Chapter 16
==================================================
“Would you join me for a meal afterward, even if we detour through the café first?”
Everett proposed covering a belated supper for her.
Those modest food stands in the capital’s evening bazaar offered unique flavors, ideal payback for someone stuck at a desk amid the holiday bustle.
She nodded fast, fearing he might reconsider.
A wide grin lit his face.
“We should move quick, before the watchmen lose steam.”
He nodded toward the route leading to the café.
Just as she’d told the sentry, festival revelers swarmed the bazaar vicinity for the birthday event.
Worse yet, their route clashed directly against the flow toward those lights.
She couldn’t help pondering how it resembled nothing like fish fighting currents.
Battling the throng, she felt his fingers extend once more.
He carved a path effortlessly amid the press, advancing steadily.
She trailed right behind, slipping into the gaps he created.
Roughly twenty minutes passed.
The café loomed ahead, its windows pitch-black.
Worry creased his forehead.
“Looks like the staff headed out for shifts.”
Caught off guard by the turn, he paused at the entrance, then beckoned her over.
“Back entrance through the guild.”
Same one he’d used before to escort her inside.
He circled into the side lane, unlocking the guild access tucked beside an aged bookshop.
“Step in and hold tight. Five minutes tops—make it four.”
He stationed her just within the guild threshold.
Practical choice: no full access for an outsider like her, yet safer than abandoning her in shadows.
Even retreating deeper, he glanced over his shoulder repeatedly, uneasy.
“You mentioned ten before. Mind if I start the clock?”
She teased lightly, prodding him onward.
“Only if you’ve got timepiece handy.”
His lips curved in a subtle smile.
This time he vanished ahead without a backward peek.
She settled against the dim passage wall, lacking any way to track seconds, simply anticipating Everett.
Time dragged little.
He reemerged from the gloom soon after, tension eased from his frame—clear sign of success.
Spotting her slouched there, he hastened closer.
She pushed upright to meet him.
“Back already?”
“Couldn’t dawdle with you out here. Ready to head off?”
He held the door wide.
They slipped back into the lane, doubling toward the bazaar glow.
“Craving anything specific?”
He inquired, steering her past refined, spotless dining spots.
Tea had blunted her appetite earlier.
“Stroll first, circle back later?”
He mulled briefly, then indicated a row of humble vendor carts.
Again, he forged ahead through the masses.
She pressed near, threading the human river without snag.
This rare celebration sprawled vendors well past normal bounds.
Her eyes darted over treat carts and trinket booths.
Grilled meat and veggie sticks, glazed in thick crimson glaze, drew her stare sharpest.
Somehow amid the din, he caught her soft comment, his attention snapping to the same stand.
That fiery coating made him wince faintly.
“Better a real dinner than mere bites.”
He urged gently.
“That might satisfy me way more, honestly.”
Her focus lingered, prompting his quiet, entertained exhale as he handed over coins.
Though hesitant, he claimed a stick too, matching her bazaar adventure.
She murmured gratitude, then chomped deep.
She savored its bold sweet-heat kick, a true delight matching her tastes.
One vanished fast.
Yearning tugged her gaze back.
He polished his off swiftly, signaling firmly.
“Enough treats, Ms. Diaz.”
Command rang firm, unyielding.
She inwardly scoffed at his instructor-like sternness.
Pouting from his view, she drifted from the cart.
Beyond snack vetoes, he proved an easygoing guide.
He lingered calm as she halted at stall after stall.
Her grasp brimmed with sacks of baubles—charming bead strands, carved wood bits, pretty yet pointless.
His patience let her roam freely, soaking the bazaar charm.
They hit the fringe soon, streetlamps fading.
“End of the stalls back there,” she noted, eyeing distant lanterns wistfully.
“We’ve covered plenty. Turn around—slum edge ahead, risky beyond.”
He scanned warily, declaring it.
She assented, shifting her load.
Noticing the pile, he offered his palm.
“Let me take a few.”
“They’re awkward, not weighty—like less than floral bunch.”
She jangled the looped sacks on her arm to prove.
He eyed her slender limb skeptically yet relented, pivoting toward lights.
“Spooky corner, though.”
She hastened after, voicing it.
“Capital’s aged trouble zone. Twisting lanes perfect for vanishing acts.”
His words stayed even, but she matched his stride tighter.
He glanced back, soft laugh escaping.
“Funny, Ms. Diaz—you dread thieves over specters.”
He jested, arm hovering guard near her side.
“While Sir Rojas panicked at phantoms.”
She fired back, lips pursed, accepting the shield.
“True—ghost shows, you’re on duty.”
He conceded with mock worry, easing when she held firm.
“Thieves fit here better anyhow.”
Tone sharpening, he spoke louder, as if warding off lurkers.
“Back home, boost watches round the bazaar. Drifters like us wander too far.”
She endorsed the plan.
“Sensible. Holiday scale pushed vendors outward—unlike my prior visits.”
“War displaced border folk into city fringes, swelling the underbelly.”
His gaze tightened, mind already churning.
“Hold up, Ms. Diaz.”
He halted abrupt, rubbing jaw, peering intently.
That focused stare stirred her nerves.
“Tempt fate, and it answers.”
Her hushed query drew his calming grin.
“Footfalls nearby—could be innocents.”
Doubt shadowed his words, though.
She pivoted slowly toward his focus.
Forms eluded her sight, not his.
Lately her fortune soured, she reflected grimly, fingers twisting his cuff.
“First thing, temple offering tomorrow.”
Just then, rough figures slunk from the murk.
