Arya should be focusing on the date but all she could think of were the pebble, the lark, and the mystery behind Norren Sterling. Had she somehow developed psychic abilities manifesting in dreams that she somehow foresaw Norren giving her a mechanized lark with a pebble?

She glanced at Norren who walked behind her with his cane tapping the cobblestones with every step. Unlike all the other times she had seen him, he insisted on using it now. As much as she was curious, she pretended it didn't bother her, especially the sharp clicks and the faint scratches its butt made against the pavement. Moreover, if Norren was as rich as he flaunts to be, why hasn't he called a carriage or something?

The afternoon was a bit cold, with the winter creeping closer. Orange and brown leaves rained from the spots of trees, the gnarly branches being exposed once again. Somehow, Noren's ash brown hair fit the somber mood.

Arya drew her coat tighter. Her soles clacked against the stones in synchrony with Norren's. Around them, the flat complexes rose from the ground in walls made of bricks and wood. Old and new, modern and a bit behind from the times. Everything was present in this part of Aldermere. But, something was still the same—the sky still couldn't be seen.

She didn't like to think about it too much but she preferred the pureness of nature rather than the convoluted mess of pipes, steam, and gears making up the New Civils. Perhaps it was just her dreams influencing her or her fae ancestry coming to life at the oddest of times. Whatever it was, Arya couldn't deny it. Not anymore.

What's left of her upbeat vibe this afternoon flitted out of her head. She sneaked a glance at Norren again. He seemed unaware of her conflicting thoughts, the guilt pounding in her system, and the dreams lodging themselves at the back of her head. The thought of her ancestry brought a fresh wave of those back, even after she tamped them deep, deep down before she headed out of the flat earlier.

It's not like the dreams come often. Sometimes, Arya reverted back to her nonsense dreams of elephants with chicken wings or cats puking rainbows. She would wake up not remembering a thing, just the fact that she had a strange dream.

But at odd moments, she would dream about a girl with wings of a fae. That girl would meet a boy then she would be captured by humans, sent to live and work in a mine. The latest dream Arya had was of the girl finally snapping and escaping the mines to live a life on the run and of poverty. Then, there was something about living in a forest and stumbling over the house of a senile old woman?

Just this morning, on the day she and Norren arranged to meet once again, she was seeing the old woman being taken care of by the girl. Then, the girl would always spread her wings and fly off into the setting sun, always off to somewhere. Arya had not an inkling about where the girl was going and the dreams didn't give a hint about that.

In fact, there's so many things the dreams weren't telling Arya. The foremost would be the sole reason she was seeing and remembering them in the first place. Another would be the patched up and splotched order of things the dreams were presented.

Had there been a friend? Yes. Arya remembered the name to be Ivory Lightborn, a fae formed from the first rays of sunlight, hence the family name. There had also been a kindly fae woman whom the girl and her friend thought of as their elder, the leader of the village. The name was Lucel Cloudborn. And yes, she was born from the clouds.

What's more, Lucel looked a lot like Cornelia. Well, minus the rollers and the pink sleep robe.

Could it be that Arya was just concocting up these situations and fantasies as a way to say her life wasn't as pointless as she saw it? Could it be that all she wanted was to escape her grim reality by making up situations where she didn't exist in Aldermere but in a whole other world as well? That would explain the foreboding sense of danger in her dreams, the feelings of anxiety about being captured and punished she always woke up with whenever she dreamed, and the growing paranoia she developed in her waking hours.

Somehow, Arya's mind was powerful enough to trick itself, to keep telling stories to itself. To sell a lie. Something like that.

"What are you thinking about?" Norren's voice poked through the bubble of her thoughts, scattering them away in an instant.

Arya blinked. "Nothing," she blurted, a little too quickly and squeaky for her taste. Why did she sound like she was just caught in an illegal act? "Actually, I already forgot. I'm great like that."

Norren hummed, amused. "Well, we're here," he jerked his chin somewhere behind Arya.

She turned and her jaw dropped. A huge glass-paned window showed her the inside of a sprawling cafe with tons and tons of bookshelves. They were everywhere, lining the walls, running between tables and couches, and hanging from the ceiling. This...

"Wow," Arya breathed against the glass when she pressed her forehead on it. She turned to Norren who watched her reaction with the same gentle smile he was known to give her. "How did you find this place?"

"A little luck and a lot of walking," Norren quipped. He inclined his head to one side. "Shall we?"

Arya couldn't have agreed faster. After a few minutes of ogling and searching for an empty couch, they finally settled on a table for two. It was far from the couches and the hexagonal cubbies but it was good enough. Arya didn't come here to read fictiontales, anyway. She preferred her flat and her room for that.

Norren dropped into the seat opposite Arya's after she settled in hers with his help. A little chivalrous even for her taste but she'd forgive it this time. She grabbed the menu card propped on the table and scanned the contents. Her eyes searched for the prize, her mind already computing for the cuts in the budget she would have to inform Cornelia of.

Then, through the rim of the menu, Norren's mop of hair peeked. She paused, her eyes sliding away from the names of the food she might or might not have the chance to eat. Norren had set the menu on the table, a hooked finger running circles against his temple in a relaxed stance, like he knew what he was doing in a place such as this. His blue eyes focused on the menu's stapled pages as he flipped and flipped. A slight frown picked against the corners of his delicate lips, like he couldn't decide what food to eat and hated how long it's taking. His dark brown skin matched the cafe's ambience of beige walls and lights tinged with amber.

The both of them were dressed in a similar manner as their first date, just different embellishments, different colors, and different quirks here and there. Their clothes made them belong in the crowd already dining inside the cafe, with those coming in, and the ones flitting just beyond the glass window with no intention of visiting.

Norren raised his eyes from the menu and found Arya's already trained on him. Arya hid her flinch with the menu. He had done nothing but smile and be patient with her. He had laughed at her ill-guided quips, listened to her monologues, and provided his own insights about things. Doing that managed to derail Arya from the one thing that really mattered.

She didn't know anything about Norren.

Sure, he was a merchant by trade but, other than that, he was nothing but a nice man who appeared in her life from time to time.

So...who was Norren Sterling? Was it Arya's duty to uncover that?

"Norren?" she said. His name already sounded so comfortable on her tongue for reasons unknown.

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing, inviting her to complete her thought out loud. She cleared her throat. "Let's not get anything yet," she said. "Let's play a game."

"Oh, what kind of game?" he propped his elbows on the table. With the menu cards disturbed, it didn't look quite as pristine even with the array of fancy silverware and huge, ornamented charger plate in the middle.

Arya smirked. "Cautious, are we?" she said. "It's a simple question and answer game. We ask each other questions, but not the boring ones like favorite color or favorite food. We ask the real questions. If we don't want to answer a question, we drink from this glass of service water. Then, whoever drowns their glass first would have to pay for today's meal."

It's hard to believe Arya was risking so much in this game. Her budget for the entire month hung in the balance. But she could no longer keep her curiosity and paranoia in check. She needed something out of Norren to still her heart and mind. "We take turns," she jerked her chin at him. "You first. And don't you say something corny like 'ladies first'."

At that, Norren laughed. He shifted in his seat. "Okay, what's your favorite color?" he asked.

Arya frowned. "I just told you you can't ask that."

"I know," Norren folded his hands together. "But isn't the point of this game to get to know each other? What if I really do want to know what your favorite color is?"

Arya rolled her eyes. Was he born a philosopher? "Fine," she crossed her arms and leaned back on her seat. "Blue. What's your childhood like?"

Norren took a sip from his glass. "Fine. Had a fairly happy one," he answered.

"You're terrible at this," she groaned. "You're going to drink only if you don't want to answer a question."

He rolled his shoulders. "But I'm thirsty," he said with a sheepish grin. "We've been walking for quite a while from Halway."

Arya blew a shard breath but forced her annoyance to a flat sheet at the base of her gut. Calm. He could be insufferable. That's noted.

"What do you think of Simon Ruesterne?" Norren asked.

She raised an eyebrow. The disgraced author? Why would Norren bring it up in a silly game such as this? "I don't think he deserved the treatment he got," she said. "Just because he's fae doesn't mean he shouldn't get to tell his stories. I still have a copy of his Tales of Noonmight. It's what got me into fictiontales in the first place."

Norren bobbed his head but didn't add further into it. "What do you think I got wrong about you?" she asked. It was something she'd always wanted to know.

"That I'm just a merchant who happened to make lots of coin," he answered without missing a beat.

Arya knitted her eyebrows. "Well, aren't you?" She tilted her head to one side. "You told me yourself when we first met."

Norren twined his fingers together and tapped them against the table's polished surface. "I am a merchant by trade but I have another job, one that requires me to never step out of the Civil Hall."

Arya didn't like where this was going. The Civil Hall? Only the people she had sworn to avoid at all costs go there. If he's working there, then he's...

"I'm a member of the Council," he finished the thought for her. No heads turned in their direction with him saying it in a voice no louder than a whisper as if it's a well-guarded secret passed down for generations. "That's what you got wrong about me."

Arya blinked. "Wow," she said, playing her shock as something stemming from the utter improbability of it rather than from something deeper and much more rooted to her own secret. "I literally am in front of a councilman. That's...great, I think? Is that why you're able to afford places like this?"

"That's two questions in a row, Arya," he nodded at her glass. "Think it's time for a drink?"

She opened her mouth to point out that's not how this game works but it seemed like they both lost sight of the rules ages ago. So, she took a small sip, the smallest she could, and set the glass down.

"Favorite food?" Norren prodded.

Arya shook her head but couldn't fight the smile picking at the edges of her lips. "Seriously," she muttered under her breath before replying, "Anything pasta."

He snapped his fingers, the sound traveling in loud waves around the room. Almost by magic, a waiter dressed in a simple white shirt and black trousers appeared by their table. Norren flipped to a random page and from where Arya was seated, she could tell it was opened precisely on the page of the pasta dishes. Had he...memorized the menu? That fast?

"Two servings of the calrulli, please," Norren said. He and the waiter exchanged a few more words, deciding on drinks, dessert, and other specifications. Arya's head swirled with the information but Norren batted away the waiter's questions like they were mere insects. Then, once satisfied, the waiter sauntered away from their table and disappeared into a dark doorway which Arya deduced to be the kitchens.

Arya turned to Norren. "You suck at this game," she said. She dialed down the pout, though. It didn't suit her and this context. A councilman wouldn't like it. Probably.

Norren chuckled. "You too."

"I can't suck at it because I came up with it," she pointed out.

"I stand corrected, then," he said. "What prompted you to do that, anyway? Not that I didn't enjoy it. It's a good game, really."

She snorted. "Thanks for that," she smacked her lips as she pondered on the answer to his other question. "I just don't know much about you. I figured I might as well break the ice today. Why didn't you say you're a councilman outright when we first met?"

"Wasn't a good conversation starter," Norren grimaced. "I mean, imagine that. What if I did say I was a councilman at the first chance I got?"

She would have run the hell out of that museum and never go there again. Out loud, however, she said, "I would have been more cautious around you and would have never given you my address."

To that, Norren raised his glass as some kind of salute. "Exactly," he said. "It scares people off and plants all kinds of biases in their heads. Sometimes, appearing as something else can reveal what a person really thinks of you."

Arya chewed her lip. If...if Norren knew she was fae, could he still stomach to stay with her? With his position at the highest authority in the New Civils, if he continued to be associated with someone like her, would he be safe? Would Arya be safe? What about her secret? If Norren what she was, if he had sworn to protect it, would he pay the price along with her if things went wrong?

Could he still say what he was saying to her right now if he knew the whole truth about her? Because as much as she justified it, their situations were different. He was hiding his social and political status because he's afraid he would be taken so seriously and formally. Arya had to hide her ancestry because she'd die if she as much breathed in the wrong direction.

And if he's an important part of this society...then what was really Arya's place in his life? Nothing. The answer should be nothing.

The rest of the meal went by with Arya masking her growing dread and making it seem like she had no other thoughts in her head but the time she spent with Norren. After all, he was good at that, at making Arya feel like they're the only people on this earth. With his charming smile, easy going demeanor, gentle wisdom, sharp wit, and passionate ideals, it was no wonder Arya had been swept off her feet.

Just like that.