I lay on my bed.
Stared at the ceiling. The same ceiling I'd stared at every night since arriving in Ilsa.
The fan spun above me.
Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.
The numbers were automatic now. A rhythm I didn't think about anymore.
Outside, rain hammered the windows. Hard. Relentless. The world beyond the glass was a blur of gray and black.
The village reduced to vague shapes huddled against the storm. Trees bent sideways. Puddles became pools became small lakes in the low places between houses.
The gutters overflowed, sending waterfalls cascading down the sides of the house in sheets.
She won't come today. Not in this. No one would.
The thought was logical. Reasonable. The kind of thought a sane person would have and then act on by staying indoors, staying warm, staying dry.
But—
What if she does? What if she's out there right now? What if she's standing in the field, in the rain, waiting for me because she said she would? Because I said I would?
Because that's what we do now—meet in the field, walk along the edge where grass meets sky, talk about nothing and everything while the world gets dark around us?
What if she's there? Waiting? In the rain? Getting soaked because I was too afraid of a little water to keep my promise?
I thought about her.
If she comes and I don't... Is that deceiving? Breaking a promise? The kind of thing that would make her stop trusting me? Stop waiting? Stop smiling those small, barely-there smiles that I'd started counting without meaning to?
I don't want to create a bad image in front of someone who can erase existence.
The thought was almost funny. Almost. Here I was, worried about disappointing a woman who could unmake reality with a thought. Worried about whether she'd think less of me if I didn't show up.
When did that happen? When did she stop being a threat and start being someone whose disappointment I feared?
I sat up. The motion was sudden—a decision made before my conscious mind had time to object. The bed creaked beneath me. The fan kept spinning, indifferent to my internal debate.
I looked at the umbrella in the corner. It was a plain black thing.
Shenhe had put it there weeks ago, anticipating weather exactly like this.
Just a quick walk. Just to check. If she's not there, I'll come back. Ten minutes. Fifteen at most.
If she is—well. Then I'll deal with that when I get there.
I grabbed the umbrella.
°°°
I was halfway down the stairs when the voice hit.
"Where do you think you're going, Young Master?"
Angy. Standing at the bottom of the stairs. Arms crossed over her chest. Her feet planted in that particular stance that meant she'd been waiting for me.
Her face was... deadpan. That's new.
I'd never seen her like this. The absence of her usual energy was more unsettling than any amount of chaos could be.
"Just a walk—"
She looked at my eyes.
"In this weather?"
Damn. She's not buying it. Not even a little. The umbrella in my hand was practically a confession.
"It's just rain."
"It's a STORM, Young Master." She gestured at the window, where the world was still being pummeled by water and wind.
"That's not rain. Rain is gentle. Rain is 'oh, I should bring a jacket.' This is 'the sky is trying to murder us.' There's a difference."
"I have an umbrella."
"Umbrellas don't work in sideways rain! They're designed for vertical rain!"
"I'll be careful."
"You'll be SICK!" She threw her hands up.
"You'll come back dripping wet and shivering and then you'll get a cold and then Shenhe will have to make soup!"
"I never get sick."
"THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING!"
I took a breath. The stairwell was cold—the storm had leeched all the warmth from the house. The umbrella was heavy in my hand.
Angy was still blocking the bottom of the stairs, her arms still crossed, her face still caught somewhere between fury and fear.
Tried a different approach. "It's important."
The word landed in the space between us. Angy's expression flickered—just slightly.
"What's important?"
The truth? A lie? Something in between? How do you explain to someone who's raised you for seventeen years that you're going out in a thunderstorm to check if a woman who can erase existence is waiting for you in a field?
"Just... important."
Angy's eyes narrowed. "Important enough to catch pneumonia?"
"Yes."
"Important enough to worry us?" Her voice cracked on the last word. Just slightly. Just enough.
I hesitated. That's the real question. Is it worth worrying them? These two women who'd raised me since I was three years old.
Is she worth it? Is Arcueid worth the weight I'm putting on their shoulders right now?
"Yes."
The word came out before I could stop it. Automatic. True. The truest thing I'd said all day.
Something flickered in Angy's eyes.
"It's a person, isn't it?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. The words wouldn't come.
"Some girl." Her voice was quieter now. Softer. "The one you've been meeting. On your walks. The one who makes you come back with stars in your eyes."
How does she— Of course she knows. Of course.
"She might be there. Waiting. In the rain." The words felt inadequate. Too small for what I meant.
"And if she's not?"
"Then I come back. Ten minutes. Fifteen at most."
"And if she is?"
"Then I... talk. For a bit. Make sure she's okay. Then come back." I paused. "I won't be long."
Angy was quiet. Longer than she'd ever been quiet.
The silence stretched between us, filled only by the rain hammering against the windows and the distant rumble of thunder and the steady hum of the ceiling fan overhead.
Then—
"Fine."
I blinked. "What?"
"Fine. Go. Do your... thing. Your mysterious walk thing. Your 'important' thing."
She uncrossed her arms. Her posture relaxed—slightly, barely, but enough.
"I'll tell Shenhe not to make any special soup if you catch a cold."
That was too easy. Way too easy. Angy didn't give up this quickly.
She pouted. Her lower lip stuck out in that particular way that meant she was pretending to be upset but was actually just worried and didn't know how to express it without being dramatic.
The deadpan was gone. Replaced by the usual Angy.
"But if you get sick, YOUNG MASTER, I'm blaming YOU. And myself. For letting you go. And Shenhe. For not stopping me from letting you go. And the weather. And that GIRL." She pointed at me accusingly. "Especially that girl."
"I won't get sick."
"YOU BETTER NOT." She stepped aside, clearing the path to the door. "And you better come back fast. And you better not fall in any puddles. And you better—"
"Angy."
"Yes?"
"I'll be fine."
She deflated slightly. "I know. I just... worry. It's what I do. It's my thing."
"I know."
"Okay." She nodded. More to herself than to me. "Okay. Go. Before I change my mind and barricade the door."
°°°
I stood at the door. Umbrella in one hand. The other hand resting on the handle.
Rain hammering against the wood from the outside, a constant drumbeat that hadn't let up for hours. Wind howling through the cracks, making the door rattle in its frame.
She's out there somewhere. Maybe. Probably not.
Probably.
But maybe. The word was small and persistent and refused to be silenced. Maybe she was there. Maybe she didn't understand weather the way humans did. Maybe she didn't feel cold the way humans did.
Maybe. The word that had started all of this. The word that had made me go to the field the first time, and the second time, and every time since.
I didn't move. Didn't open the door. Didn't step out. Just stood there, hand on the handle.
A raincoat Angy had forced on me and it was bright yellow and shiny and completely ridiculous. It was huge—at least two sizes too big—and the sleeves hung past my wrists. I looked like a very tall, very reluctant duckling.
"Perfect!" Angy had beamed when she'd held it up, blocking my path to the door with fabric instead of her body. "Now you won't die!"
"I wasn't going to die."
"You don't know that! Rain is DANGEROUS! Slippery! Wet! Cold! Full of—"
"Angy."
"Yes?"
"I'm going now."
She'd stepped aside.
"Come back fast, Young Master."
"I will."
"And if she's not there, come back even faster."
"I will."
"And if she IS there..." She paused. Swallowed. "Still come back. Just... not too fast. Take your time. But not TOO much time. Balance is key. Moderation. The golden mean. Whatever the philosophy people call it."
I almost smiled. Almost. The expression tugged at the corners of my mouth but didn't quite form. "Since when do you quote philosophy?"
"Since Shenhe left a book on the table and I was bored and it had pictures." She adjusted the collar of my raincoat, her fingers brushing against my neck. "Mostly the pictures."
"Of course."
"GO." She pushed me toward the door. "Before I tie you to the couch. Which I can do. Which I WILL do. I have rope. Somewhere. Probably."
I opened the door. The storm roared in. The rain hit my face immediately. The umbrella tried to turn inside out. The raincoat flapped around my legs.
I looked back. Angy was still there. Standing in the doorway. Watching. Her hand raised in a small wave.
"One hour!" she shouted over the wind. "Not a minute more! Or we mobilize! AGAIN!"
I nodded.
Then stepped into the storm.
---