Page 61 of Ashen Souls

He didn’t answer right away. He slowed his pace, considering the question like it mattered. As if it deserved the absolute truth rather than a charming deflection.

“I think that passion always asks for something in return. But it doesn’t always tell you the price upfront.”

I let out an unsteady breath. “That sounds... unfair.”

His gaze caught mine. “Most things worth wanting are.”

We kept walking. I didn’t scramble to find a new topic to fill the quiet. I simply let it settle over us.

Somewhere behind us, laughter drifted from a group of students sprawled on the grass. A dog tore past chasing a stick, its owner calling after it without much conviction.

“I grew up not far from here.” The words were out before I’d really decided to speak. “My parents still live on the edge of town. Big house, too many books, not enough secrets.” I paused. “Or maybe too many. Just... quieter ones.”

His attention snapped to me. “What do you mean?”

“My dad works in a library. Archives, mostly. Old texts. Local history.” I smiled. “Dinner conversations were... niche.”

“Sounds like my kind of chaos,” he said dryly. “My… family was loud in different ways. Everyone was convinced they knew exactly who I was supposed to become.”

“And did they?” I asked. “Did you?”

“For a long time, yes.” His gaze drifted ahead, following the tree line. “But it turns out knowing the path doesn’t mean it’s the one you want to keep walking.”

A shadow clouded his expression.

“Though,” he added, the resonance of his voice dropping, “some paths have a way of finding you anyway.”

There was a haunting note in that admission that made me look at him, trying to decipher the story he wasn't telling.

The conversation meandered after that: to the trivial and the mundane. About the music he listened to when he couldn’t sleep. About the bakery downstairs from my apartment and how it had ruined my ability to eat store-bought bread without judgment. About places we still wanted to see and places we’d already left behind.

At some point, I realized I’d stopped checking the time.

The park slowly thinned out as afternoon slid toward evening, shadows stretching longer across the walkway. My phone buzzed in my bag, but I didn’t reach for it. The tension that usually knitted between my shoulders at sunset dissolved into a rare, breathable ease.

Ethan studied the twilight sky, then looked back at me. “Are you hungry?”

The question caught me off guard.

I’d been too tightly wound to feel the hunger gnawing at me until he pointed it out. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re just asking, or inviting me to dinner.”

A glint of genuine amusement lit his eyes. “Does it make a difference?”

“Possibly.”

He tilted his head, considering that. “Well, in that case, I should probably be honest.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a place not far from here. Small. Family-owned.” A warm trace of humor colored his voice. “They make this rosemary chicken that has absolutely no right to be as good as it is.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a persuasive dinner invitation.”

“Possibly,” he echoed. “But a low-pressure one.”