Page 24 of Night Shift

With Erebus, it doesn’t.

The quiet feels like something he’s sharing.

I look out across the water. “This is beautiful.”

His attention shifts from the bay to me. “You have lived here your entire life.”

“Doesn’t mean I remember to look at it.”

“You should.”

“Maybe.”

The lighthouse beam sweeps over the water, catching the edges of the waves before disappearing again. I tilt my head back. There aren’t many stars visible through the fog, but the ones I can see seem brighter tonight.

“Is this yours, too?”

“The stars?”

“The way everything feels at night.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. “Some of it.”

I smile. “Very humble.”

“I have never found humility particularly useful.”

I laugh and bump my shoulder against his. “Of course you haven’t.”

This time, when our shoulders touch, neither of us moves away.

I think about the five-minute-late sunrise, the weather apps freaking out, and the jokes at the coffee shop. Then I think about the man beside me, who has apparently spent eternity carrying darkness across the world and still gets confused when I give him a scone.

“You know what the weirdest part is?”

“What?”

“I believe you.”

His face turns toward mine.

“Petra walks into the coffee shop and tells me the strange man I’ve been hanging out with is literally Night, and somehow that’s not even the strangest thing that’s happened to me this year.”

“You should be more cautious.”

“Probably.”

“I am serious.”

“So am I.”

His expression tightens.

I study him for a moment. “Does it bother you that I’m not afraid?”

“Yes.”

That isn’t the answer I expect.