The Mortipia twins.
They stood perfectly still in the entryway of Marinakas, a stark, breathtaking contrast to the rustic, unassuming charm of the sub-human cafe.
Ferran was as imposing as ever. Even beneath the casual, tailored fabric of his civilian clothes, Devin could clearly see the hidden, coiled athletic build of a top-tier Frazer. His broad shoulders were pulled back, his posture rigid with the arrogant, untouchable confidence of a boy who spent his life racing high-speed machines and winning.
And beside him stood Fenrys.
She was just as brilliant as Devin remembered, her sharp, intelligent features softened by that innate, gentle grace she carried so effortlessly. It was the very same grace that reminded him so agonizingly of his mother, Queen Eleanor.
Seeing them—his closest confidants from a life that had been violently burned to ashes—shattered whatever fragile composure Devin had managed to scrape together in this new body. He was completely paralyzed, trapped in a waking, breathless trance as the ghosts of his past strolled casually into his present.
"Zain!"
The sharp, urgent hiss of his stolen name snapped the tether of his paralysis.
Devin blinked hard, the blurry, rustic shapes of the cafe snapping back into brutal focus. Emerald was standing right beside him, a damp cloth clutched tightly in her hand. She was staring pointedly at the massacre he had just committed on the floor behind the counter.
Devin looked down.
The heavy ceramic mug he had been holding was entirely murdered. Its shattered, jagged remains were scattered across the wooden floorboards, drowning in a spreading pool of dark, lukewarm coffee.
"Clean that up before Dunkan sees it," Emerald scolded in a harsh, fast whisper, though her bright eyes held a flicker of genuine worry. "I'll get them seated."
Devin quickly muttered a fragmented, raspy apology, his heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He dropped to his knees, profoundly grateful for the excuse to hide his face. As he frantically swept the jagged ceramic shards into a wooden dustpan, the sudden, physical sting of a small cut on his thumb grounded him.
I am Zain Ricky. I am a barista. He repeated the mantra in his head. I am not the dead Prince of Trangdar. He forced the suffocating royal agony down into the darkest, most heavily guarded pits of his soul. He stood back up, wiping his hands on his apron, and resumed his work behind the counter with a forced, mechanical precision.
Throughout the long afternoon, as he wiped down sticky tables and carried heavy trays of steaming pastries, he felt it.
The weight of Fenrys's constant gaze.
Every single time he turned toward the dining area, her piercing, analytical eyes were fixed squarely on him. It wasn't the look of a haughty noblewoman disgusted by a commoner; it was the intense, calculating stare of a scholar trying to solve a highly complex puzzle. She was on an elite intellectual scholarship at the UEI. She was an undeclared sub-human with a mind sharp enough to cut glass.
Did she sense the anomaly in my soul? Devin wondered, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Did the Holy Gene within her recognize the faint, resonant hum of the Holy Gene within me?
He kept his head down, purposefully avoiding her gaze like a coward, praying to a God he loathed that she would just finish her meal and leave.
Eventually, the agonizing hour came to a close.
As they prepared to depart, Fenrys approached the wooden counter to settle their tab. Ferran waited near the door, looking entirely bored by the establishment, casually inspecting his fingernails.
Fenrys slid a handful of silver coins across the worn wood, paying for their drinks. But she didn't just pay; she tipped generously. And beneath the largest silver coin, Devin saw it. A small, neatly folded piece of expensive parchment.
She looked up at him, her dark eyes locking onto his with a terrifying intensity.
"Keep the change," she said. Her voice was a soft, melodic whisper that made his chest physically ache with memories.
Devin nodded dumbly, sliding the heavy coins and the note off the counter. As she turned gracefully and walked out the door with her brother, he quickly unfolded the parchment beneath the concealment of the brass register.
It was a sequence of intricate, hand-drawn numerical runes.
Her trail line.
In the Northern Kingdoms, a trail line was a highly secure, direct frequency used exclusively for private communication among the elite. She wanted him to contact her.
Why? Devin stared at the runes, his mind racing. Why would an elite UEI scholar leave her private trail line for a lowly cafe worker she had never spoken to?
Before he could even attempt to decipher her motives, a dark shadow fell over the counter.
Emerald was standing there. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest, her bright eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits. She had, of course, seen the discreet exchange. The air around her practically crackled with fiery, unfiltered indignation. Devin could sense the raw jealousy radiating from her like heat from an open furnace.
He quickly pocketed the note, offering her a completely clueless, innocent shrug. He still hadn't really understood what the boundaries of their relationship were up until this exact moment, but her furious pout fiercely confirmed his earlier suspicions. Zain and Emerald were definitely more than just co-workers passing time.
When they finally closed Marinakas for the day and got off work, the tension between them was palpable. The evening air rolling through Reignn was cool, but Emerald's demeanor was scorching.