HELP ME IM LOST

Perhaps it was good the train had broken down. It had given Roman plenty of time to think as he walked, muscles warm like kindling, and worked through his snarled emotions. But countless minutes had ticked by on his wristwatch, and countless steps had been taken along this westward road, he still wasn't sure how to break the news to Iris. He had no better plan than when he had first started his journey, finding a quiet compartment on the now out-of-service-gods-forsaken-train, and Roman inwardly groaned.

It's a sign of bad luck. He could hear his father's voice intruding into his reveries. Of course, the man who made his fortune on the railroad would think a temperamental train was harbinger of something terrible, and Roman tried to shake those feelings. It was nothing more than coincidence or an ironic twist of fate that the first and only time Roman would leave home and defiantly strike out on his own that there would be some sort of malfunction.

If you walk out this door, you are no son of mine.

Mr. Kitt's words still stung, hours later. They clung to Roman's clothes like smoke and he drew a deep breath, hoping his father's ultimatum would dissolve from memory. But those sharp-edged words lingered like a bruise, and Roman quickened his pace, relaxing his white-knuckled grip on his typewriter case.

He rolled his tired shoulders and angled his neck until it popped.

If this was a terrible idea or the beginning of a bad luck streak, then Roman supposed he deserved it. If his father never wanted to see or speak to him again, then Roman also supposed he deserved it. He could carry such heavy terrible things, ignoring the pain and the grief they roused, but he could not live with the regret.

It had been his paramour for a while now. Regret haunted him at night when he lay down between the sheets, eyes open to the darkness. It follows him to work and back, through the gloaming hours. It was in every shadow of his parents' mansion, the places where Del had once laughed and thrived, and it often stole his breath on his runs. 

He regretted many things, and he did not want to create another when it came to Iris.

"Hello Winnow," he said, practicing his speech. "You look good. No, you look well? Never bloody mind, and yes I'm here to write articles for the Inkridden Tribune, same as you. I..."

Roman sighed. He had no idea how to break the news to her that he was Carver. He only knew that it needed to be done in person, and that was why he was chasing after Iris. That was why he was trembling like he had never run a kilometer in all his life. Indeed, he felt like he was all but stumbling his way to the war front. Sweat was breaking out on his palms and creating patches on his jumpsuit when the road finally curved up a hillock. 

At last, he saw the town in the distance. 

Roman stopped, gazing at Avalon Bluff. It was quaint and cozy, reminding him of a painting in a storybook. Stone-walled houses with thatched roofs sprawled their way up a hill, woven together with gardens and dirt-packed streets. Pastures seemed to stretch in all directions, rolling onward for as far as he could see, trimmed in dark green forests and mossy fences. 

It was vastly different from the brick, steel, and pavement of Oath. Roman could taste the meadows, the damp loam, the pines in the distance. He was surprised by the nostalgia that welled in his throat, making his sight blur. He had never been to the bluff before, so why did it feel like he was returning to a place he longed for?

He inwardly shook himself. He needed to focus on the important task at hand. 

What are you doing here, Kitt?

There was a high chance that Iris would greet him with those sharp words, and most likely indignant, shocked expression. There was an even better chance that her competitive nature would spark at the mere sight of him and Roman was surprised by how much he both craved it--there was something comforting in being side-by-side with her, even if they were rivals and one was doomed to lose--and by how much he simply wanted to just sit in the same room with her and do ordinary things, like argue over poets and compare tea and make remarks about the weather. 

"I'm not who you think I am," he whispered and then grimaced. Should he say it confidently? Should he say it mournfully? Why did his thoughts seem incoherent every time he envisioned seeing Iris again? Roman shivered in the sunlight, his anticipation flaring like embers. A cool breeze blew, tousling his dark hair like curious fingers. He was still standing on the road, unmoving as a statue, when he heard the distain wail of a siren. 

He didn't know what the siren meant, but it couldn't be for anything good. 

Roman decided to cut through the field, his heart hammering in his chest. The long grass whisked at his knees and dragonflies coasted on their iridescent wings around him, but his eyes were fixated on the town in the distance, and how strangely still and quiet it seemed to be. As if it had been abandoned. 

Was this a practice siren? And for what? Bombs?

He frowned, glancing up at the sky again. The clouds were thin and spread like butter across it, but there was an unmistakable chill in the air that hadn't been there a moment ago when he was at the road.

Hurry, a voice whispered to him.

Hurry.

He could feel the word beat in his blood.

Roman walked faster. He was in the middle of the field and was wondering which house he should approach--he was going to have to ask a complete stranger to shelter him--when his gaze was caught by something moving in the distance ahead of him. A slender shadow in a sea of golden grass.

He narrowed his eyes and realized it was a woman. Five steps later, he could discern her face and drew a sharp breath. The world seemed to tilt and freeze, save for Roman's heart, which continued to erratically pound. 

Iris.

She was running, no, sprinting to him, her long brown hair tanging behind her. There was fear in her expression, desperation in the way she moved, and Roman instantly dropped his typewriter and leather bag. He broke into a run to meet her, and he knew then that something was terribly wrong. Something was wrong and they were both in danger, and Roman needed to reach her first, before the world fell apart. 

His long legs devoured the ground beneath him. He almost twisted his ankle when he stepped on a rock, but he never let his attention slip from Iris. She was shouting, but he couldn't hear her. Not over the roar in his ears and the rush of his breaths, which cut his lungs like a blade. The air was cold as midwinter and the sunshine was beginning to dwindle, turning gray like storm light. There were shadows bruising the clouds behind Iris. Shadows that were moving and growing closer, high in the sky, but Roman didn't dare look up at them.

He kept his eyes on her and the distance that had felt immense moments ago suddenly vanished. The space between them melted and Roman was reaching out to grab her, her name smoldering in his chest, curling on his tongue, when Iris did the most peculiar, unexpected thing. 

She took two fistfuls of his jumpsuit as if she both wanted to drag him against her and keep him away. And then she pushed him to the ground. 

Roman was so shocked he went down like a stack of cards, taking her with him. He couldn't help but cling to her, his hands caught up in her hair as his back hit the earth with such force it made him wheeze. His fingers splayed over the curve of her back, holding her firmly against him, and he finally managed to find his voice. He gaped at her and said, "Winnow?" Winnow, what is hap--?"

"Don't move, Kitt!" Iris whispered urgently in response. But of course she would cut him off, and Roman nearly protested until he felt how frantically her chest rose and fell against his. How terror shone in her eyes like ice as she gazed down at him. "Don't speak, don't move."

He didn't speak, and he didn't move. Iris shivered and closed her eyes, and he felt every point of contact between them. The way their legs tangled together, how their ribs aligned. He studied her face, so close to his that he could feel her warm breath fan across his mouth.

This is not what I expected, he was thinking. This is not--

Roman's thoughts went completely silent when he saw the eithral glide above them.

He pressed his hands firmly into Iris's back, feeling her quake against him, and he swallowed as her hair tickled his chin. But she was unmoving, as if she had charmed herself into stone against him, and he did his best to mirror her. To inhale shallow, quiet breaths, to ignore the sweat that tricked down his nose and the way his right ankle was itching from the grass. To not think about the flap of wings in the sky above, and what it would mean if he should flinch or move in that instance.

When the creatures began to screech and circle overhead, Roman felt his stomach lurch.

He bit the inside of his cheek; he could feel panic surge like a tide about to overcome him. His bones were aching, his pulse rattling his ears. He thought he might be about to pass out until a single thought, echoed through him: don't look at them. Look at her.

Roman's gaze returned to Iris.

Her eyes were still clenched shut, but she was holding onto him as if nothing could come between them. Not even the eithrals haunting the sky above. Not magic or war or death or fear. She was like a shield that he could rest beneath, and at first he wanted to feel ashamed that he was letting her cover him. He should be protecting her. But with each breath he drew, the steadier and calmer his heart became. He could smell lavender and the loam on her skin--he felt safe, tucked away with her in the long grass--and he marveled at her.

There was peace in her expression, as if she were far away. Roman wondered what she was thinking about.

He took that moment to memorize her. The constellation of freckles on her face. The slant of her lips. The dark curl of her eyelashes against her fair skin. The blush of her cheeks and the sharp line of her jaw.

Before he was ready, Iris opened her eyes and met his gaze.

She had caught him staring, and he expected to see a flash of anger or smugness in her. He expected to feel her fingers dig into his shoulders, her nails biting his skin. A punishment, a reminder, a way to bring him back to the present because while she might like him in word, she didn’t like him in person. But as she held his gaze--hazel, soft, relieved--he was swiftly reminded that Iris Winnow was anything but the expected. From the moment she had first walked into the Oath Gazette to the first time her letter had whispered its way beneath his wardrobe door...Iris had been unpredictable and surprising to Roman. Like turning a page only to be cut by its edge.

And maybe that was why he found it difficult to look away from her. 

Maybe that was why he had given up everything to follow her to the front.

Iris...Iris I'm not who you think I am.

The shadows began to recede. The cold snapped; bright sunshine and warmth flooded the world again, and the wind soughed through the grass, as if Dacre's creatures were only illustrations in a storybook. It was over, and yet Roman didn't move. He waited for Iris to push herself up to a sitting position. She was still seated on his lap, wiggling ever so slightly. He swallowed, his skin flushing.

But then she glared down at him and Roman felt static, crackling in the air between them. Ah yes. This was familiar and oddly comforting; this was what he had expected, and he was hungry to hear her voice. He wanted to see what she was going to make of his arrival, and he couldn't hide the smirk that played across his mouth.

"What the hell are you going here, Kitt?" Iris shoved him in the chest. "Have you lost your mind?"

Yes, he thought. It's been lost for a while now.

Slowly, his hands slid down her back, coming to rest on her hips. For one heady moment, he wondered if she was about to kiss him but then realized no. A slap was more likely. He would take either from her, although he preferred the former.

The imagining was so wild it made him smile. It felt like a weight had just crumbled from his shoulders. A weight he had been carrying for years. He felt like he could breathe deeply again.

Thank the gods the train broke down, Roman mused inwardly.