Eleyn emerged from the room, treading silently but purposeful in her steps. Outside lay two figures in a restless motion. Alex, her husband, with furrowed brows and his face etched with worry.
Gereon, her father-in-law, his features unreadable but his silence spoke enough about what his face did not show. The tension in the hallway was almost palpable and hung in the air, like the smoke from an extinguished lantern.
"How is he?" Alex's voice burst out the moment she appeared, revealing the storm of worry he had been trying to hold in. Beside him, Gereon said nothing, his steady gaze fixed on Eleyn's face, though his eyes told of thoughts twisting inward, as if his worries were tangled and uncertain.
Eleyn took a deep breath and curved the end of her lips up into a soft smile. "The arm is all right, I've reattached it." Her tone was warm like the first of sunrays after a long thunderstorm. "He would be fine, he's my boy after all. Tell me, honey. How long did it take before he came limping back on one broken arm? He went on for over a year. How long will it be for Judge?"
Her attempt at lightheartedness did the trick. The tension etched in Alex's features melted into a smile. The softness of Gereon's expression was just enough to allow a small, wry grin to draw across his mouth, but his eyes lost not one whit of their haunted edge, he looked like an overworked ghost who only knew how to grin.
"I wouldn't care to guess," Alex replied, letting out a small, relieved laugh. "But I suppose we'll know. Whether it be sooner or later."
Gereon crossed his arms and spoke in a tone that was as gruff as a tall brawny guy who knew how to hide his emotions well. "And here I was, going on about myself for naught. Liam's not a lad you need to babysit, he's tough— stubborn as a mule, just like his old grandmother. He'll pop back." He turned on his heel and took long strides toward his office, he still had work to do. "Work doesn't wait, not even for my grandson's antics," he muttered, the gruff voice covering the fondness he was supposed to convey.
Eleyn watched him go, her smile softened. Gereon's broad back, the back of a figure still imposing despite the years, seemed to carry a weight invisible to others— a burden of love, worry, and duty accumulated over a lifetime.
For a little moment, her smile seemed to drop against her will, threatening to give over its smile to the weight of those unreadable words. But it didn't disappear entirely. Instead, it lingered, though tinged with the quiet sadness of someone who understood too well the price of such steadfast strength.
She looked over at Alex, who continued to stare at the back room door that was shut after she exited, and his fingers tapped out a restless beat on his leg. "He's going to be all right," she said again, softly this time so maybe the promise would hold good for her as well. Alex nodded sympathetically, and the rigidity eased somewhat but the tension remained.
In the silence that followed, Eleyn gave herself a moment's reprieve, letting her thoughts wander to Liam. Strong, stubborn Liam, who even hurt probably found a way to make a joke or two. And Judge, unpredictable and enigmatic, always somehow taking the simplest moments, making them profound or just plain chaotic.
"Stubborn as a mule," she whispered, repeating Gereon's words, though this time her smile came back, warmer and steadier. At least if nothing else, her family's resilience was something she could always count on, even if it gave her more gray hairs than she'd care to admit.
Cough... cough... Judge clutched his throat like it had betrayed him, his face contorting into something between a grimace and a scream. Whatever liquid atrocity Seraphis had poured down his throat felt less like medicine and more like someone had distilled the concept of "bad decisions" into a single, horrifically bitter shot.
"You sure this isn't poison?" he croaked, gagging. "Because if it's not, I'm suing whoever made it. Including you."
Seraphis leaned back, her grin smug enough to warrant its own warning label. "Don't be dramatic. It's an ancient remedy for clarity."
"Clarity?" Judge glared at her, still coughing. "Lady, this thing is so bitter it's erasing the meaning of the word 'sweet' from my vocabulary. Pretty sure I've achieved anti-clarity."
"Ah," she said, as if deeply enlightened by his suffering, "then it's working."
Judge gave her a long, withering look, but curiosity got the better of him. "So, uh… what exactly happened to me?"
Seraphis tilted her head thoughtfully, adopting that all-too-familiar air of someone about to make something up on the spot. "Oh, you know, memory bread disorder or something." She waved her hand vaguely toward the ceiling. "Or memory muffin syndrome. Memory… croissant catastrophe? I forget. I mean when do you NOT have any disorders, you are a walking red flag."
Judge blinked, ignoring the last sentence. "You… forgot... About MY memory problem?"
"Hey," she shot back defensively, "it's a complicated condition!"
He rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out. Classical you, he thought, his internal sarcasm practically oozing out.
"Anyway," Seraphis said, clearly brushing off any guilt, "it has to do with your memories being sealed. I told you not to poke around in your past. Some things are better left… unremembered."
Her tone dropped ominously as she leaned in close, her voice suddenly as low and serious as a funeral director pitching casket upgrades. Or someone discussing nuclear launch codes. "And I mean it— trying to remember could bring you harm. Not a paper cut or a stubbed toe. I'm talking real harm, like your brain exploding or your soul disintegrating. Fun stuff like that."
Judge shuddered involuntarily, a cold chill prickling down his spine. But then, as quickly as it came, the fear melted away, replaced by his usual defiance. He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Okay, okay," he muttered, "but what if I already, you know… remembered something?"
Seraphis's eyes narrowed. "And by something, you mean…?"
Judge grinned like a kid about to share the world's worst idea. "A woman."
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "A woman? Go on, then. Spill. Is she imaginary, or just unfortunate enough to know you?"
Judge ignored the jab, diving straight into his train of thought. "Her name's Clio. She kinda looks like my mom, but not quite."
Seraphis frowned. "Uh… elaborate?"
"Okay, okay, so imagine my mom, but with a sharper nose, wider eyes, but also kinda closer together, same blue eyes but like a gradient of dark blue at top and light blue at the bottom—"
"Stop. Stop right there," Seraphis interrupted, holding up both hands as if to physically shield herself from his words. "are you truly attempting to describe her as though are trying to create your own mechanized puppet? Not that you are intelligent enough to create one anyway."
"Hey, you wanted details!" Judge said defensively. "Her lips are thinner, her ears—"
"Nope, nope, I regret asking," Seraphis cut him off, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I need no detailed portrait of her, thank you— her image is quite firmly etched in my mind already! Next question— were you two close? Or was this just one of those creepy 'I've seen her in my dreams' things?"
Judge tilted his head thoughtfully. "Honestly? I don't know. I think she might've been important. And, uh, probably the one who sealed my memories in the first place."
"Wow," Seraphis deadpanned, leaning back. "Sounds like a keeper."
Judge shrugged. "If she did seal my memories, she didn't do a great job. I'm already remembering stuff." He grinned again, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Y'know, if I were sealing someone's memories, I'd at least use industrial-grade sealing techniques. Maybe some duct tape."
"Yeah, because that's what memory magic is missing," Seraphis muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Duct tape."
"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it," Judge quipped.
Seraphis stared at him for a moment, then sighed deeply, as if reconsidering all of her life choices that had led to this conversation. "Okay, listen, just— don't try too hard to remember. You'll regret it."
"I'm already regretting this conversation," Judge shot back with a grin.
"Funny," Seraphis said dryly. "I'm regretting letting you live."
They sat in silence for a moment, the air buzzing with their usual brand of chaotic energy. Finally, Judge leaned back, rubbing his chin like a wise philosopher.
"You know," he mused, "if Clio really did seal my memories, maybe I should find her and thank her for at least giving me something to talk about."
Seraphis gave him a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Or you could just not."
"Where's the fun in that?" Judge grinned.
"Nowhere," Seraphis muttered under her breath. "Absolutely nowhere."