Page 69 of Heimlock

“Yes.”

I pull out my phone. “Do you need anything from home?”

“Yes, my mother’s wedding ring, and some other heirlooms." Janeeka shakes her head as her voice rises with panic. "But I don’t want to go back there.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” I place a hand against her elbow. A safe, but small gesture. “I can go for you, if you want. Just make a list.”

She looks me up and down with a look of disbelief. “You?”

I laugh, then point at Trinte. He catches my motion and frowns. Grinning, I cup my mouth and shout, “Who won that fight last week, Gleanscale?”

People all around us look up, curious for the answer. Shaking his head, Trinte chuckles. “We both did.”

Looking at Janeeka, I smirk. “I tied with that Dragon last week in hand-to-hand and elemental combat. I can take care of a Forest Elf while eating a piece of cake and not spilling a crumb.”

“Okay,” she says reluctantly. “If you’re positive?”

“One hundred percent.”

Handing her my phone, I wait for her to give the address and a list of items. She gives me a key for the front door. When she’s done, I rejoin Trinte as she finishes collecting her meal.

“What’s that all about?” he murmurs, smiling as a small toddler makes grabbing motions with her hands for a roll.

“Do you want to go kick a dunghole’s ass later?” I mutter, trying to not let anyone else hear my words.

“All the goddess damned time,” he jokes.

28

Sieve had me move some boxes, which was fine. Manual labor doesn’t bother me. However, coming to a homeless shelter was not what I expected ‌Kyrielle to show me.

Until tonight, it wasn’t clear to me the life she’s lived. She mentioned an abusive step-father, but seeing her here, clearly comfortable, it sinks in. After everything that happened with my father, I was fortunate Fynn was there to offer a place to live.

Kyrielle had no one until Talia appeared. The image of a younger version of her, standing on the opposite side of the table, breaks my heart.

The rest of the dinner goes off without a hitch. After everyone’s gone through the line, we’re free to grab food. When I’m reluctant to take food from a shelter, Kyrielle assures me no one is going hungry.

She finds us a spot at the end of a table, sitting across from me. After taking a sip of her water, she says, “So, what do you think?”

I look around while ripping a roll in half. “I don’t know what to think, honestly.”

She scrunches her brow, scanning my face, not understanding. I motion to the city beyond the walls. “How a city, this wealthy and seemingly beautiful, can have a homeless population. How do they get around? Dragxis are affordable, but still cost money.”

I point at her translucent, glittering wings. “You could fly around, but what about non-fliers? The children?” My skin heats as I scoff in disgust. “I think it’s repulsive that this place is even necessary.”

Kyrielle stopped chewing, watching me rant. When it’s clear that I won’t say anything else, she continues chewing her bite, swallows, then says, “All excellent questions. Ones the city doesn’t seem interested in answering. I do what I can: raising money, teaching self-defense, and even babysitting sometimes. But let me tell you more about what no one talks about.”

Each word coming out of her mouth cracks ‌another layer in my heart. When she texted me, I thought this would be — at minimum — infuriating. At worst, so traumatizing that it makes me take my last flight. Instead, I find myself reluctantly admiring this beautiful dreamsicle everflame that brings her righteous intensity into deserving places.

Granted, she hasn’t asked her question yet. There’s still time to be pissed off.

Refusing to think about it, I listen to her rant about the things that could change in the city. All excellent points. Cost of living, diminished living surfaces, and the lack of protection for domestic violence survivors.

By the time she takes a second to catch her breath, I want to kiss her. Badly.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I get really passionate about social programs.”

“I like watching you be passionate.” My eyes flare with surprise at the innuendo. “Sorry, I swear that wasn’t a reference to anything, you know, sexual.”