Sunday dawned warm and bright—mercifully so. Cole loved rain; it soothed him, gave him something steady to listen to when his thoughts spiraled, but after the week he'd had, sunlight felt like medicine. A small reprieve. A reminder that ordinary days still existed.
Krista walked beside him down Main Street, her blond hair ironed straight and gleaming against her Sailor Moon tee. She had taken extra time this morning—he could always tell—and the result made her look like summer bottled into a person. He envied that ease. He'd woken up feeling like someone had packed cotton behind his eyes.
The bookstore's bell jingled overhead as they stepped inside. Ten minutes later, Cole walked out with three recent novels and a fresh copy of The Crow, while Krista marched—with reverent satisfaction—with the entire set of her favorite manga stacked so high she could barely see around it.
"Should we drop these off before brunch?" Cole asked.
Krista peered at him over the leaning tower of her emotional support graphic literature. "Yes. I need both arms functional for pancakes."
He reached automatically. "Want me to carry those?"
She sighed with melodramatic relief. "I thought you'd never offer."
They crossed the street to his SUV, deposited the haul, and followed the smell of cinnamon and coffee drifting from the cafe. The patio was awash in fall colors—burned oranges and deep burgundies spread across tables under sun-bleached umbrellas. The light had a warm Sunday glow that made everything look gentler than it really was.
Krista bee-lined for a table. Cole followed, enjoying the simple rhythm of being with someone who expected nothing more from him than conversation and company.
A server appeared. "What can I get y'all to drink?"
"I'll have a sweet tea," Krista said.
Cole slid his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. "Same. With lemon, please, James."
James blinked at the sound of his name—people always did that—and nodded approvingly before dropping two menus.
Krista waited for him to disappear before leaning in with a grin full of mischief.
"Soooo…"
Cole groaned. "So."
"What happened to Bryce the other day? He was cowed. Bryce. I didn't think physics allowed for that."
"Nothing happened."
Krista gasped theatrically. "You're lying. You tell me everything."
"Not everything," Cole countered. "Almost everything."
She stuck her tongue out at him, then drifted into a brief daydream about her newly gained manga. He could tell—her eyebrows relaxed, her shoulders softened, her fingers tapped an unwritten beat on the tabletop. Books were her favorite place to hide.
"You're thinking about reading already," he said.
She grinned. "Maybe."
They had recently started reading the same fantasy series so they could talk about it afterward. A book club of two. It kept his mind occupied in ways nightmares couldn't spoil.
"Are you going to the bicentennial this week?" Krista asked suddenly.
"Yes."
"Who are you taking?" She posed like a stage actress, chin lifted, lashes fluttering.
"Didn't we all get invited?"
Krista burst into laughter. "Cole—no. It's political. Which automatically disqualifies Bryce. Chase wasn't invited either; he's far too earnest for a room full of backroom handshake kings."
"That seems… exclusionary," Cole muttered.
"That's politics, sweetie." She sipped her tea, already imagining herself there. "So? Can I go with you? Or were you planning on taking Amber?"
Cole nearly inhaled an ice cube. "Amber? No, why would she be going with me?"
Krista stared, unimpressed.
"I'd be happy for you to come," he conceded.
She folded her hands under her chin and spoke in an outrageous Southern drawl. "Well, Mr. Constantine, I do declare, are you askin' little ole me to accompany you to the ball? I promise to be just as innocent as a kitten playin' with granny's yarn. Not a lick of trouble from me, sir."
Cole was laughing too hard to respond.
James returned with their drinks. Condensation rolled down the glasses. Krista immediately salted a napkin, set her glass on it, then did the same to his without a thought. He grinned at her.
"It keeps the glass from sticking," she said.
"Have y'all decided on food?" James asked.
"I'll have a shrimp salad sandwich," Cole said.
"And a salad with ranch," Krista added. "Extra ranch, please."
James took their menus and stepped away.
Krista perked back up. "Did you finish the book I picked?"
"I did. And yes—he was a whiner."
Krista slapped the table. "THANK YOU. Immortality should come with a no-whining clause. They're making it into a show, and if they screw it up, I may riot."
James returned with their plates, and Krista immediately drowned her lettuce in a minor hurricane of ranch. Cole poked a bare leaf at the edge.
"You missed one. It looks lonely."
"Hush." She flicked a bit of lettuce at him.
He retaliated with a dot of a ranch on the tip of her nose.
Her gasp echoed across the cafe. She stood dramatically, lifted her chin, and boomed in her best demonic theatre voice, "THOU SHALT DIE FOR THINE IMPERTINENCE."
Other diners turned. Some stared. A few smiled. Cole was laughing hysterically.
Krista wiped her nose, grinning. "Don't worry, Cole—I'll be on my best behavior at the bicentennial."
"That's exactly what worries me."
They ate, talked, and slipped easily into the comfortable banter he didn't realize he missed until he had it again. Krista made the world brighter without noticing she did it. She saw him as a person, not a problem. Not a story. Not a spectacle. Just Cole.
He didn't take that lightly. He couldn't.
They lingered after finishing their meal, letting the warmth and the chatter around them settle into something soft.
Krista tilted her head. "Hey. Are you doing okay today?"
Cole hesitated. "Yeah. Better than most."
"Good." She nudged his foot. "You deserve good days."
He swallowed. Something about the way she said it—simple, sincere—hit deeper than he expected.
Moments like this reminded him of what used to feel normal—of a life that still left an echo in him, even when he tried not to hear it.
He reached for his tea but paused halfway, a subtle prickle lifting along his spine. A faint shift in the air. Not cold. Not ominous. Just a brush of awareness. Like someone standing behind him for half a breath.
When he glanced over his shoulder, nothing was there, but the sensation lingered long enough to tighten his grip on the glass.
Krista didn't notice. "Ready to get walking?"
"Yeah," Cole whispered. "Let's go."
He stood, breathed the warm air in, and followed her out onto the sidewalk.
The sun was bright. The street was alive. His friend was laughing beside him.
Still—the hairs at the back of his neck refused to lie flat.
Purgatory felt calm today.
Deceptively so.
Purgatory felt peaceful in the way forests feel peaceful right before a predator steps out of the brush.
He didn't know what waited ahead—only that it was alive.