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As an honorary uncle, Quinlin isn’t supposed to have favourites out of his best friend’s kids. So if anyone asks, he loves them all equally. 

But his favourite is definitely Alvar. 

Well, it’s not really a fair comparison – Biana and Fitz are three and five, respectively, and don’t seem to have much interest in anything but bramble and Prattle pins. Biana, especially, only spends time with her mother, who in turn spends much of her time with Livvy when she’s not working. And Quinlin isn’t sure what exactly Livvy tells her about him, but he knows it can’t be good.

Alvar, on the other hand, is sixteen, and at the very least has some interest in Quinlin’s work for the Council. As of late, too, he’s started showing up at Quinlin’s office for advice on more mundane issues – grades, girlfriends, and the like. 

(Quinlin’s not sure how to tell him that he can’t quite help with the second one.)

So, it’s not much of a surprise when the eldest Vacker is sitting in the office upon Quinlin’s return from his lunch break, flipping through what are probably classified files that Quinlin would definitely be fired for letting a teenager read. 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asks, setting his wine on his desk. 

Alvar takes a bite out of what seems to be a blitzenberry muffin. “Probably,” he says. Quinlin sighs. 

“You know Level 6 is important,” he chides, “You’re missing out on valuable information by skipping.”

“Valuable?” He scoffs. “It’s just mentor after mentor singing the praises of the Council and trying to score a date with my father.”

Quinlin nearly chokes on his drink. “ What ?”

Alvar grins gleefully, an expression Quinlin has learned to fear. “Oh, yes, did I not tell you? Lady Alina is my multispecial studies mentor.”

“You’re joking.” 

“I wish I was,” Alvar responds, wrinkling his nose. “Everyday, it’s always, ‘oh Alvar, how’s your father doing, does he still prefer chocolate mint ripplefluffs to cherry?’ I always start talking about my mother just to rile her up.” 

Quinlin frowns. “He hates both.” At Alvar’s confused expression, he clarifies, “Mint and cherry. He only likes toffee, for some ridiculous reason.” 

Alvar offers him an inscrutable glance, but only responds with “Interesting.” 

Quinlin nods and shakes off the memories that claw their way to the surface of his mind — evenings spent with Alden baking various baked goods in his kitchen, then subsequently being kicked out by his mother after ruining yet another appliance. They were only teenagers then, about the same age as Alvar now. 

A guilty, messed-up part of him misses those days. 

“Do you need something, Alvar?” Quinlin says, turning away so the boy can’t see the tears welling up in his eyes. Not now. 

“I’m just bored,” Alvar says, “and sick of learning that glorified bullshit they call history.” 

Quinlin chuckles. “And, what, you think I can teach you any better? You should ask your father, he was always better at history than me.” 

“He would lecture me til the sun sets about responsibility and all that,” Alvar replies, and Quinlin, unfortunately, has to agree. “You’re the nicest one. That’s why I’m here, because Mom took Biana and Fitz shopping with Aunt Livvy and I don’t have enough energy to deal with children right now.” He paused, then added, “Also, Aunt Livvy scares me.”

“She has a tendency to do that,” Quinlin replies fondly. As far as friends go, she’s the best he could have asked for. She doesn’t ask what he does in his free time holed up in his office, and he doesn’t ask where she goes when she disappears from the apartment for days on end. It’s a lovely little symbiotic relationship they’ve kept up for years, and it hasn’t failed either of them yet. 

“Do you have any of your old stuff in here?” Alvar asks, pulling Quinlin out of his reverie. 

“My old stuff?” 

Alvar rummages through various boxes. “Like from your time at Foxfire. I’m curious.” Quinlin raises an eyebrow, and he adds, “It’s history! Don’t you want me to learn something today?” 

He considers it for a moment, considers how incriminating his old letters would be, and decides that he might as well take the risk. Alvar will only get suspicious if he refuses, anyway, which is infinitely worse. 

“It’s in the corner,” Quinlin says with a sigh, making his way over to the chaotic mess that is the corner shelves of his office. 

“Wait, actually?” Alvar scrambles up from his seat. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have.” He hands the dusty box to Alvar anyway, hoping to the stars above that there isn’t anything about him and Alden in there. There shouldn’t be, since he burned it all when their cognate bond fell apart, but one can never be too careful. 

“Is there anything about you and Aunt Livvy in here?” Alvar asks, and Quinlin shakes his head. 

“I met her well after I graduated,” he says. 

Alvar’s face falls. “Damn. And here I thought I was about to find something, like, How to Get A Badass Girlfriend in Ten Steps: by Quinlin Sonden. ” 

Quinlin rolls his eyes. “Language. And I thought you were dating that girl— Lily?” 

“Lila,” Alvar corrects. “But she dumped me after she found out I’m a Vanisher. Apparently she was only looking for a ‘real Vacker.’ A Telepath, I guess.” 

Quinlin scowls. “That’s horrible. She doesn’t sound like someone you would want to date, anyway.” 

Alvar leans back against the wall. “Yeah, that’s what Ruy said. I guess he’s right.”

“Ruy?” Quinlin’s never heard the name before — and he prides himself on knowing the names of all of Alvar’s friends. It’s only the girlfriends that he can’t keep straight. 

A blush rises in Alvar’s cheeks, and his lips curl into a small smile. “Oh, yeah. He’s a friend I made at the, uh, store. Where I work. In Atlantis.” 

“I’m glad your new job is proving useful,” Quinlin responds with a nod, filing the information away for later use. 

At that, Alvar begins rummaging through Quinlin’s Foxfire memorabilia, tossing aside old notebooks and crumpled homework assignments. 

“You really haven’t looked at these much, have you,” Alvar says, blowing the dust off a picture frame. He examines it for a moment, then frowns. “Is this you and my dad?” 

Quinlin lunges and snatches the frame away with superhuman speed. It’s a painting, slightly faded over centuries, but the situation is still clear: two figures, sitting side-by-side on a hill, watching the sunset over crystal Eternalia. There’s no doubt that it’s him and Alden, or younger versions of them at least. For one, a great pain had been taken by the artist — a seventeen-year-old Quinlin, most likely — to paint Alden’s eyes a stunning teal blue, contrasting against the purples and pinks of the evening sky. It’s beautiful, but incriminating nonetheless. 

“It is,” Quinlin confirms quietly to Alvar, aware that he’s been silent far too long. 

Alvar regards him with the same inscrutable expression as before. “When is this from?” he asks quietly, regarding the painting with a new level of contemplation. 

Quinlin has to think for a moment. “Oh,” he says, the memory replaying, “that’s from the sum–”

-

“—mer before Level 8!” Alden shouted, dragging Quinlin by the arm throughout the city and marveling at the crystal buildings that seemed to reach forever. “We only have one summer left before we’re adults, Quinlin. Let’s make the most of it.” 

“I’m all for making the most of it,” Quinlin said, “but do we have to be out here in the pouring rain? I’m freezing to death.” 

Alden rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re just horrible at temperature regulation.” 

“Temperature regulation is a skill for Exilium waywards,” Quinlin replied with a scoff. “I haven’t sunk that low yet.”

“Yet is the key word here,” Alden said with a smirk. Quinlin shivered as he sighed, and his best friend added, “Do you need me to warm you up?”

Quinlin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how you could do that, since last I checked you’re not a Pyrokinetic.”

“And thank the stars for that,” Alden said with a grimace. “I meant giving you my cloak.” He stopped, then detangled his hand from Quinlin’s to unpin the thick teal fabric that hung over his clothes. Before Quinlin could protest, Alden’s arms were around his shoulders, securing the cloak around Quinlin using a blue pin with golden wings. The Vacker crest. 

Alden trusted him with the prestigious Vacker crest, then. 

Oh . 

The thought spawned a warm feeling, warm enough to make him forget the rain for a moment. But Quinlin didn’t dare explore that emotion to its source, for fear he would find something he would be forced to keep secret. And he and Alden couldn’t keep secrets. 

It was the nature of the job. 

Alden’s hands came to rest on Quinlin’s biceps, and he realized all too quickly that they were standing almost flush against each other. Close enough that each of Quinlin’s breaths blew a perfectly gelled strand of Alden’s hair out of place. Close enough that the rings on both their thumbs hummed with energy, although neither of them were reading a mind. 

“Do you trust me?” Alden finally murmured, breaking the carefully constructed silence.

Quinlin reached up to brush a raindrop off of his best friend’s cheek. “Always,” he replied, his voice almost lost to the pounding of the rain on crystal. 

Alden smiled softly, a private smile reserved only for the two of them. “Let me show you something,” he said, reaching into Quinlin’s pocket. He pulled out a gleaming clear crystal, one that looked official and nothing at all like either of their home crystals. 

At Quinlin’s confused stare, Alden explained, “I stole it from my father. He takes my mother there on dates sometimes, when it’s too risky for them to go to Atlantis.”

Fame was a vicious beast, and it followed the Vackers around like a hunter. People did almost anything for glimpses of the famous Vackers, especially since Alden’s mother had once been a Councillor, years ago. 

Quinlin wondered what it would be like to live with that kind of innate respect. He was the first to manifest in his family, on top of being the youngest of three, and so each honour, each connection he’d earned, he’d had to claw his way to get. His father had nearly cried when Quinlin first told him he was friends with a Vacker. 

He was sure his father would cry for a much different reason if he revealed how deep that ‘friendship’ truly ran. 

Quinlin shook the terrifying thought out of head and instead focused on the fact that Alden was taking him to a spot that his parents used for dates . 

Was he even aware of what that implied?

It didn’t seem so, as Alden dragged him into a nearby building to create the crystal pathway. As they leaped, he threaded their fingers together, and their cognate rings snapped together with a click. 

When the rainbow faded away, Quinlin found himself atop a hill, lush with green grass and pink flowers. As they climbed, he realised that the summit looked over the glimmering, crystal streets of Eternalia, where the beautiful sunset was alas obscured by the thick, woven storm clouds. 

“It’s usually much prettier,” Alden commented. Quinlin wasn’t sure if it was the cold, the hike, or something else entirely that caused them both to redden. 

“That’s quite alright,” he replied, moving to wrap an arm around his best friend’s shoulders, “I think it’s beautiful no matter how grey.” 

Alden leaned into his shoulder. I want to remember this forever , he transmitted. 

Quinlin startled at the sudden shift. This moment , he returned, or this view ?

Alden laughed. You . 

Oh. 

Oh.

The unidentifiable emotion was back, in full force. It was like light-leaping, but in place, and every cell in his body was intact enough to feel it. 

But he couldn’t dwell on it too long. 

“I’m going to paint this for you,” Quinlin said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. 

“Paint what for me?” Alden looked up at him, teal eyes glinting in the moonlight.  

“I’m going to paint the sunset,” Quinlin said. “Well, paint it for us, I suppose. I’ll just hang it in our dorm room.” 

Alden raised an eyebrow. “Does the Gold Tower even allow decorations?” 

Quinlin grinned. “When has that ever mattered to us?”

They stood in silence for a moment, before Alden finally whispered, a barely-audible, “I lo—”

-

“—ve what you’ve done with the place,” Livvy says, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorway to his office. “Messy chic, I call it.” 

Quinlin glances around at the old papers strewn everywhere. “Shut up.” 

Livvy must notice the crumbs scattered all over his desk, because she says, “Alvar was here, wasn’t he.”

“Yep. Skipping school as always,” Quinlin replies with a sigh. He really isn’t sure how Alden has managed to keep Alvar on the search for so long without the teenager giving up and quitting. 

Livvy laughs. “I don’t know how Della handles that kid. Managing a troublemaker is bad enough, but a Vanishing troublemaker? Infinitely worse.” She tosses a braid over her shoulder. 

“Indeed,” Quinlin agrees. “How was your day, without Vanishing troublemakers?” 

Livvy shrugs. “Oh, you know, fairly uneventful. Not much happens at the healing center these days.”

“There’s blood on your dress,” is Quinlin’s response. 

“What?” She glances down at her daffodil-yellow gown. “Shit.”

Quinlin raises an eyebrow. “Uneventful day, you said?” Rarely do elven healers see blood – especially enough of it to stain that much. 

She grimaces. “You could say that. Let’s just say that those Emissaries are never going to be tasked to ogres again.”

“Hmm.” He chooses to leave it at that, and not press anymore, because that’s what they’ve always done – let their secrets hang in the silence, unspoken and unanswered. 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Livvy reaches over and picks up the empty wine bottle from where it lays on its side in front of him. Empty. She glances over him, frowning slightly. 

“Don’t ask,” Quinlin says, the headache already well on its way. “I, too, make bad decisions sometimes.”

“You only drink when you’re angsting,” Livvy says. 

Quinlin scoffs. “I don’t ‘angst.’”

“Then, please, tell me what you were doing when I opened the door to find you on the floor of your office, holding an empty glass in the midst of a mess of strewn papers.”

He considers it, considers the memory he had lost himself in only a few minutes before. “It’s less angsting, more… reminiscing.”

Livvy rolls her eyes. “Got it. Well, while you’re here reminiscing , I’ll be in the kitchen eating the ripplefluffs Della made me. If you don’t stop me, I’m eating them all.”

Quinlin sighs. “What flavor?”

“Flavor?” She pauses to think about it. “It’s a mix, I think. There’s peanut butter and chocolate.”

“Oh.” He’s not sure why he even asked– he hates ripplefluffs. He knows how to make them - pretty damn well if he does say so himself - but that’s only because he was the kind of teenager who did anything for his ‘best friend.’ “I think I’ll pass, thanks. I don’t really like rippleruffs.”

Livvy shrugs. “If you say so.” The next words out of her mouth are frighteningly familiar. “I mean, every–

- 

“–one loves ripplefluffs, Quinlin,” Alden said, tossing him a bag of flour. “Don’t be stupid. Now, come on, help me bake.”

Quinlin looked down at the white powder now covering his silver Foxfire uniform. “I still feel like we should’ve changed first.”

Alden pulled out a jar of sugar and set it on the counter. He turned and placed a hand on Quinlin’s shoulder, which only served to spread the flour around more. “Relax, Quinlin. It’s the weekend, we’re allowed to have a little fun.”

Quinlin scoffed. “Are you joking? It’s the weekend before midterms! The only reason they even allowed us to go home for the weekend is because you’re… you.”

“Because I’m a Vacker, you mean?” Alden grinned. “I typically dislike using my family name to get special treatment like this. But you’ve been so stressed about midterms lately, and I figured that we both could use a break, so…” He gestured around the massive kitchen. “Here we are. Sleepover.”

Oh. 

Quinlin wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

He turned away to hide his awkward laugh. “I’m surprised your parents let you come home,” he said, instead of any real acknowledgement of anything. 

Alden was silent. 

“...You did tell your parents that we’re here, right?” Quinlin wasn’t sure he wanted to add ‘kicked out by a former Councillor’ to his list of achievements. 

Alden, ever the affectionate one, grabbed both of Quinlin’s hands and held them in the space between the two, a position reminiscent of their Cognate training. “We’re adults, Quinlin. We hardly need our parents’ permission to come and go as we please.”

“That’s all well and good— until we end up burning down the house and your mother Exiles us.”

Alden chuckled. “You worry too much, Quinlin. But there’s no reason–”

“–If you say ‘no reason to worry’ then I swear to the stars that I will break this Cognate bond right here and now.”

Alden scoffed. “Oh, please. We’re helpless without each other. And I don’t think it’s even possible for us to break our bond at this point; we know everything about each other.”

Not everything , some traitorous part of Quinlin’s mind muttered. 

Shut up , he told himself.

You have to acknowledge it at some point. 

Well, that point isn’t going to be today. 

“Yeah,” Quinlin agreed aloud. “You’re stuck with me for life.”

“I wouldn’t want to be stuck with anybody else,” Alden replied, and the words seemed so easy for him. Quinlin wondered whether he was a bad person sometimes, because those kinds of easy compliments didn’t flow smooth like water off his tongue. Alden would drown him in showers of compliments and promises like they were just words, like they meant nothing past face value. But Quinlin couldn’t bear to say those words to Alden knowing he would interpret them the same way he interpreted their friendship: best friends who left things unacknowledged, let secrets hang between them, unspoken. It was easier like that for him. 

But it was hell for Quinlin. 

“Have I ever told you,” Alden said, while mixing what Quinlin could only assume was batter, “that I trust you? More than anyone in the world?”

Quinlin stared at him. “What?”

“You understand me, Quinlin,” he said, “and I like to think that I understand you.”

“Of course,” Quinlin said, but he wasn’t quite sure. Because if he couldn’t understand his feelings and himself, how could Alden? 

“I think,” Alden said, “that we should live together after graduation.”

Quinlin froze. “What?” 

“We’re going to work together anyway, and we’ve already lived together for two years.” 

Quinlin’s mouth was drier than sandpaper. “But… what about your Winnowing Gala?”

Alden paused in his pouring of the batter and frowned. “My Winnowing Gala?” 

“I thought you would want to live with one of your matches,” Quinlin said, choosing his words carefully. “Someone you would eventually… marry.” 

Alden was silent for a moment, gaze still trained on the bowl in front of him. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Quinlin,” he murmured, “I don’t want a Winnowing Gala.”

And of all the things he could have said, that was not one Quinlin had expected. “What?” he spluttered, bewildered. “I– but– then why the hell are you having one?”

Alden turned and leveled an incredulous glare on him. “I’m a Vacker. I don’t have a fucking choice.”

The curse felt foreign in Alden’s mouth, and Quinlin instinctively shrunk back. 

“Sorry,” Alden said, running a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Quinlin replied. “But, can I ask… why?”

Alden raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t I have a choice? It’s tradition, Quinlin.”

Quinlin rolled his eyes. “I meant why don’t you want a Winnowing Gala.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

Quinlin’s heart stopped. 

Why didn’t he want a Winnowing Gala?

Because I already know who I want. Because I can’t make myself dance with those girls and pretend my heart is theirs; I can’t listen to you telling me which girl is the nicest and who I should take a chance on. 

Because the only person I’d take a chance on is you. 

“Quinlin?” Alden’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry, lost in my thoughts.” Quinlin laughed awkwardly in an attempt to drive the conversation far away from his realization. 

It’s alright, Alden transmitted, and Quinlin flinched.

You really need to give more warning for that, he replied with an eye roll. 

Alden grinned. Why? It’s fun. It took so long to finally get past your mental barrier, I intend to do this as much as possible now. 

Their rings hummed with energy. Alden grabbed Quinlin’s hand with no hesitation, and their rings clicked.

Quinlin stared at their joined hands and took a deep breath. “Alden,” he began, the words like firecrackers on his tongue, “I need to tell you–”

“Alden Dendrick Vacker get out here this instant!” came a shout from the foyer. 

Immediately, they dropped their hands like a hot potato. 

Alden blanched. “Coming, mother!”

Quinlin debated whether hiding under the table or jumping out the window would have a higher chance of keeping him alive. He did neither, however, as Alden grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the hallway behind him. 

“Seriously?” he hissed, and Alden rolled his eyes. 

In the foyer was, indeed, ex-Councillor Evanna Vacker herself, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Her eyebrows shot up when she noticed Quinlin, who was desperately scrambling to hide behind his shorter best friend. 

“Quinlin, how great to see you!” she greeted, with warmth in her eyes. That warmth quickly melted away as she turned to her son. “Care to explain what you’re doing home?”

“Baking,” was Alden’s simple reply.

“You have midterms in a week,” she said. “This is hardly acceptable behavior.”

Alden seemed to shrink in on himself, and Quinlin squeezed his hand in sympathy. 

Do you want me to cover for you? Quinlin transmitted. She likes me better anyway. 

Not even you can get her off my back , Alden replied. It’s fine. She would see right through it, anyway.

Quinlin nodded and squeezed his hand once more for good measure. Lady Vacker glanced between them with raised eyebrows. 

“Alden,” she said, “I think we need to have a talk in m–”

***

“–y office,” Alden whispers, to avoid waking the cranky child in his arms.

“Did you find something?” Quinlin asks. 

Della’s head pops up from the table where she and Livvy are engaged in an intense game of cards. “You two better not be running off to Alden’s office again. We’re not dealing with three moody kids all on our own.” 

“I’m not moody!” Alvar protests from where he sits in the corner, a book in his hands. 

Della raises an eyebrow. “I can tell you, after seventeen long, long, years, that you most definitely and certainly are.” 

Alvar splutters, and Livvy leans closer to examine his book. “Is that a romance novel?” she asks, and he immediately blushes scarlet. 

“What? No!” Alvar scrambles to get up so quickly that he drops the book, and, sure enough, the popular teen romance novel, Ravagog My Heart , is on the floor. 

Alden raises an eyebrow. “Son, do we need to have a talk?”

Della laughs. “He’s dated enough girls, Alden. He knows what he’s doing.” 

Alvar looks ready to drop dead right then and there. Quinlin can’t blame him. 

“Well, if you ever need romantic advice, don’t ask your father,” Livvy says with a smirk. “He’s absolutely horrible at romance.”

“I can attest to that,” Quinlin adds before he can think. 

Alvar, thankfully oblivious to the implications, just sighs and slumps against the couch. Alden, on the other hand, stares at Quinlin, his gaze boring through his skull. 

What? Quinlin snaps and transmits. 

Alden startles at the sudden message. I… nothing. It’s nothing . 

But the places where their legs touch, sitting beside each other on this small couch — Quinlin burns. It’s like they’re kids all over again, leaving things unsaid and speaking without thinking of the implications. And Quinlin knows for a fact that he’s blushing like a teenager. 

Get over it , he tells himself. It’s been years. All of that is over .

Beside him, in Alden’s arms, Biana begins to stir, and the adults cast each other worried looks. None of them are in the proper mental state to handle a ravenous four-year-old with a penchant for screeching. 

“I’ll take her upstairs.” Quinlin stands up, mostly to get away from the tense air between him and Alden. Della smiles gratefully. (Quinlin’s always preferred her over her husband.)

“I’ll go as well,” Alden says.

They walk together towards Everglen’s grand staircase, sharing the weight of a four-year-old between them in silence.

“What did you need to talk about, earlier?” Quinlin finally asks, and Alden shakes his head. 

“Ah, nothing.” 

Quinlin raises an eyebrow. “Was it about our, er”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“ secret project ?”

“How covert. And yes, though only tangentially.”

“Well, I think we’re alone now, so you might as well spit it out.”

Alden pauses, seeming pensive. Finally, he said, “It’s about my son.”

“Your son,” Quinlin repeats. Sometimes, it feels like Alden is intentionally vague just to annoy him.

“Alvar,” Alden clarifies, as they open the door to Biana’s rather sparkly bedroom. “I truly don’t understand why he likes you more than me.”

It’s not exactly an accusation, but Quinlin raises an eyebrow anyway. “I simply make an effort to listen to him, is all.”

Alden either doesn’t notice the jab at his parenting, or chooses to ignore it. “He really is quite fond of you – it’s like he sees you as his actual father.”

Quinlin snorts. “Well, I’m not, in case you were worried.”

“What?” Alden seems bewildered, before the statement clicks and he wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. Well, obviously, I knew that.”

“Just making sure,” he replies with a teasing grin. 

Alden rolls his eyes and leans over to tuck Biana under her blankets, brushing her hair out of her eyes with a fond smile. It’s such an affectionate, fatherly sight that Quinlin almost feels like he should leave the room.

There’s still a part of him that’s not used to his best friend being a father. Even though it’s been seventeen years since Alvar was born, the idea that his mischievous, oblivious friend is a paragon of responsibility is just… laughable. 

Alden appears lost in his thoughts, so Quinlin decides he might as well head out before he decides to start worrying about his parenting again. “Well, good night,” he says, practically to empty air. “I’m just g–”

***

“–oing to leave,” Quinlin said, closing his book.

Alden glanced up from his seat next to Quinlin, both leaning against the wall of Everglen’s vast library. “Why?”

“Because it’s nearing midnight, and I should probably get home.” 

Sometimes he wondered whether Alden had forgotten that they didn’t live together anymore, even though Alden was the one who decided to move out and live with his girlfriend. Not that Quinlin held any resentment for Alina, of course, but… well, she certainly deserved it. 

“Stay,” Alden murmured, resting his head on Quinlin’s shoulder. 

Quinlin’s throat went dry. “Um,” was all he could manage in response, his brain short-circuiting at their new proximity. 

“There’s still so much work to do,” Alden said, handing him a scroll from his own pile. “You can’t possibly leave now.”

Quinlin laughed. “And, what, you want to stay here and research until the early hours of the morning? I don’t think Alina would be very happy with that.”  

“So?” Alden said through a yawn. “She does the same. And we’re doing important work for the Council, it would be treasonous to stop us.”

Quinlin raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying it would be treason for me to leave right now?” 

“Maybe.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

Quinlin’s sleep deprivation must have addled his brain. There was no other explanation for why he found himself reaching an arm around Alden’s shoulders and pulling him in, because after all these years, he’d established one cardinal rule for himself: Keep your distance . 

This position they were in right now was the exact opposite of distance . 

But Alden didn’t object to the move. Instead, he hummed contentedly and adjusted himself to his comfort, turning his attention back to whatever old scroll he was reading before Quinlin’s interruption. 

Quinlin couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

(That was the consequence for breaking the rule – his feelings began to claw themselves out of the dirt like the undead.)

“Is there something on my face?” Alden asked, and Quinlin startled. 

“What?”

“You were looking at me,” Alden replied with a teasing grin. t

“Well, I always am,” Quinlin said, before his brain could catch up to his mouth. He froze when he realized what he had said, looking down at the man in his arms with terrified eyes. “I mean–”

“I know,” Alden interrupted, eyes not moving from his scroll. “It’s rather flattering.”

Quinlin sucked in a breath. “You– You know ?”

“I know everything,” Alden said easily, as if his words hadn’t just stopped Quinlin’s heart and beaten it to a pulp. 

“ Everything ?” Quinlin repeated, eyes wide. “How did you…”

Alden turned to meet his gaze, putting his scroll to the side. “I was joking,” he explained, and Quinlin’s heart started beating again, “but now I am actually a bit concerned.” Quinlin shrunk into himself, and Alden frowned. “We’re Cognates, Quinlin. If you’re hiding something I need to know.”

Quinlin wasn’t sure what to say. “There’s nothing,” he lied, though Alden was obviously unconvinced. 

His best friend regarded him for a moment, searching his face, perhaps, for some clue to the truth. But after all these years, Quinlin was well-versed in hiding his feelings, and revealed nothing. 

The two were left staring at each other, mere inches apart, both lost in thought. 

Until Alden rushed forward and placed his hands on Quinlin’s temple. 

“What are you–”

Quinlin was cut off by Alden’s mental whisper. Shh . 

What are you doing?  

Quinlin felt Alden’s breath on his cheek like a cool breeze. We’re Cognates, Alden reminded him. 

I’m well aware.

Alden leaned in closer. That means no secrets. 

Quinlin’s breath hitched. I’m well aware . 

So you can understand why I’m concerned. Quinlin felt a familiar tug in the back of his head – the telltale sign that Alden was attempting to search his memories. 

Instinctively, Quinlin threw up his barriers, kicking Alden out of his mind in the process. When he opened his eyes, he found Alden staring at him, lips curled into a frown.

“You’re a very strange man, Quinlin Sonden,” Alden said, so softly that it was almost a whisper. 

Quinlin couldn’t process a word of Alden’s statement, instead focused on the space – or lack thereof – between them. 

He tried his hardest not to let his thoughts run wild, but his mind, ever the traitor, only pictured them more vividly. 

Kiss me , a stupid, hopeless, traitorous part of his head said. 

Alden’s voice was breathy as he spoke. “Quinlin,” he said, “you know that I trust you, yes?” 

Quinlin could only nod, struck speechless. 

“And you know that… that you’re the only one I trust?” Alden asked. 

“You’ve told me,” Quinlin responded, “many times, since we were kids.” 

“I’ve said a lot of things since we were kids,” Alden said. “I’ve felt a lot of things since we were kids.” He leaned in closer, until his voice was a breathy whisper in Quinlin’s ear. “I think…secrets can be feelings, too.”

“Feelings?” Quinlin repeated. 

“You know we can’t have secrets,” he said. “And it might the late hour or the wine talking, but I think we might as well follow through with our oath.” His voice dropped. “No secrets, Quinlin.” 

“No secrets.” 

Alden returned to his original position, with his piercing teal eyes directly in front of Quinlin’s own—  though his gaze was trained just below. At his lips.

This was a horrible idea, Quinlin knew. Getting themselves into this position, saying the things they had always left unsaid — it could only end in one of them getting hurt. And yet, Quinlin reached out and placed a hand on Alden’s cheek, pushing away a stray strand of hair, and asked, “May I?”

“Please,” was all Alden said. Then their lips were touching, and the world melted away. 

His kiss was like the touch of a gentle breeze, delicate and chaste; like puzzle pieces falling into place: somehow, both a revelation and a long-lost familiarity. Quinlin wasn’t sure why it had taken them a hundred years to get to this point. There was nothing else in the world he would rather be doing. 

All too quickly, their gentle breeze became a windstorm. Alden kissed like it was the last time he could, like they would wake up tomorrow as strangers and this was the one thing they would remember. 

Quinlin didn’t know why he had ever bothered kissing anyone else. Nothing could compare to this high, and he was sure that nothing ever would. If this was what death felt like, he would gladly die a thousand times over. 

He never wanted to stop. 

Until the euphoria wore off. 

He realised, with a start, what exactly he and Alden had just done and immediately pulled back. Please, stars above, let this be just a dream . 

Alden looked up at him, with swollen lips and fear in his eyes as he scrambled back. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Quinlin’s heart stopped. “This was a mistake. I was never here, this never happened, I just—” He was silent for a moment. “I need to go.”

“Are you serious?”

“I need space,” was all Alden said in response. And then he was running, out the door and, presumably, into Alina’s arms. 

Quinlin could only stare after him in shocked silence. “Fuck you, Alden Vacker. I really, truly, h–”

***

“–ate you sometimes,” Quinlin says, banging his head against the crystal wall of Alden’s office. 

“What did I do?” his incredibly oblivious and frankly rather stupid mess of coworker says. 

“You sent your six year old into the Forbidden Cities!” Quinlin hisses, making sure to keep his voice down lest Della and Livvy hear in the parlour. He’s sure that if Della found out, she wouldn’t hesitate to murder them both. 

Alden rolls his eyes. “And?”

Quinlin gapes at him. “‘And’? What do you mean, ‘and’? Does Fitz even know what he’s looking for?”

“I assume so, he sat through my briefing.”

Quinlin sighs. “Alright, well, even assuming he was listening to that – which he likely wasn’t, by the way – that boy probably doesn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘covert.’ He’ll rat us out to the Council the moment somebody asks. And you know they’re asking, Alden. The Council will always be suspicious of us.”

Alden frowns and looks away. “They have my wife, already.”

“Your wife?” 

“They want her to spy on me. On us.” Alden stares pointedly at the door, beyond which the woman in question sits eating lunch. “If it were anyone else, there would be no reason to worry. But Della…” He trails off, looking uncertain.

Quinlin understands. Della is the most talented Vanisher he’s ever seen – which means she’s also the greatest spy. If Della truly wants to uncover their project, she doesn’t even have to break a sweat. 

It all comes down to where Della’s loyalties lie.   

“She won’t do it,” Quinlin says, mostly to reassure himself. “She cares too much about us.” 

(Quinlin isn’t stupid enough to think she cares about him . But if he’s Exiled, then Livvy’s reputation is dragged through the mud– and Della cares far, far, too much about her to allow that to happen.)

Alden sighs. “I do hope you’re right.” He looks away, blinking back what seem like tears in his eyes.

Quinlin reaches out to comfort him, but quickly retracts his hand. 

Alden meets his gaze and smiles sadly. “I suppose it’s my fault that you’re involved in all of this. I truly am–”

***

“—sorry, Quinlin,” Alden said, standing in Quinlin’s doorway and dripping water all over his nice new welcome mat. 

Quinlin slammed the door shut. 

“Everything alright there?” Livvy asked from the living room. 

Quinlin moved to respond, but was drowned out by loud, incessant banging on their front door. He waited a moment for it to stop, for Alden’s arms to tire out, but it just kept coming, loud and annoying just like its creator. 

“Quinlin! Fucking answer that please ,” Livvy shouted, and Quinlin sighed. 

He opened the door against his best wishes and found his Cognate still standing there, still dripping water all over the floor. 

“You’re disturbing the neighbours,” was all he said, before moving to close the door once more. He was stopped, however, by an arm wedged into the crack, and then a shoulder, and then a puppy dog pair of teal eyes. 

“Quinlin, please, listen,” Alden begged, and Quinlin thought he might actually fall to his knees. 

“I told you already,” Quinlin said. “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

Alden shook the water out of his hair like a wet dog. “And I don’t understand what I did wrong.” 

Quinlin scoffed. “Are you joking?” He gestured to Alden’s left hand, where a large teal crystal was embedded into a silver band around his ring finger. 

Alden’s gaze followed his own. “Seriously? You can’t actually be this irked by my engagement . This is supposed to be a special occasion, and all you can do is angst? Why can’t you just be happy for Alina and I?”

“Oh, I’m happy for you,” Quinlin snapped, decidedly not happy. “I’d be happier if you didn’t do this barely a week after you—” Quinlin glanced around the hallway. It was empty, but he still wasn’t willing to risk it, so he stepped back and opened the door fully. Alden slid into the apartment he had seen all too many times before. “ One week ,” Quinlin repeated, “after you fucking kissed me.”

Alden stepped back as if he’d been slapped. “I thought we agreed not to talk about that.” 

“Agreed? You just ran off and ignored me for seven days! Did you think I was going to welcome you back into my life with open arms? Oh, congratulations on getting engaged, I definitely don’t still have lingering feelings for you!” 

“You– what?” Alden scrambled back. “What?”

Quinlin stared at him, silent.

Alden glanced frantically around the apartment, gaze landing on anything except Quinlin. “But you have a girlfriend!”

Quinlin gaped at him. He couldn’t possibly be serious. “Are you talking about Livvy ?”

“Do you have another girlfriend that I should worry about?”

“Why are you worrying about my girlfriends?” he retorted. 

Alden froze, eyes wide. 

Quinlin hoped to the stars that Alden wasn’t having a gay crisis right there in his foyer.

Alden pulled out a pathfinder from somewhere under his cloak, shaking his head. “I– I have to go.” He opened the door and dashed outside, not even meeting Quinlin’s eyes in the process. 

“Wait!” Quinlin called, and he was unsure why. “Don’t–”

***

“–go!” 

Quinlin wakes up drenched in sweat, with his own voice echoing inside his mind. He sees himself in that old apartment, shouting at Alden and pushing him away. 

There’s a logical part of him that knows Alden deserved it at the time. But his irrational, grief-stricken side keeps telling him things like, you should have let him in – why didn’t you let him in ? You only had so much time with him. You should have savoured it. 

And, his least favourite: This all could have been prevented if you had been honest about the break . 

He knows it’s not true. He knows that if he had shared his reservations with Alden at the time, they either would have all been Exiled, or Quinlin would be in Alden’s exact position right now, gone and consumed by guilt. 

The thing is, he would take Alden’s place in a heartbeat. 

He wanted to, when he first heard. 

It’s only been a day since the news arrived. It was Alvar who knocked on the door; Alvar, who had cried into Quinlin’s shoulder, shaking as he sobbed. 

And it’s Alvar who shows up now, clutching an envelope in his hands. 

“For you,” he says. “I found it in his office.”

Quinlin doesn’t want to think about what Alvar was doing, searching Alden’s office. He just takes the letter and slams the door shut. 

And then he stares at the letter for a solid ten minutes, memorizing the intricate calligraphy that spells his name, examining the wax Vacker crest that seals the envelope.

He remembers the first time he wore that crest. At eighteen, without a care in the world. 

Carefully, so as to keep Alden’s memory intact, he opens the letter, and nearly sobs when he recognizes the perfect handwriting. He makes himself sit down before he reads it, knowing its contents will wreck him.

It begins simply. 

My dearest Quinlin ,

I assume you’re reading this after I’m gone – or, at least, when I am frighteningly close to it. In either case, I’m sorry. Although I’m sure you don’t want to hear it. 

I’m writing this letter first because I feel you would understand the most, out of the people I love. 

I’m bound by oath to keep this a secret, but stars be damned if there were ever secrets between us, even now. I only ask that you leave the poor girl alone. It was my mistake, bringing her to that hell. 

And, now that I’ve likely terrified you… I went to Exile. I broke Fintan Pyren’s mind. 

Sophie was the guide. I know, it was a stupid decision, and despite her enhanced abilities, she’s nowhere near the level of control that you, or I, or even my son has. 

I’ll spare you the details, if only because I know that they will only make you worry more. (I never liked seeing you anxious.)

I also saw Prentice, that day. It broke me. 

I should have come to you, after that. I should go to you now, instead of writing this letter and praying to the stars above that it is never sent. But, Quinlin, you know that I’m a coward.  I always have been. And I’m sorry about that. 

I’m sorry that I can’t be what you need. 

Woeful apologies aside, I truly am glad we were friends. There is no other Telepath, no other elf that exists that could have made me a happier man. I want you to live knowing that you and I were best friends, until the very end. 

Though sometimes I wonder if we were better off as something else. 

Take care of yourself, Quinlin.

Love,

Alden