Elara Vance did not believe in magic.
She believed in data. In leverage. In the cold, hard logic of markets and the predictable patterns of human greed. The blooming orchid was a coincidence. A trick of the light, a previously misjudged stage of the plant's cycle. Her mind, stressed and overworked, had filled in the gaps.
Yet, she couldn't stop looking at it.
Leo followed her gaze. "It is better now," he stated, with the confidence of someone commenting that the sky was blue.
"How did you do that?" The question was out before she could filter it through her usual caution.
He looked at his finger again, then at her. His calm, sky-blue eyes held no secret knowledge. "I… encouraged it. It wanted to open. It was just a little… stuck." He said it as if explaining how to push a stuck door. "Was that wrong?"
"No," Elara said, too quickly. "It's fine." She retreated to the kitchen, a sleek space of steel and dark granite, needing the familiar territory. "Are you hungry?"
Leo considered this. "I do not know. What does 'hungry' feel like?"
Elara paused, a glass of water halfway to her lips. She turned. He was watching her, his head tilted in genuine inquiry. He wasn't joking. He was asking for a data point.
"It's… an emptiness. In your stomach. A need. Sometimes a sound." She felt absurd.
Leo placed a hand flat on his abdomen, focusing inward. After a moment, he nodded. "Yes. There is an emptiness. That is 'hungry'. Thank you for explaining."
"Right." Elara opened the massive, nearly empty refrigerator. Her culinary world consisted of pre-made salads, expensive bottled water, and champagne for the rare occasion. She pulled out a container of organic mixed greens and a package of smoked salmon. "I can make a salad."
"I will help," Leo said, standing. He moved to join her but stopped at the threshold of the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room. "This is a preparation space."
"It's a kitchen."
"Kitchen," he repeated, filing the word away. He stepped in, his movements curiously deliberate. He observed the knife block, the sink, the stove. He was like a highly intelligent alien learning a new planet's customs.
"You can wash these," Elara said, handing him the plastic container of greens. She pointed to the sink. "Water comes out here. You open the container, put the leaves in this colander, and rinse them."
Leo accepted the container with both hands, as if receiving a sacred artifact. He studied the lid, found the latch, and opened it. He poured the greens into the metal colander she'd placed in the sink. He found the faucet. He turned it on.
Water burst out, splashing violently against the metal and spraying his sweater.
He didn't jump. He simply observed the water's trajectory, then slowly, carefully, adjusted the faucet head until the spray became a gentle stream. He watched the water flow over the leaves, his expression one of deep fascination. He reached out and let the water run over his fingers.
"The temperature is adjustable," Elara found herself saying, captivated by his utter focus. "That knob controls hot and cold."
Leo touched the knobs, turning them slightly, feeling the water change on his skin. He nodded, absorbing the information. He finished rinsing the greens and turned off the water with precise, economical movements. He then looked at the wet leaves, then at the counter, and then back at the sink. A problem had presented itself.
"They are wet. The preparation surface will become wet," he stated.
Elara, against all odds, felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips. She handed him a clean kitchen towel. "You shake the water off, then lay them on this."
He did so, meticulously patting each leaf cluster before arranging them on the towel. The process took three times as long as it should have. Elara should have been irritated. Instead, she found herself slicing the salmon with unusual care, watching him from the corner of her eye.
The salad was assembled in silence, a quiet, shared project. Elara put it in a large bowl. She got out two plates.
Leo looked at the plates, then at the bowl, then at her. "We will share from the same source?"
"It's called family style," she said, the term feeling strange in her mouth. This was not a family. This was a CEO and a homeless amnesiac.
"Family style," Leo echoed softly. He carried the bowl to the dining table, a long slab of polished wood that could seat twelve and usually sat zero. He placed it in the exact center of the table, stepped back, and adjusted it a millimeter to the left. Satisfied, he pulled out a chair for Elara.
The gesture was so old-world, so instinctively chivalrous and utterly devoid of any romantic implication, that Elara was stunned into silence. She sat. He pushed the chair in gently, then went to sit opposite her, once again moving with that unthinking grace.
They ate. Leo watched her pick up her fork and copied the motion. He took a bite. He chewed slowly, his eyes drifting slightly out of focus as he experienced taste.
"This is… good," he announced after swallowing. "The green leaves are crisp. The pink fish is soft and salty. The orange pieces are sweet and burst." He was narrating a sensory exploration.
"Those are mandarin oranges," Elara said, her own food tasting suddenly more vivid.
"Mandarin oranges," he committed to memory. "Thank you for the meal, Elara."
He said her name. It sounded different in his calm, even tone. Not a title. Not 'Ms. Vance.' Just 'Elara.' A sound pointing to a person.
The elevator dinged.
Leo's head turned toward the sound, his body perfectly still. Elara straightened, her CEO mask snapping back into place just as her brother Liam burst into the penthouse, a duffel bag in one hand and a look of dramatic concern on his face.
Liam Vance, at twenty-five, was Elara's opposite in almost every way. Where she was sharp lines and frost, he was loose smiles and warm chaos. A freelance graphic designer, he lived in a perpetually messy studio and was the only person on Earth who could tease Elara without getting his head bitten off.
"Alright, let's see the amnesiac assassin you've adopted!" Liam announced, striding in. His eyes landed on Leo, sitting politely at the dining table with a fork in his hand. He looked at the salad. He looked at Elara. His dramatic bravado faltered. "You're… having a dinner party?"
"Liam, this is Leo. Leo, this is my brother, Liam."
Leo stood up. He walked over to Liam, stopped at a respectful distance, and gave a slight, formal nod of his head. "It is good to meet you, Liam. Thank you for coming."
Liam blinked. He looked at Elara, mouthing 'What the hell?' He extended a hand. "Uh. Yeah. Hey."
Leo looked at the offered hand. He glanced at Elara, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes for the first time. She gave a tiny nod. Leo took Liam's hand and shook it, his grip firm, his movements precise. "A greeting ritual," Leo stated. "Understood."
Liam burst out laughing. It wasn't a mean laugh; it was a laugh of pure, bewildered delight. "Okay. Okay, he's not a serial killer. He's a… a very polite robot who likes salad." He dropped the duffel bag. "Brought clothes. Old jeans, t-shirts, a hoodie. So, what's the plan, sis? We call the cops? A hospital?"
Elara looked at Leo, who was now watching their interaction with serene attention, absorbing every word like a sponge. She thought of the orchid. She thought of him sitting on the floor to protect her sofa. She thought of the way he said 'family style.'
"Not yet," she heard herself say. "He has no memory. No identification. The system would just bounce him around. It's… inefficient."
Liam's eyebrows shot up. "Inefficient. Right. So the efficient solution is to let him live with you? Elara, you don't even let me stay over."
"It's temporary. A few days. Until we figure out a better solution. He can… help around here." The idea formed as she spoke it.
"Help how? He doesn't even know what hungry is!"
"He can learn," Elara said, and she realized she believed it. "He's observant. He's calm."
Leo, who had been listening to his own fate being decided, spoke up. "I would like to help. I do not wish to be a burden. I am good at learning." He looked at Liam's duffel bag. "Are those clothes for me? Thank you for the gift, Liam."
Liam ran a hand through his hair, a grin spreading across his face. "You are something else, man. Alright, fine. But I'm staying too. On the couch. To protect my sister from your overwhelming politeness."
Elara was about to protest, but Leo nodded seriously. "That is wise. The sofa is long. But it is soft. You will need a blanket. I will sleep on the floor. I do not mind."
"No one is sleeping on the floor," Elara declared, her CEO voice ending the discussion. "Leo, you can take the guest room. Liam, you're on the couch if you insist on being ridiculous."
Later, after showing Leo the guest room and the attached bathroom (another episode of wide-eyed discovery involving the mystery of the flush toilet and the miracle of hot shower), Elara stood in her own bedroom, listening.
The penthouse was never truly quiet—the hum of the climate control, the distant murmur of the city. But now, there were new sounds. The soft click of a door closing. The faint, off-key humming of Liam in the living room as he set up his makeshift bed. A period of absolute silence from the guest room, as if its occupant was simply sitting on the bed, being.
Elara Vance looked at the orchid on her bedside table, its white petals glowing in the dim city light. It was definitely blooming out of season.
A man with no past was asleep in her guest room. Her chaotic brother was on her couch. And for the first time in years, her sterile, perfect penthouse didn't feel just cold.
It felt… occupied.
And the strange part was, she didn't hate it.