Arya jumped, her heart leaping to her constricting throat as she whirled away from the painting and towards the source of the voice. Her gaze landed on a tall, lean man standing a few steps away with a gentle smile on his face. He hasn't moved or did anything suspicious, merely keeping his hands behind his back. Or maybe he was hiding a knife there all along?

Arya opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She found herself oscillating between the man and the painting.

The man, bless his heart, chuckled in such a light tone it was easy to forget he was human. Or maybe he's like Arya too and just hid it better. Either way, he didn't seem like a bad person who would harm her. Not anymore.

"I've met a lot of women and they always react whenever they see me," he said, still rooted in his place behind Arya. "Yours is the most unique and the most memorable, by far."

Arya blinked at his words. Then, an uncontrollable smirk crept to the corners of her lips. "Many women, you say?" she teased. "Someone's a playboy."

The man snorted and ducked his head. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Hazard of the trade," he said. "I'm a merchant, see. It's only my job to meet people. A lot of them."

Arya raised an eyebrow. She had forgotten about the painting or that she cared to know who commissioned it. "Oh, are all of them women?" she asked. She had only meant to keep teasing him until he burned bright red but he wasn't budging. His face was a carefully-arranged mask. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking.

He rolled his shoulders, his broad shoulders, in fact. His beige overcoat showed off the gilded vest and the small peeks of a beige dress shirt underneath. Matching trousers covered his legs, giving way to his shiny leather shoes. He didn't have a top hat or a monocle but he did have a long chain clipped to one of his belt loops and disappeared into his pocket. A watch, most probably.

And now that Arya was really looking, she noticed a thin cane jutting behind him, held by the hands clasped behind him. So it wasn't a knife. But would he beat Arya with it?

"I'm sorry for beating you in admiring the lark," Arya ducked her head and stepped aside to give him the unobstructed view. He didn't move from his spot. "I don't know why but this painting...it's beautiful. But I should go."

Arya was about to turn away and leave him there when he said, "It's a mistlark," his voice was deep and silky, like a well-laundered satin sheet. "They used to live in the forests surrounding Aldermere but their population has died down to nothing but a few thousand. From deforestation or from the smoke coming out of our steam chutes, I don't know."

She pursed her lips, shoes still pointed towards the direction away from the man but her upper body somehow leaned towards him. "But these birds still sing," he was saying, seemingly unaware of Arya's conflicting instincts. "If you quiet down during a warm, summer night, you will hear them. And they do sing beautiful songs."

Arya studied him. From the way he carried his clothes and his body, he passed off as a noble or at least one from the wealthy class. Dark brown skin complimented his beige suit. Light, ash brown hair fell down in unhindered waves, covering his forehead and running down to his nape. How would it feel if she reached out just once and touched it?

Wait, what? She gave herself a mental smack. She shouldn't be thinking about that. Eury. She had to get back to Eury.

"Do you know that much about birds?" Arya prompted. In her head, she cursed herself. Why was she engaging this man in a conversation? It's against every rule she had enforced upon herself. "It also seems like this wasn't your first time seeing the painting."

The man turned to her, swinging his cane to thump on the ground. "A genius, are you?" he asked. It occurred to Arya then that he had strikingly blue eyes. "My answer is yes. To both questions."

"Huh," was all she said.

"Is it your first time here?" the man asked.

Arya tugged at her gloves once more. "Look, you're a genius too," she said. "Is it apparent that I'm lost?"

The man shook his head, his locks bouncing against his forehead. "You're doing a good job in hiding it," he said. Oh, he had no idea. Arya was good at hiding a bigger, worse secret. "What brings you to Barnholdt?"

The memory of the exhibit brought another bout of disgust in Arya's gut. She forced out a laugh. Hopefully, it didn't sound like she's being strangled. "It's an exhibit," she blurted. "A friend brought me and well...as exhibits go, this one's quite long. I had to use the room but um...got here?"

"I see," the man replied. Just that. He saw. So what? "What's your name?"

Arya stuck her bottom lip out. A human asking her name? There sure was a first time for everything. Did he not know she was not of his kind? Was Arya getting good at hiding the little quirks in her body due to her ancestry? Oh, wow.

Instead, she tucked her hair behind an ear before moving to fix the netted hat over her head. It was still in the last place she left it. "Arya," she said, not daring to hold out her hand for him to shake. Too dangerous even if he was as charming as a dog. "You?"

"Norren," he replied. "Family name?"

Arya crossed her arms. "That's a secret," she said. "Yours?"

His eyes twinkled with a playful sparkle as he said, "That's also a secret."

"Fine," she concluded, tamping down the disappointment rising from her stomach.

Norren nodded, showing no sign of giving in. "Fine."

"You said you're a merchant," Arya said. "Is that really all you do?"

Noren glanced at the ceiling even though there was nothing to find there but a bunch of cobwebs and bland white paint. "Am I supposed to be doing something else apart from my job?" he said.

Without her permission, a laugh bubbled from her throat and escaped past her lips. She had to clamp a hand to her mouth to stop it. "No. Did I say something like that?" she waved her hand in front of her face to dispel the amusement curling in her system. "Of course, being a merchant is a job."

"How about you?" Norren inclined his head to one side, regarding her like an actual human being rather than just as someone beneath. And he was asking questions, not because he was obligated to, like those Maltarci in the borders between towns or sometimes in establishments in Aldermere, but because he really wanted to know. "What field are you working in?"

Arya fiddled with the hem of her oversized gloves, wishing she could just yank it off her hands. Her aunt Cornelia's voice pounded at the back of her head. Men like mysterious women. Men like mysterious women.

So, as a mere defiance against her aunt's voice, she blurted, "I work in the Postal Quarters," she tipped her chin up to at least show she didn't think of her job as a dead-end and where she would likely die in. "I'm a letter sorter."

Instead of the usual disappointed looks she was used to getting, his eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, the letter sorters," he said. "It's amazing to finally meet one. Without you, all these messages would have never been sent. They wouldn't have reached the right ears and made someone's day. Keep up the good work."

A warm feeling fluttered deep in Arya's chest. She tamped it down with a shroud of pessimism. Maybe he's just saying that to be nice. He didn't want to hurt her feelings. Or something. It was anything but the fact that he genuinely thought a job as a letter sorter was worth mentioning.

Instead, Arya smiled at Norren. "No one's ever said that to me before," she said. "Everyone thinks that my job is as useless as a rag in a bathhouse."

Norren tapped his cane on the floor. "Because you haven't met me," he said.

Arya ducked her head at him. "I should go," she said. "My friend must be looking for me. Do you know the way to the lobby?"

Norren glanced up at the ceiling again. "Yeah, sure," he said before beginning to yammer about lefts, rights, and straight aheads. Then, he stopped when he noticed all Arya ever did was gape at him. He blew a breath and scratched his temples. "Look, why don't I accompany you to a point where you can remember the way from there?"

Arya from two hours ago would have refused with such intensity but after talking with this guy, she felt he was genuine. He didn't mean to harm her. She's safe with him.

"Sure," she said.

So, that's when they ended up taking an impromptu tour of the halls and corridors of the Barnholdt Museum. Norren seemed to know a lot about the artifacts, his eyes flashing with recognition every now and then. Arya just listened in and absorbed all the stuff he spewed even though she had no use of them later on in her life. Still, she couldn't get rid of the feeling blossoming in her gut, one telling her it was fun listening to Norren.

When the hallway started becoming familiar, Arya gave a small gasp. "I know this one," she said. "I remember it now. Margedaude is right down this path."

A snort caught her attention and she turned to find Norren snickering. "You mean Mapergaude?" he said. "Oh, the old councilor is going to turn on her grave when she hears you get her family name wrong."

Frankly, Arya couldn't care less but she laughed with him either way. "Yeah that," she said. "I think I can take it from here."

Norren bobbed his head. Arya was about to turn away and stride down the corridor when he blurted, "Wire?"

Arya paused to look back at him. "Why?" she asked. Giving him her wire address was like planting a ticking time bomb in her home.

"I don't mean anything by it," Norren held his palms up, his cane hooked inside his thumb. "I just...want to talk to you again. It was nice."

"Oh," Arya said in the most articulate way she could. Again, her heart fluttered inside her chest. No one really did say she was nice to talk to, not even Europa. She clicked her tongue at the mere hassle of it all but she held out her hand to him. "Do you have a pen or...?"

Norren went on to fumble around his pockets until he produced a sleek steel-tipped pen, one that needed no separate ink cartridge. It was simply loaded inside. Arya blinked at the contraption like it was sent to the earth by the gods. Then, she shook herself out of her awe, gripped the pen, and held it out towards Norren.

"So...where would I write it?" she asked.

Instead of being squeamish about it, Norren held out his hand. "How about this?" he said.

Arya raised her eyebrows. That's...new. But, let her just get this over with. As such, he would probably wash it off once they part ways and he would never actually call her. She placed one hand beneath his and poised her writing hand over his palm.

The heat dancing at the surface of her skin was undeniable now. His skin was so soft. Delicate. And her fingers have an itch to just wrap around his hand and stay there forever. She might as well have flames in her cheeks as she scrawled her address as fast as she could. Then, she slapped his pen on his palm and drew away before her heart could break out of her chest.

"There," she said, hiding her guilty hands behind her like she had done something so incriminating. "I should go."

Norren smiled at her. "Yeah," he raised a hand in farewell. It was the one with her wire address in it. "Take care."

Arya merely nodded her thanks and strode away before her feet decided to not move at all. She tugged her gloves so hard the stitches dug in between her fingers. Whatever that was meant nothing. He was human and he had wealth. If he wished, he could make her suffer. With the right connections, the right people, he could very well uproot everything Arya had protected and built.

But she couldn't deny how easy being with him was. They weren't together for long but she felt like she already knew him. Like they shared a deeper connection than just strangers.

Eury's worried face burst out from one corner and only intensified when she laid her eyes on Arya. "Where have you been? I've been through the whole museum!"

Arya looked behind her. What was going on with her when she dared hope Norren had been following her all along? As expected, there was no one behind her save for a few meandering nobles.

She sighed. "Let's just go home," she said, pushing past her friend who sputtered and nagged her until they succeeded in hailing a carriage to take them back to Beironet.

From the back window of the carriage, she stared after the towering facade of Barnholdt, her chest aching with a different kind of longing she had never felt before. She had to force herself to look away and settle back in her seat before Eury could pester her about what happened.

Whoever Norren was, he would never know what Arya was hiding beneath her skin. Sure, she could humor him and be his friend if he needed someone to talk to, but it shouldn't be more than that. Whatever connection they shared, whatever destiny was meant to intertwine them together, Arya should never let it go deeper than the surface.

All the laughs and the safety she'd get and feel from him, she would enjoy it. Because it wouldn't last for long. Sooner or later, Arya's secret would be in danger of leaking and she would have to do something she must in order to survive.

So until then, she should make the most of whatever Norren had to offer her.

She should, while it lasted.