Chapter 12

The rest of her deliveries are downright pleasant in comparison to her time in Pouuer, and the adrenaline that surged through her veins down there dulls everything else to a breeze. Orders blur into one another—open doors, exchanged smiles, steam rising from freshly sealed cartons. The city softens again, the way it always does after she's earned it. Rain taps gently against her hood, the streets glow with quiet post-midnight haze, and time slips through her fingers like broth through a sieve.

Before she knows it, she's back at Umami Hollow, the windows fogged and flickering gold. She drops her delivery bag behind the counter and helps J close the till in near silence—just the click of keys, the hush of sliding bills, the soft clatter of a ceramic cup being washed out one last time.

And then she's speeding home, wind curling under her sleeves, hoping that Cobalt kept his promise.

He did.

As if he'd calculated the exact moment she'd arrive, he's there—standing beneath the same streetlamp near her building. The streetlamp softly illuminates the dark misty gray of the morning and halos the curls of his dark hair. Dawn hasn't quite broken yet, but the sky is shifting—purple-gray, heavy with the weight of morning.

As she parks and dismounts her scooter, he quickly strides towards her, wordless and smooth. As though sensing her exhaustion, he takes the handlebars from her gently and wheels the scooter over to the rack, locking it with ease as though he's done it a hundred times.

"Hungry?" he asks, tilting his head just slightly. His voice is casual. Like the two of them always meet like this at the end of long nights.

"Starving," she grins broadly, and it's the biggest smile she's felt on her face in years. A sense of giddiness washes over her. She's been looking forward to this all night.

There's something strange about him—he's familiar to her in a way that doesn't feel earned yet. She notices that when she's around him, she feels entirely herself. No posturing. No adjustment. No wondering what he thinks of her or what she's supposed to be. What she's supposed to look like. She hasn't felt this way around anyone in her life except J.

He extends his hand.

"Come with me," he says.

She takes it.

It's warm and steady, an indication of something shared between them, unspoken. A current that pulls them together, quiet and sure.

They cross the street, and she lets go of his hand quickly. 

"How do you know where you're going?" She asks.

"I had some spare time while you were working," he answers, glancing at her sideways but not breaking stride. "I went…sightseeing."

"Ah," She answers, feigning a casual tone.

They don't speak after that. They just walk together in silence in the early morning rain.

The city is lies dormant around them. The rain has thinned to a drizzle, more mist than drops. Storefronts sleep behind their grates. Light creeps slowly over the slick asphalt, painting it in shades of pewter. The sky above them is a bruised charcoal, just beginning to lighten into something brighter.

They pass flickering streetlamps, closed noodle stalls, a few stray delivery bikes slumped against their docks. All of Noctreign seems to be folding inward, settling down for the morning.

After a few quiet blocks—Cobalt stops.

They're standing across from a large-windowed diner, big enough to take up a good portion of the block. Its warm light spills out through fogged glass. The sign buzzes lazily overhead in cheerful blue and yellow script: Zannie's All-Hour Breakfast.

"This place?" Ira says, pausing at the curb. "I've passed it a dozen times. Always wanted to try it, it looks great!"

"I thought you'd like it." He murmers.

They cross the street.

Inside, the diner hums with a cheerful yet quiet pace. The lighting is soft and warm, the linoleum floor is speckled and cracked, the booths sturdy but slouching from years of use. A rotating display of pies spins slowly behind the counter, one slice missing. The air smells like butter, cinnamon, and delicious coffee.

An impala hybrid greets them with a friendly smile and sleepy eyes. She wears a yellow apron skirt and her horns are tied with thin satin pink ribbons. There's flour on her cheeks.

"Anywhere you like," she says warmly.

They choose a booth near the back of the diner connected to the window. The cushions are a soft, dark red corduroy—faded in some spots, patched in others. Ira sinks into the seat, briefly noting to herself that she doesn't think she'll ever want to get back up again.

The menu is oversized and full of smudged photos with descriptions in three languages. She doesn't even open it. Just wraps her hands around the mug of coffee the waitress pours without asking.

The heat soaks into her fingers. The first sip is strong, hot, and perfect.

She leans back. The feeling that drapes over her is hard to name. Not comfort, exactly—not safety either. Something more steadfast. It's belonging.

Across from her, Cobalt sits calmly, coffee in hand, watching her with that quiet, even gaze of his. He doesn't smile, not exactly—but there's something gentle in the way he's looking at her. Like she's not something to be examined or solved. Just… seen. As though he's just happy to be there. With her.

"So," he says finally, his long fingers curled around the ceramic cup. "Tell me about your day."

And she does.

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"I just wish I could do something about it," Ira says angrily.

They're still in the diner, have been for hours. They've both ordered and polished off a big plate of fluffy pancakes each, and the coffee is still flowing. The soft red corduroy booth cushions cradle Ira like a den, the scent of warm syrup and fried potatoes lingering in the air. Rain kisses the windows in rhythmic patterns. There's only one other patron in the diner — an wizened old human-wizard hybrid who sleeps at the bar.

Ira's told Colbalt everything—about Pouuer, about the Bone Collector, about the twitching shadows, the people she couldn't save. All of it.

And he has listened. His expression has remained open, his eyes wide, and they rim with tears as she speaks of the worst of it—the underbelly of Noctreign, the cruelty engineered into its advancements. Somehow, even coming from a place as perfect as Hell, he understands. The rot is foreign to him, but not unknowable.

He sits across from her, elbows resting gently on the table. He hasn't interrupted once. Just listened. And she's vented. Rains, she's vented. About how hopeless she felt. About the stitched-mouth siren and the cages. About how much she wants to scream. To burn something down. To tear the whole thing apart and build something better from the wreckage.

And he hasn't tried to quiet her. Hasn't told her to be calm. Instead, he's shared in her anger. In her grief. He's mirrored and savoured her rage as though it's sacred.

Eventually, her words run out, her breath slows, and she slumps against the seat back—empty but lighter.

A soft silence stretches between them—comfortable and full.

She lets herself exhale deeply.

"So. What are we going to do about it?" He finally asks her, leaning forward.

"I don't know." Ira says heavily, resigned. "I don't know what I can do."

"And anyways," she says, tilting her head. "Enough about me. Are we going to talk about how you got here?"

Cobalt smiles cheekily. "Ah. That."

"Yeah. That," she replies, arching her eyebrows.

"Well…" he says, sitting up straighter and sighing. "It's simple, really. You left. And I missed you."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Ira teases, raising her mug to her lips.

"I did," he says earnestly, and holds her gaze. "To be honest, I was… nervous. That I wouldn't see you again. That maybe I wasn't supposed to. Or something would…prevent me from being able to."

Something flickers in his expression that she doesn't recognize, and he looks at her with an intensity that makes her heart beat too fast. She drops her eyes to her coffee.

Unbothered, he continues.

"Showing you the palace… it stirred something in me. I newfound resolve to solve the mystery I showed you at the palace. Something I…I actually hope you'll help me uncover."

He pauses, looking at her. She doesn't answer. Her silence invites him to keep going.

"So I started spending time at the library again. A lot of time."

"Hang on," Ira interrupts. "You have a library and didn't show me? There are no libraries in Noctreign. Just overpriced bookshops and corporate archives. Ironically, I've only read about libraries in books."

"We have libraries," he confirms with a smile. "The people of Hell love to read."

"I can't believe you didn't show me that when I was there." 

She scoffs playfully, shaking her head. But her envy is genuine.

"Anyway," Cobalt says, continuing, "by week three of my research spiral, I was in some obscure wing of the library—between two shelves of forgotten books about community magic—when the back wall opened into a portal, the same as the one near the fountain in the square."

"It just opened?" Ira questions.

He nods. "It just opened. Through it, I saw a city. Wet. Dark. Neon. Something told me it would lead me to you, I can't explain why. So I didn't hesitate. I stepped through."

"You just jumped straight in?"

"Of course I did," he says. 

"And then I landed in Noctreign. And I…I felt you here immediately."

He looks at her again, serious now.

"When it comes to you, Ira, I have this... feeling. A pull. I can't really explain it."

Ira's red eyes widen. Her ring pulses faintly. He doesn't need to explain it. She knows exactly what he means.

"It's an easy feeling to follow," he continues. "It led me to your scooter. Then to your apartment. Then to you."

He says it with such casual certainty, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You do realize that sounds... unhinged," Ira says, trying to keep her tone light.

"It's not crazy to me," Cobalt replies evenly. "Remember—I come from a place of ancient magic. Portals and soul-threads? That's standard procedure for me."

"Mmm," she murmurs, sipping her coffee slowly. "Interesting."

She sets the mug down. "So. What do you think Noctreign?"

"What do I think of it?" He leans back, considering, taking her change of topic in stride.

"I think it's…deeply sad," he says at last, voice mournful.

"I mean no disrespect. To you, or to anyone here." He adds quickly. "But something's sick in this place. There's a rot here. It seeps into everything. The infrastructure, the people. It weighs heavy."

"I know what you mean," Ira says, staring out the rain-streaked window.

She turns back to him, sudden clarity lighting her face.

"I have an idea. I'll make you a deal."

He lifts an eyebrow.

"A deal?"

She leans forward, palms wrapped around her mug. "I'll help you solve whatever mystery you're chasing in Hell if you help me find the root out the rot in Noctreign. Locate it. Destroy it. I want to see what this city could become, if given a real chance."

She leans back, waiting for his response. Cobalt's eyes flash with something she can't name.

"Deal," he says finally. He reaches out his strong, slender hand to shake hers.

Suddenly, he stands.

"Our next step," he says, now energized, "is figuring out how the portals work. I have theories, but we'll need to learn to control them if we're going to do this together."

"Agreed," Ira says, rising too. "Any ideas on where to start?"

"A few," he says with a sly smile. "Come with me."

He holds out his hand again.

She takes it.

It's warm. Always warm. She sidles out of the booth.

"Hang on," she says. "We need to pay."

Cobalt just says, "It's taken care of."

She blinks. "What?"

"I paid the staff a thousand credits while you were in the bathroom," he says nonchalantly, shrugging. "Your currency is meaningless to me, and I thought they could use it. Plus," He says, "I have a feeling we'll be back here often."

Ira nods, making a note to herself to ask him more later about how he got his hands on Noctregin currency in the first place.

And anyways, thank the rain he covered it. Ira thinks to herself. Rent's due soon and I don't even have nearly enough credits for that.

They wave goodbye to Zannie—who gives them a large smile from behind the counter—and step out into the mist-drenched, sleepy morning.

Zannie's has already become their de facto meeting place. Their warm pocket of pancakes, coffee, and real talk. The diner at the beginning of everything.

They'll be back. That much she knows is certain.