“We did talk about it. You didn’t listen.”
“I listened. I just didn’t agree.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She finally looked at him, and Alessandro stopped at what he saw. Not anger; he could have handled anger. Disappointment. The quiet resignation of someone who had expected to be let down.
“I’m trying to understand,” he said.
“Are you?” She returned to her dough with more force than necessary. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve already decided I’m wrong. You’re just waiting for me to admit it.”
“That’s not…”
“It is, Alessandro. I can feel it through the bond.” Her voice cracked. “You think I’m being paranoid. Dramatic. That I’m seeing threats where there aren’t any because I don’t understand the situation the way you do.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. I felt it.”
She was right, and that was the part he couldn’t argue. Some part of him had thought exactly that. He’d dismissed her instincts as inexperience, her concerns as overreaction.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.
“I know you are. But being sorry doesn’t change the pattern.” She shaped the dough with angry, deliberate force. “I’ve spent my whole life being overlooked. Being told my feelings don’t matter, my observations aren’t important, my concerns are just silliness. I thought—” She pressed the heel of her hand hard into the dough. “I thought you were different.”
“I am different.”
“Prove it.”
She waited. He didn’t know how.
The morning rush came and went, and the distance between them didn’t close.
Marina served customers with her usual warmth, but Alessandro felt the effort it cost her. Every smile was a mask. Every cheerful greeting was performance. The real Marina, the one who laughed at his terrible baking attempts and fell asleep on his shoulder during late-night research, was hiding.
And he was the reason.
His phone buzzed around eleven. Malachar’s name on the screen.
Lunch today? I have information about the curse you’ll want to hear.
Alessandro stared at the message. Part of him, the part that had trusted Malachar for a decade, wanted to say yes. Information about the curse was exactly what he needed. If Malachar had found something useful, wouldn’t it be foolish to ignore it?
But Marina’s voice echoed in his head:I thought you were different.
He should ask her. Should discuss the decision before making it.
Instead, his fingers typed:Where?
It was reflex. Habit. The ingrained pattern of a man who had handled his family’s problems alone for so long that consulting anyone felt like weakness.
He didn’t realize his mistake until Marina’s voice came from behind him.
“You’re meeting him.”
Alessandro turned. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, face pale.
“He has information…”
