under the gazebo. She leaned back against the bench, playful as ever, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"You've been thinking about someone all day," she said softly, a teasing lilt in her voice, though her eyes held warmth.
"Tarefin, wasn't it? You keep circling that name without even saying it."
Navir looked up at her, caught between surprise and reluctant acknowledgment, and Samaveh smiled, a gentle, caring smile that reminded him she meant no judgment, only understanding.
Navir hesitated. "How well do you know him?" he carefully inquired.
"Enough to know he doesn't involve himself without reason," she replied.
Navir's red eyes widened slightly in disbelief. "You know about the wasteland?"
She studied Navir's face, exhaled then said. "I'm guessing that's where you met him."
Silence stretched.
Navir reached into his satchel and drew out the ragged strip of cloth. Time had frayed it thin, but the symbol remained, an eye, simply drawn, stark and unmistakable. Plain. Yet impossible to ignore.
Samaveh inhaled sharply. "So it was him."
She told him then, of Tarefin's past. How he'd dominated academic contests before others realized there was a game at all, his strategies unfolding years ahead of their consequences.
Classmates envied him. Friends resented him. Even relatives measured themselves against his shadow, and failed. Envy curdled into fear. Fear into attempts on his life.
"People tried to stop him," Samaveh said quietly. "Not just with rumors. With knives. They sought to end him."
Navir's brow creased. "Because he was smarter?"
Samaveh rose from the stone bench, smoothing her robe as she stepped toward the edge of the tranquil garden. Leaves whispered overhead, and a slow breeze stirred the tall grass, tugging gently at her clothes as if urging her forward.
She paused beneath a flowering tree, red eyes fixed on nothing in particular, then said quietly, "Showing how far your mind can really go can cost more than your life."
The wind carried her words between them. "It draws attention," she added, voice steady, "from eyes you can't outrun once they've learned your shape."
She then turned around and explained how Tarefin vanished from the circuits after that, kept a low profile, changed paths, learned to move without leaving patterns others could read. Brilliant. Calculated.
Never loyal to anyone who slowed the outcome he was pursuing.
Navir exhaled. "If he saved me…"
Samaveh met his eyes. "Then it wasn't kindness," she said. "It was a choice."
"And that's supposed to reassure me?"
Navir replied.
"No," she said softly. "Take it as a word of caution."
"He saved people," she said quietly. "But never without cost."
Navir folded the cloth back into his hand, understanding settling heavy in his chest.
Surviving the wasteland hadn't been the hardest part.
What came after, choosing who to trust, might be.