The gallery smelled faintly of beeswax and old wood, warmed by afternoon sun slanting through high, leaded windows. The space was hushed, expectant, like it held its breath in reverence for the work on its walls. Evie shifted on her feet, her fingers still smudged faintly with charcoal despite her best attempts to scrub them clean. She had been drawing and painting. With what they had stolen from the Crows she had been able to buy the supplies without dipping into their personal funds. And now, she had actually managed to garner interest in her work.
The gallery owner, a tall woman in a dove-grey gown that whispered when she moved, studied Evie's work resting carefully on the table between them. Three small canvases, each one was different in subject, but all carrying that same quiet weight that Evie had never noticed until she saw them through someone else's eyes.
"I saw the two that went to the merchant," the woman said, folding her hands. "One was of the storm over the harbour, yes? And the other… the children playing in the alley, with the sky done in gold?"
Evie nodded. "They were just practice, really. Not meant for anything."
The woman smiled faintly. "You say that, and yet they held me in place for nearly five minutes. There's honesty in them. Stillness, but not silence. I liked the way you see the world."
Evie swallowed, caught off guard by the compliment. "I've only ever painted what was already in my head. Things I remembered. Things I… missed."
"Well, you've captured something real. And I'd like to offer a commission, if you're willing."
Evie straightened, caught between excitement and disbelief. "I - I'd be honoured. What sort of piece?"
"Something intimate. Personal. A portrait, but not traditional. I don't want a stiff rendering of my face. I want something with story. Memory. Like your alley children. Something that breathes. If it helps, I'll tell you a story from my own life. Something true. You paint what you see in it."
Evie's brow furrowed. "That's… unusual."
"It is. But so is your art. And frankly, I'm tired of saints and seascapes. I want something that speaks."
There was a long pause. Evie looked down at her hands, then back at the woman. "And if it's not what you hoped for?"
"Then we try again. Or we don't."
Evie blinked, momentarily lost for words.
The woman picked up one of the sketches. "What name should I display the work under?"
Evie considered that carefully. Not her true name, not Evangeline. Certainly not Theirin or Mahariel.
"Just… Evie," she said quietly. "If that's enough."
The gallery owner smiled again. "For now, it's plenty."
Evie stepped out of the gallery with the sun on her shoulders and the weight of the world momentarily gone from her bones. Her feet felt light, her heart buoyant, and for the first time in what felt like months, she wasn't thinking about shadows or secrets or the next thing that might go wrong. She was thinking about colour, canvas and memory.
And then, with the inevitability of fate, she nearly collided with Lucanis.
He caught her elbow, steadying her. "Evie."
She blinked up at him, her grin instinctive and bright. "Maker's breath, you again?"
He raised a brow at her tone, but there was a faint smile on his lips. "You seem… different."
"This is happy," she said, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I just-" She hesitated, but the words pushed past caution. "I sold some of my art. At the market. And now I've got a commission. From a gallery."
Lucanis blinked, then a full smile spread across his face. It softened everything: his mouth, his eyes, the line of his shoulders. "That's - Evie, that's wonderful."
She beamed. "I didn't even think they were that good. I mean, I liked them, but you never think anyone else will, you know? But she saw them. She saw them. Said there was something honest in them."
And then it hit her. A strange thrum under her ribs. Like a string being pulled taut. Not painful, just... off. The bond, pulling quietly. Not from her. From him. She rubbed uncomfortably at her chest.
Her smile faltered. "Are you all right?"
Lucanis looked caught. He shook his head quickly, forcing the smile again. "Fine. Just... work."
"Crow business?" She asked because she couldn't help herself.
He nodded, reluctant.
Evie's joy quieted. "Well. I'll get out of your way, then."
She turned to go, but he touched her sleeve lightly. "Evie, wait-"
She did. Barely. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something else, something not about Crows, or soulmates, or bonds, but before the words could form, a voice interrupted.
"There you are."
Evie turned. A woman approached, tall, lean, wrapped in travelling leathers dyed a deep blue-black, with sharp eyes and a relaxed stride that suggested she wasn't worried about much, including Evie. She looked her up and down once, then turned to Lucanis.
"This her?"
Lucanis stiffened, clearing his throat. "Teia, this is Evie. Evie, Teia. She's-"
"His colleague," Teia cut in smoothly, smile faintly curved. "And friend. One of the few who's had to hear far too much about the elusive soulmate who runs like a shadow and bites like a cat."
Evie raised her brows. "Sounds like a delightful girl. Hope she finds happiness."
Teia laughed, clearly amused. "She's quick, I'll give her that."
Lucanis was looking between them like he wanted to disappear.
Teia turned to him again. "We've got to move. Something's come up."
Lucanis hesitated but nodded.
Evie took the chance to retreat. "Well. Best not keep you. Crows and whatnot." She smiled, tight and fleeting. "Good luck."
She walked away before he could answer, pulse thudding, joy hollowed out by the strange ache in her chest.
Because it should have felt like a good day. But somehow, now it didn't.
-
Lucanis walked beside Teia in silence, his mind still caught on the look Evie had given him; it was bright, animated, and nearly radiant in the afterglow of good news. He hadn't seen her like that before. And she'd told him. Not brushed him off, not evaded. She'd shared her joy like it was too big to keep inside.
That… meant something.
"Was that a smile?" Teia asked, glancing sidelong at him. "On your face. However brief."
He didn't answer.
"She was... warmer than I expected," Teia continued, clearly fishing. "Not warm. But warmer. Like a fire with no wood in it, just the glow left over."
Lucanis gave a quiet breath of a laugh. "She was happy."
"About running into you?"
He huffed an amused breath. "She sold pieces. A gallery wants to commission her." His chest tightened again at the memory. That spark in her voice. The way her hands fluttered as she spoke, barely able to contain herself. That was hers, truly hers, not stolen, not bargained for, not disguised. Her own work, her own joy. And she'd given him a piece of it.
Teia let out a low whistle. "Impressive."
"It is," he said, and meant it. He was proud of her. His little artist. "She felt it," he said after a moment.
Teia frowned. "Felt what?"
"The bond. When I faltered." He gestured vaguely toward his chest, recalling the moment her hand had gone to her own, fingertips pressing lightly, curiously. "She felt it. Asked if I was all right."
Teia's brows lifted. "And you are?"
He didn't answer.
"She didn't have to ask," Teia added after a pause. "You think she would have, back at the beginning?"
He shook his head. "She would have walked off without a backward glance."
"Progress, then." Teia smiled.
He nodded, though it wasn't joy exactly that stirred in him, it was something quieter, rougher. Hope, perhaps. Or the memory of what it had once felt like, before all this.
"She's still holding back," he said.
Teia shrugged. "So are you."
Lucanis gave her a look. "I'm not the one bolting the moment someone gets too close."
"No," Teia said. "You're the one hoping she turns around if you follow her quietly enough."
He grunted at that. Fair.
They reached the edge of the Diamond and Teia's tone shifted. "Well, come on then. Time to put the soul-deep turmoil aside and focus on the real disaster."
Lucanis nodded and followed, her words trailing behind them. But as they passed beneath the archway and the sun dipped behind the rooftops, he kept thinking of Evie's smile. Her voice. That little crease of concern between her brows.
Progress, indeed. Small, maybe. But real.