Night led Kea over the rough, jagged ground, not caring that it would cut his bare feet. Her bag was lighter than usual. All she’d found that day was a strip of frayed, thick cloth that could be used for bandages and ties. Well, and Kea. He didn’t count, though.

The red light was still on the walls of the city around her as she passed through, and she couldn’t help herself but to glance to either side of the street to see the transformation. She was always up high above the city for this hour, soaking up the color-steeped light alone, not in the midst of the arches and walls and doorways leading to nowhere. They looked so much less lovely up close than from a distance – still cracked and crumbling; the light didn’t heal them after all like it had always seemed. She wondered if she’d ever be able to see the perfection again or if she’d always remember this. Boy, Kea was ruining things good.

Kea! Kea! Why did he have to be in her thoughts all the time? She glared straight ahead of her at the light in the covered window, a small blur of muted gold in the fading twilight, that showed her destination, and quickened her pace. If Kea didn’t keep up, he’d catch up… and there her mind went again. Reaching the door, she shoved the curtain aside and glanced back to see where the little one was – only a few yards behind her, so she gave an exasperated sigh and waited until he walked through the door. His serious, small face looked up into hers and their eyes met again, and Night felt herself being pulled into the depth of the blueness staring at him. The color… the living color… he was seeking her.

“Get inside,” she almost-growled. “I seriously don’t want to—”

“Who you talking to, Veri?” came Tristan’s voice suddenly from above her.

Her eyes flew wide in anger and her fists clenched and raised to her chest. Kea whipped his head back around and stared piercingly, questioningly, challenging even?

“Tristan!” Night scolded, her voice hard and constrained. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized quickly, leaping down from the roof, a little cloud of dust and gravel following him. “I’m sorry. Night. Just the memories today.” He coolly met her glare and after a moment she gave a huff and turned away. “But who-”

You are Verene? You said she died. You lied?

“She did die,” Night countered. “The innocent little child who knew nothing and cared about everything died when the rest of the world did. Not that you’d understand.”

“Night?”

I do understand.

“Yeah, right. Quit—”

You’re still the same person and I still—

“Night!” Tristan looked concerned and perplexed. She turned. “Who are you talking to?”

“Kea,” she replied, not without a hint of disdain in her tone.

“Who?”

“Kea, the kid there,” she repeated, loosely waving her hand in his direction.

Oh, Verene, you—

“If you don’t stop calling me that, I swear, you’re not staying here at all!” she exploded.

“Calling you… what?” Tristan asked carefully. His head was cocked to one side and his stare had changed to something that Night didn’t recognize.

“My old name,” she answered haltingly, getting a little confused herself now. “He’s calling me my old name. Didn’t you—”

But he can’t—

“And stop interrupting!!”

Tristan stared, not saying anything, for nearly a full minute. Finally he blinked, clearing his mind, and forced a strange half-smile onto his face. “Um, Night. There’s… there’s nobody there.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s just the door.”

She laughed. “Tristan, I’m not—”

He can’t because he’s not who you are, Kea said as if that explained everything. She shushed him with a finger to her mouth.

“Tristan, I’m not imagining it,” Night told him. “He’s a little, I don’t know, two year old kid. Blue eyes, black hair, really short. He’s standing right there.”

“No, Night, um—”

“Tristan!” she cried. “You’re joking, right?’

He ran his hand over his head, his hood sliding off as he did so. “Night, let’s go inside, okay? It’s been a long day.”

She shook his hand off her arm. “Tristan, I’m not crazy,” she insisted. “Kea is—”

“I know, I know you’re not crazy,” Tristan told her, trying again to lead her inside. “It’s just that it was hot today, and our water supply is never very big, and you didn’t really eat, and I’m sure you’ve had a lot of memories and things that have made you… more tired than you realized. Okay?”

“No,” she protested one more time, but she couldn’t get out of his grip, stronger this time, as he firmly led her into the house. He almost tripped over Kea, but out of the corner of her eye Night saw the little boy move out of Tristan’s way and his hesitating feet through the gap at the bottom after the curtain closed.

She figured it was best not to say anything more about the matter, at least not now. She knew Kea was real. He couldn’t be her imagination, he just couldn’t. He’d said things she knew she would never think of thinking and things she hadn’t understood. Someone couldn’t imagine an encounter like that, right? She sighed.

Tristan sat her at the table and scooped a small amount of water from the cracked and patched keg in the corner into a small round cup and handed it to Night, his dark, concerned gaze never leaving her face. She drank, painfully aware of his eyes, and stared into the damp bottom of the cup, upset. He thought she was crazy.

“Night,” he started after a long pause that seemed to last forever.

“No, don’t even say anything. You think I imagined someone when I didn’t, and--”

“Hang on,” he said, stopping her. “That’s not what I was going to say. I’m going away for a while.”

“You’re what?” she asked, surprised. “Where? Why?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask questions you know won’t be answered,” he told her.

She should have figured he’d say something like that. She gave a sharp breath of frustration. “Whatever. You have to at least tell me when you’re coming back this time, though.”

Tristan seemed to calculate for a split second. “Probably in two days, maybe two and a half. It’s not going to be long at all.” He hesitated. “You’ll be all right here, right?”

“Of course I’m going to be--” she realized what he was thinking; she rolled her eyes and her tone fell entirely flat “--all right, because I’m perfectly sane, and not imagining things. Even if I was, I’d be fine. I can live without you. But can’t you tell me why you’re leaving?”

“No, sorry,” he lamely replied. Then he seemed to come back from thoughts. “I’m just checking something out that I saw, okay? It’s further away and it’ll take more time. That’s all.”

“What kind of ‘something’?” she asked, not quite skeptical but more curious.

“Not sure,” Tristan shrugged. “It was hard to tell. By the way, you might want to check in on Sonora tonight before you go to bed,” he added as he stood up to leave the room.

Night was instantly all intent. “Why? Did something happen?” she asked quickly. Of course she would have looked in on the little girl anyway – she always did – but if there was something specific she should look for, she wanted to know.

Tristan’s eyes were sad deep inside as he looked into her shallow, piercing ones. “Not really,” he answered absently, “no.”