#cirimeni

As fascinating as the Core is, it is not her target tonight. Oh no, that would be too predictable, and impractical given her supplies. The Core is massive, weighing over five tons, and filled with so much energy that improper handling could not only kill her, but level everything in a ten mile radius. Miriel is a thief, not a murderer.

Miriel’s target, or rather targets, are smaller but just as worthy. Everyone will be expecting a move on the Core tonight, which makes other targets that much more appealing. After all, they don’t need the Core itself - just the blueprints on how it works. But that is late game, right now is just a game.

“We’re in position,” a feminine robotic voice hums in Miriel’s earpiece disguised as an elaborate ear cuff. Miriel smiles in acknowledgement, knowing that Cirimeni’s got eyes all over the building and can very well see her.

Normally she likes to be in the shadows, slinking in and out before anyone sees her. Tonight is a different story, though. There are too many guards to be able to successfully cat burgle anything. So Miriel is taking a page out of the old heist manual and going in as the distraction. Cirimeni and Fenris had debated vehemently with her about this, but it’s the best option.

She just happens to be his type.

Or at least close enough that the approximators she’s wearing can make her seem irresistible to the heir to the Evanuris wealth. Her contacts are blue, masking her golden eyes, and her face approximator softens some of the angles in her face, making her appear more doll like. Approximators cover her left arm and leg like hose, hiding the dark vine tattoos that swirl over almost the entirety of her left side. While she doesn’t think he cares about tattoos, they’re too distinctive and could give her away.

Miriel’s dressed herself in a low cut, high slit black halter dress that makes her golden skin practically glow. Her long honey blond hair is left long and down, enticing some idiot to grab it. Or perhaps a specific idiot.

“Invitation,” the guard asks at the front glass doors. Miriel smiles and produces the holographic invitation from her small purse.

“Aeva du Roche,” she purrs in a flawless Orlesian elven accent, “curator at the Jader High Museum.” The guard gives her a look and looks down at the holograph. He runs a hand over it, the electricity reacting to the slim finger piece he’s wearing on his ring finger. A band at the base of the piece clicks then turns a bright green.

“You’re cleared. Enjoy the party.” He steps aside, gesturing to the door. She half expects him to open it before she realizes that the door itself is a hologram. Eluvian tech? Fancy indeed.

She smiles at the guard, taking her invitation back before stepping through the door. The energy tickles the approximators, giving her tiny shocks along her arms, face, and leg. She shows no signs of discomfort, accustomed to the small shocks her little devices give her.

The inside of the building is more opulent and grand than the outside with immense custom made glittering chandeliers that glow blue with energy, glistening marble floors, and a roof made entirely out of glass. The ceilings are tall enough to make a giant feel small and she wonders if June took that thought into consideration when building - making sure everyone felt small when compared to the might and power of the Evanuris family.

Mythal must be delighted.

Miriel doesn’t mind feeling small, not like many of these ass kissing socialites who are only here to garner favor. Small things are rarely noticed and that is ultimately her goal - not to be noticed. Except for tonight, of course, she is banking on being noticed.

The front room is flanked by pillars that support the glass ceiling and those pillars create smaller alcoves where groups of people have gathered in meeting. Miriel walks down the center of the room toward the atrium, smiling at any passerby. The front room is for gossips, and while she normally is a fan, tonight is a mission.

The great double door are so large they cannot be opened by a person but instead either be opened by sensors or by runes. They are kept open tonight, however, allowing free exploration of the rooms. She steps through the threshold and into the atrium, and while she knows what to expect with the Core, she cannot help but gasp in awe of it. It’s...radiant, pulsating with energy within its titanium steel display case. She steps closer to it, unable to ignore how it beats like a heart -

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Someone says next to her. She turns quickly to see a tall man, a handsome tall elven man next to her. His dark hair is slicked back from his face, highlighting his bright blue eyes. This is Darevas Evanuris, son to Dirthamen Evanuris and nephew to Falon’Din, the heir. Not her mark but...enticing enough to engage in conversation certainly. He’s rumored to not be much older than she is, recently graduating with his MBA. She wonders where his twin is, the two are rarely seen apart.

Miriel lets her eyes drag over him for a second, appraising his build and his clothes, and that watch, before looking him in the eye. She smiles, “It is. A true marvel of engineering.”

Like most men, he is pleased at her roaming eye and seems to puff up just a bit for her, “I’m equally as impressed by how beautiful they made it. It’s nice to see the future is efficient and beautiful.”

“Oh yes,” she says, “It would be dreadful to have such a marvel be hideous. Especially to throw a party around it.” She is perhaps a tad too cheeky but Darevas chuckles.

“I am Darevas, by the way,” he says, offering his hand. She takes his hand, shaking it, turning it over gently to expose his golden watch.

“Aeva du Roche, a pleasure. And is this a Jacobson? Those are quite rare now, with modern technology.” She lets his hand go and he blushes slightly.

“Ah, yes. It was a gift for my recent graduation.”

“Oh? Congratulations are in order then. I would offer you a toast, but I am afraid we have no drinks.”

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Darevas looks around, spies one of the servers and beckons him over. He takes two glasses off the tray and offers one to Miriel with a charming smile. She accepts the champagne and clinks her glass to his.

“Congratulations, may your future be as bright as this marvel.” She sips from her glass, maintaining his eye contact.

“Thank you. And might I ask what is your occupation, Lady Aeva? Everyone here knows my family and business, it puts me at a disadvantage.”

Oh he is a charming one, isn’t he? She glances around the room, not seeing her mark. The night is still young and she has some time, she supposes. Getting in good with this little lordling may not be such a bad thing.

“I would not say that, your father has done quite a good job at concealing you from the public,” but not good enough to keep Miriel from digging, “I know little about you.”

“Ah, then might we play the game, then?”

“The Game? You speak to an Orlesian, darling, The Game manes something quite specific to us.” She teases and he chuckles.

“Ah yes, The Game. I merely mean the game that people who have just met each other play, where one asks a question and the other answers and asks a question in turn.”

“Oh, that game. Are you sure you are up to playing?” She teases, walking around him. He follows her a bit like a puppy. She can feel his eyes roaming over her body and for once she is not repulsed by the action. Men ogle her, they want her, and she is happy to put on a show as long as they adhere to all museum rules - look but no touching.

“I did suggest it,” he says.

“Very well. I shall begin. What is your degree in?”

“Business, specifically looking into ethics.” Now that is a surprise. Ethics from an Evanuris? Perhaps he learned about them to only better aid his family is breaking them. The family has had no issue in violating any code of ethics before. Killing people, embezzlement, theft of Dalish land and artifacts. She would not be surprised if the Core is stolen technology from the dwarves.

“I did not realize the family had an interest in business ethics,” she says off-handedly, looking at a rather dull human made bust of an old king.

“Ah, but perhaps it is not about my family and about me.” What a novel concept to have one of the Evanuris to want to step away some from the family’s interests. So novel a concept that it must be a lie.

As handsome as he is, Miriel must remember who he is, who his family is.

“Perhaps, and isn’t all higher education an ode to oneself?” she says, turning into a hallway that runs adjacent to the atrium. It is filled with more busts of famous historical figures that she doesn’t care to know.

“And you protest such things?” He asks and she chuckles.

“Hardly. Who is to say I have not written a symphony to myself with all my education?” She hasn’t, but she is playing someone who likely has.

“Have you?” He asks.

“I have. Bachelor’s, Master’s, a PhD. I am my biggest fan,” she plays.

“Dr. du Roche, then.”

“Yes,” she turns to him and leans up by his ear, “but you, darling, call me Aeva.” The air charges with slight magic and it reminds her of his lineage. The Evanuris are known to be mages and he is no different, it seems. Magic curls around them, prickling along the lines of her approximators.

“Very well, Aeva,” his voice is low and sends an involuntary shiver down her back. She needs to keep her purpose in mind, needs to not become caught up in whatever this is. Her loneliness is only outmatched by her outrage and determination.

My people will be free once again. And those blueprints are the key to said freedom.

“Do be a dear,” she says, “and show me this incredible building. I long to see what treasures your family has acquired.” Stolen more like. Darevas is a dear, though, offering his arm before he whisks her off around the museum. He is a good host, telling her about the pieces. She spots at least a dozen fake items and more that she knows to be stolen or at least acquired in illegal means. She’s seen them on the black market - she has even pawned a few of these at the beginning of her thieving career. To keep up her ruse, she tells him a few things about a couple of the pieces she knows.

By the time they return to the atrium she thinks that surely her mark has arrived. But she cannot see him and the band is cueing up a song.

“May I have this dance?” Darevas asks. She shouldn’t, it’s a bad idea, yet she finds herself taking his offered hand.

“I do so love to dance,” she says and lets him guide her across the floor. He is a marvelous dancer, leading her perfectly through the dance. It is a simpler formal dance to appeal to the widest cast of people here, but the way Darevas dances makes it feel more incredible than its actual simple steps.

The song ends and she finds she wants to keep dancing. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thinks, to stay and -

“Falon’din has entered the building,” Cirimeni says and she inwardly curses. Miriel smiles up at Darevas and draws a delicate nail down his cheek.

“You are a darling.” She extricates herself from his arms, dragging her hands down so that her fingers coil delicately over his watch. She unclasps it all the while maintaining his gaze. He is rapt with her and it almost makes her feel bad.

Almost. She steps away, disappearing into the crowd, slipping his watch into her purse. He won’t miss it. His family is made of money and if he throws a fit, she’s sure Mamae and Papae will buy him another.

Now she must set her trap for one of the worst members of the family. A rapist and a killer, Falon’din is kept along as a sort of embarrassing pet to Mythal. She makes sure the law doesn’t look at Falon’din overlong and in turn, Falon’din victimizes people throughout the land.

Miriel slinks into the shadows and up to the third floor, mapping her route. June Evanuris’s office is located at the back of the museum, overlooking both the atrium and the gardens. It is a spacious and gorgeous office but it is also sealed - only someone with Evanuris level clearance can enter. As much as a disappointment Falon’din is, he is an Evanuris. She pulls out a small appliance from her purse and places it on the door. It beeps to life and does a scan of the room beyond the glass. A hologram projects in front of the device, giving Miriel the ability to survey the room without setting off any alarms. She manipulates the hologram, looking at every nook and cranny. The blueprints are likely in a safe, on a password encrypted drive.

Aha! There, on the left wall there is a false panel. If she pops it open, it will reveal its secrets. All she needs is to get the drive, the others can solve the rest.

Next, she puts another device on the handle and activates it. This program alters the DNA scan to verify the person pulling the door is verified to enter. She has a strand of Sylaise’s hair but alas, the scanner requires a living person. The bug she’s using to override the scan isn’t even exactly overriding the scan, but rather programing it to ignore some of the DNA so that a relative to the verified person can enter.

Ah, gotta love black market tech. Unfortunately, Darevas is not close enough in relation to Sylaise for it to work with him. Miriel needs either a brother, a sister, a mother, or a father. Andruil is not at this gathering and Dirthamen is rumored to be unwavering faithful. She isn’t going anywhere close to Mythal or Elgar’nan. Sylaise herself is plastered next to June all night and will not be lured away.

That leaves Miriel with Falon’din.

Satisfied with her plan, Miriel peels off the reader and puts it back in her purse. She heads down to the atrium once more.

“Where is he?” she whispers.

“In the eastern wing of the atrium by the fountain, sulking.” He won’t be sulking for long. Miriel touches up her lipstick and fluffs her hair. Time to get this show started.

It should terrify her, what she is planning to do, but instead she feels a sick sort of glee. Nothing makes her happier than robbing assholes. The music in the hall rises as she descends the stairs.

There he is, leaning against a pillar, scowling at the fountain, arms folded over his chest like a petulant child. The only other person she loathes more is Mythal, but she is at least not trying to lure and seduce Mythal.

Miriel steps slightly out of the shadows and poses a little, tilting her head back, exposing her neck. Falon’din’s gaze flickers up, back down, then up again, settling on her.

Got him.

She shifts her weight and bats her eyelashes. Intent blazes in his eyes and stalks forward. She grins, crooking her finger at him before bolting up the stairs.

Have to be faster. She bolts up the two flights of stairs, flashing smiles back at her pursuer. His age has slowed him but he is still dangerous, she knows. At the top of the stairs, she turns and beckons him more.

“I found the perfect place,” she croons, backing up to June’s office.

He’s breathing heavily but still moving towards her.

“I can’t get it open,” she pouts, “maybe you’ll get it open?” She bites her lip, hoping he doesn’t just forego the room completely. Her luck is with her, however and he grasps the handle. There is a noticeable whirr then click and the door eases open.

“Oh you are amazing,” she purrs, slinking past him inside. Close the doo-

He follows her inside, grasps her hair and pulls.

“Ah!” She cries as he yanks her head back to look at him.

“You’re a tease, aren’t you?” He slants his mouth over hers and she has to resist gagging. The plan, she has to remember the plan. And fortunately, she planned for this occurance.

The fingers on her left hand press into her palm, typing in a code into a the approximator. Electricity seizes her arm and she shoves her hand up to Falon’din’s face.

He screams as the electricity courses into his body and the buzzer saps his magic but he is bigger than she anticipated and it’s not enough to down him like she had originally hoped.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” He shouts charging her. His hand comes around her throat as he throws her against the glass, making it crack. She cries out in pain before the hair is slowly squeezed from her. Her eyes go wide as she realizes she has made a horrible mistake.

He tears her dress down, exposing her.

Can’t breathe - ! But she can remember. Miriel gives a small hop, lifting her feet to launch a kick into his knees. He buckles, surprised enough that his grip loosens. She reaches up and pulls on his fingers, twisting them until break. He shrieks in pain but she doesn’t let up. She grabs his hair and knees him the face.

Go down, go down. But the bastard is tough and he is beginning to cast.

Shit! She leaps over to the desk and grabs a heavy vase. She clubs him over the head with it, then knicks him for good measure before noticing -

Oh no.

His head...is at a sickening angle. Blank eyes stare at nothing and she realizes he’s dead.

She killed him. The Falon’din Evanuris. She, Miriel of clan Bellenan of ill repute and questionable methods, killed Falon’din Evanuris.

She….she’s never killed anyone before.

“We’re coming! Get the blueprints!” Cirimeni shouts in her ear. Right, the...the reason she’s here. Swallowing back the urge to vomit, Miriel stumbles first to the computer. Might as well steal all the files. She plugs in the drive that will pull all the files then limps over to the wall. She presses the panel and a screen appears. Right, the safe. She raises her left hand with the approximator and presses it against the screen.

“Override it,” she says.

“On it,” Lasvala says. The current in her arm is horrendously uncomfortable as it always is, the prosthetic is still wired into her nervous system even if it is designed to be the ultimate subterfuge weapon. “Got it.”

The screen disappears and the panel slides down to reveal a small case. She grabs it just as the door opens and light blasts in from the party.

“Aeva!” Darvas shouts then looks down to see his quite dead uncle. Shit!

Horror crosses over his face and another person appears next to him, “You fought him off…what do you have?” The other person asks and she has no time to explain herself. They’ll kill her, she’s most wanted now. Goodbye Miriel the Thief, hello Miriel the Murderer.

Asshole had it coming, though.

She grabs the drive from the computer then turns, running to the window. She tosses a ball of electricity at the glass and it shatters just as she clears the threshold.

“AEVA!” Darevas shouts.

Overhead is the telltale whirr of the Bird - a weird cross between car, helicopter, and plane. Miriel grabs the lowered cable with her left hand and it takes off, pulling her up as it sails over the gardens.

Her last view of the museum is of Darevas at the broken window, stunned and horrified. She shouldn’t care, really shouldn’t, he’s one of them. It doesn’t matter that he’s into ethics and a divine dancer or that he could potentially be different. Because he’s not different.

The Evanuris are users and abusers.

And she killed one tonight.

The hatch opens up and she crawls into the Bird.

“Took you long enough,” Cirimeni says through her Artificial-Voice Modulator Torque - Y edition, or AMITY for short. “Did you get it?”

“I killed him,” Miriel murmurs, “but yeah, I got it. Plus all their files.”

“Yes! Shit, Miri, you were so cool! Something outta the movies,” Lasvala says as they help her into a seat.

“Maibrit will be happy,” Cirimeni says as she flies the Bird higher into the sky to avoid detection.

“Yeah.” Miriel leans against the seat and tries to calm down. She did it, she got the blueprint.

He knocks three times on the door of the small house in a run downneighborhood. One of the slums; a three hour drive from the library,he notes with some aggravation. Hardly a convenient crime totrack. The persons lack of online presence made them even moredifficult (and expensive) for Felasel to find.

Of course, the door finally opens, and there are several peoplecrowded into the small house. An older man greets him curiously, andFelasels brows furrow slightly at the sound of children playinginside the house.

Not exactly the crime den he had been expecting.

“I'm looking for a...” He blinks down at the name scribbledonto the back of the business card in his hand “Cirimeni?”

The man nods and holds up a single finger, closing the door andyelling out the name loudly enough Felasel is more thankful for thesound barrier than insulted at being shut out. It is another fewminutes, and there is the sound of more children giggling insidebefore a young woman steps out, closing the door carefully behindher.

“Are you Cirimeni?” He asks.

She nods, slowly, eyes grazing up and down his body silently.

“Are you aware you still have New Arlathans copy of the sixthbook in the Dread Wolf chronicles?”

Her eyes widen, and her hand moves to cover her mouth quickly. Sheblushes, shoulders rising as she nods again.

“You are three and a half months overdue on returning itto the library. Do you still have it, at least?”

She nods again this time, rather more vigorously and dashes backinto the (overcrowded, if the noises of people being pushed aside inher haste are any indication) house, slamming the door behind her.

She takes less time to return than she had to show up, the doorquickly opening again to reveal her, panting, with the book in hand.

“Thank you,” Felasel says as she hands it over to him. “Doyou have anything to say in your defense?”

She hesitates, before sheepishly signing 'Sorry' to him.

He blinks, and briefly goes back over their conversation in hishead.

Ah.

It was a bit...one sided, he supposes. He's usually better atnoticing that.

'Don't make a habit of it' he signs back, a bit clumsy from disuse.

Her face breaks out into a large smile, and Felasel is momentarilystunned by the way her eyes light up. Once dull dark orbs illuminatedin the afternoon light peaking through the clothes lines, like lightbouncing off a polished stone in a river.

He forgets to breathe, for a moment.

Forgets to pay attention to what she is saying, as well.

He catches the end of it, something about the book series anddifficulty with transportation and birthdays.

'I won't report you,' he assures her. 'Provided you'lljoin me for lunch.'

She blushes again, signs a bit more timid and closer to her bodynow. 'I don't even know who you are.'

He spells out his name for her, first and last, and watches as hereyes go wide again.

She’s more than a little winded by the time she gets there, and glances down at her watch; two minutes till she clocks in. It really is a godsend that she’d decided to head to work early. It had been a mixture of excitement and nerves that had got her out of bed hours before she’d normally leave.

It isn’t every day a young elf from the slums of Minrathous ends up hired by the Evanuris. 

All those late nights at the library, working three jobs to pay for school and rent…it’s been worth it, she thinks, as she stares up at 50 stories of glass and steel.

Cirimeni swallows, straightens her skirt, and walks inside. 

One of the secretaries at the front desk catches her eye and smiles, as Cirimeni walks over and holds out her letter of employment.

The secretary’s smile wavers a bit, and the look is one that Cirimeni recognizes all too well: How can someone who can’t speak be a public relations specialist? Cirimeni doesn’t need to talk to craft a favorable image for a company, but trying to explain that to everyone she meets is tiring.

Still, the secretary simply hands her her company ID, “You will be working directly with our director and his team. He likes to take a hands on approach with the image of the company, and we’re a smaller branch.”

Smaller branch? Cirimeni doesn’t know how this company could be considered small. Sure, it’s a subsidiary of Arlathan Incorporated, but nothing about Eolasem ltd is remotely small.

The secretary sends one last disparaging glance at Cirimeni’s clothes before waving her off, “Your office is on the 48th floor.”

Which means…she technically is going to be late for her first day. Cirimeni bites the inside of her cheek and presses herself into a corner of the elevator, arms wrapped tightly around her bag. 

Is she going to get fired on her first day of the job? Is her new boss going to look at her and her clothes the same way the secretary had? Her clothes are the most expensive thing she’s ever owned, a gift from her family upon learning she’d been hired. Her watch had been a gift from Lathrandi, and her heels from her best friend Miriel. None of it is brand name, certainly, but it’s still nice.

48 floors is a long time to worry.

When the elevator doors open up on the public relations floor and Cirimeni steps out, she’s half expecting her new boss to be waiting, ready to send her back down those 48 floors and out the door.

Instead, everyone on the floor seems far too busy with their work to even notice her arrival. The main floor plan is open, though she can see several back offices and meeting rooms along its border. The pleasant buzz of conversation makes her relax. 

“You must be Miss Cirimeni!” A plump woman with curly brown hair and a wide smile bustles over, “I’m Hospitality, the manager of the PR Department.”

Cirimeni hurriedly shakes the hand outstretched toward her, and reaches into her bag for her note cards to give her a proper greeting. But Hospitality merely grabs her arm and steers her across the room. 

“Your desk is right here, beside my office. It’s a bit bare, but we’ll make certain to spruce it up. A plant and a photo or two works wonders for making a space all your own.” It’s a nice desk, and there’s a stack of papers already placed upon it, including a list of what looks like passwords for computer files and email addresses for different departments. She doesn’t have time to look it over properly, as Hospitality continues her tour. 

“Now obviously we want to make certain you’re comfortable with our operating systems and current projects before we throw you to the wolves,” Hospitality flashes another reassuring smile Cirimeni’s way, and another knot of anxiousness loosens in her chest, “I thought you could sit in on our next meeting, to get a feel for things. Does that sound good?”

Cirimeni nods vigorously, causing Hospitality to laugh.

“You’re in a good mood, Hospitality.”

Hospitality turns to the speaker, smile becoming softer and more polite, “Mr. Evanuris, I was just showing our newest member the office.”

Cirimeni hurriedly turns to greet her new boss–and freezes in place.

Fingers dancing up her side, nails skimming skin, blue eyes staring down at her in the halflight from behind long lashes, lips parted in a moan–

Cirimeni continues to stare at the last person she ever expected to see again, and wonders at how the gods could be so cruel as to make her boss the person she had a one night stand with. 

Last week.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss…?” 

“Cirimeni,” Hospitality answers for her. All Cirimeni wants to do is sink into the floor and disappear. How could this–how could he be an Evanuris?

“Miss Cirimeni,” His lips tilt up in a bemused smile, and all Cirimeni can think is I kissed those lips, he tasted like frosting.

Nothing in any of her business courses had mentioned the proper response to learning that you’ve had sex with your new boss. Maybe he won’t recognize me. It was dark, and he’s probably slept with countless of others. He certainly left the hotel room like someone that’s done it before. It’s fine Cirimeni, just…just don’t mention it.

“I look forward to working with you,” He continues, and reaches out a hand to shake her own. His thumb runs along the top of her knuckles, and it becomes all too clear that pretending she doesn’t know him is going to be futile.

He knows, she thinks, with foreboding.

He’s never spoken to her, never looked her way, as blissfully unaware of her existence as any passing stranger on the streets of Denerim. But to Cirimeni, well, he’s become a bright moment to each and every day. 

Sometimes she daydreams about being someone who could pull him away from the files he’s always reading. Maybe they’re married and he’s come to pick her up for a date at a fancy restaurant, the kind of restaurant someone so smartly dressed must go to, where an item off the menu would cost as much as her rent.

It’s a nice daydream.

One day she’ll greet him, she tells herself. Tomorrow I’ll wave at him. But every tomorrow ends the same.

Today I’ll do it, she thinks. Tomorrow is Wintersend, all I have to do is smile and wish him a happy holiday. She has a small sign at her desk that says it, she can tap the glass to get his attention and point to it and smile and maybe...maybe he’ll smile back. Maybe he won’t, but at least she’ll have the chance to make peace with it.

But when he walks up to her booth and swipes his pass she simply lets him through and watches as he walks through the crowd toward his platform. He’s come and gone before she can barely blink, leaving behind the soft scent of his cologne.

Tomorrow, she tells herself with a soft sigh. Tomorrow. Except tomorrow will be Wintersend, and she’s asked for the day off. She’s worked every holiday so far, but she owes it to her parents to be with them on their favorite day of the year. And there’s no way someone as handsome and successful-looking as her mystery man doesn’t have someone to spend the day with.

The sound of shouts and a flurry of movement pulls her from her brooding, and she glances toward where a crowd has gathered along the edge of the platform.

“Someone’s fallen onto the tracks!”

Her heart drops, and she finds herself scanning faces, color draining from her own when she doesn’t see him.

She doesn’t see him.

She isn’t supposed to leave her booth but she pushes through the crowd, muscling her way past onlookers as she goes. People move back, afraid to suffer the same fate, and she nearly stumbles at the end.

There he is, lying unconscious on the rail. She can’t tell from here, but it looks like he’s bleeding.

Cirimeni looks around for help, but no one is moving aside from a few onlookers pulling out their phones. Cirimeni swallows, before she shuffles toward the edge of the platform and lowers herself onto the tracks, hurrying forward, heart hammering in her chest.

His eyes are closed and he’s unresponsive as she gently shakes him, afraid to move him too much in case he’s injured. As she checks him over her fingers touch something warm and wet in his hair. Blood. Cirimeni gestures back at the crowd, trying to motion for help, just as a train horn blares.

A train is coming, she can see it coming around the turn. She shakes him a little harder but he doesn’t respond. Please wake up! Please, the train isn’t going to stop! She looks up as the train sounds another warning, barreling toward them.

No time to think, she hooks her hands under his arms and pulls, dragging him back toward the shoulder of the platform and the small space between the tracks. She stumbles and nearly falls, righting herself at the last moment and with one final tug as several people on the platform scream.

The roar of the train is deafening as it rattles past, she can feel it in her bones as she clutches the man to her and closes her eyes, bracing herself for an impact. When her ears finally stop ringing, the voice of her co-worker rises above the the din calling her a thousand different kinds of idiot and she can’t help but agree. There are protocols for this and she’d ignored every single one like an utter fool. At least someone had called for an ambulance, and her coworker informs her they’ve called in the problem and stopped anymore trains from entering this side of the station.

Cirimeni stares down at the handsome face of the elf she’s saved and can’t help but smile to herself.

Worth it.

She finds herself riding in the ambulance with him, as the EMTs pepper her with questions and check his vitals. She tries to sign to them that she doesn’t know his name or his medical history, and one of the paramedics catches on and apologizes and finds the mystery man’s wallet in his coat pocket.

“Felasel Evanuris,” he calls to his coworker. Cirimeni looks back down at him. Felasel. She has a name to put to his face now. It’s an old name, with roots in Arlathan elvhen; she may have been unable to finish her degree at university, but she hasn’t forgotten all of her classes.

“Are you family?”

Cirimeni blinks, taken aback at the question, before shaking her head. She reaches into her own coat to pull out the notepad she keeps with her to explain, only to find that hand otherwise preoccupied. Sometime during the chaotic ride she’d grabbed Felasel’s hand in her own—or he had reached for hers, though she figures the latter is less likely.

The paramedic glances down at their hands and nods, before his expression softens a bit. “From what I can see the head injury isn’t that serious. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot, so they look worse than they are.”

Cirimeni swallows and nods. Good, that’s good. There had definitely been a lot of blood when the paramedics had arrived. She’d tried to staunch the bleeding with her coat which had left her looking quite a mess. The scarf Miriel had given her as a nameday present doesn’t look like it can be salvaged.

When the ambulance pulls up to the hospital, she finds herself pulled along with the paramedics as nurses and a doctor for the emergency room begin asking questions and moving him further down the hall. Finally they wheel Felasel through a door and one of the nurses stops her. “Only family beyond this point, serah.”

“It’s alright,” the paramedic chimes in from behind her. “She’s his fiance.”

---

It all moves so quickly, after that. Cirimeni finds herself ushered into a waiting room as the doctor’s look Felasel over.

Fiance.

She needs to find someone to clean the situation up, but there’s no one nearby and the nurse at the information desk seems overwhelmed by phone calls. Cirimeni supposes there are lots of emergencies during holidays.

So Cirimeni keeps herself as busy as possible. She has her purse, at least. She’d had the wherewithal to grab it before getting into the ambulance. She messages her coworker who tells her everything is fine and not to worry about the rest of her shift. She thinks of messaging her friends, but doesn’t know what to say. 

Miriel is with her family and clan in Antiva, and likely won’t have service. Lathrandi is with their boyfriend and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. She texts Fenris asking if he’ll feed Amity, but can’t bring herself to say anything else. Not until she’s had more time to process it. Besides, in a few hours it will just be a funny story to tell over a glass of wine. No need to worry anyone just yet.

A nurse finds her an hour later and shows her to Felasel’s room. A doctor explains the situation to her; he’s in a coma, and they aren’t certain when he’ll awaken. He’s stable, but they can’t give her a timeline for when he might wake up. The doctor is very gentle when he breaks the news, and tells her that the hospital has already contacted his family through his emergency medical contacts, and not to worry.

That’s a relief, at least. His family will be there soon, and then everything will be alright.

I’ll clear this all up in the morning, she decides as she settles down into the chair next to his bed. No one should be alone on Wintersend.

As she takes his hand, she swears he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze.

---

Cirimeni is jolted awake by the sound of a chorus of voices.

“—where is he?”

“ —Selene, they say he is stable—”

“Mom he’s in here!”

She manages to sit up from where she’s slumped over the bed just as the door to the room opens and three people rush inside, followed by the nurse; two men and one woman, all elves. The family resemblance is instantly recognizable, the most stunning being the sight of a man who is obviously Felasel’s twin.

The woman barely notices her as she rushes toward the bedside. Her hands glow softly with magic as she places it on his forehead, expression torn.

“Serah Evanuris, please, using magic is prohibited unless by the staff,” The nurse warns.

“I’m just checking,” She answers curtly, not taking her eyes off Felasel’s face. From this close, Cirimeni can see the vivid green of her eyes reflected on the nearby monitor. This must be Felasel’s mother, Cirimeni decides, noticing the white hair that matches the streak in Felasel’s own locks.

Cirimeni glances from the woman to the two men still standing near the doorway. The elder man—Felasel’s father?—continues talking with the nurse in a low voice. It is the younger man, the twin, who notices her first. A thoughtful frown covers his face, “Who are you?”