Page 29 of Dark Rover's Luck

"And now?"

Her eyes met his, sharp and assessing. "Now I know better. The world isn't safe, or nice, or fair. It's a dog-eat-dog world and evil lurks everywhere." She shivered. "I had no idea how bad it could get. I wish I could go back to being naive and not knowing."

He leaned over and placed a hand over hers. "There are many good people out there, Fenella. Don't judge the entire world by its bottom feeders."

"It's hard to tell the difference sometimes," she said. "Indifference is almost as bad because it allows evil to flourish. Most people just want to live their lives and not be bothered, and I get it because I was the same way. But eventually the rot reaches them as well, and then they have no choice and are forced to join the fight. Only then, it's often too late."

An awkward silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken histories.

"I'm such a downer." Fenella forced a smile. "Enough of this doom and gloom. Tell me about your work instead. Have you ever taken part in a dig?"

Din took the lifeline, grateful for the shift to safer territory. "I have. Quite a few. I once took a group of students to Jordan. It was fascinating—a Bronze Age settlement near the Dead Sea, virtually untouched. We found pottery with intact pigments, tools, and even some jewelry. The preservation was remarkable due to the arid climate."

As he spoke about his work, he watched Fenella gradually relax, her posture becoming less rigid, her eyes softening. She asked intelligent questions, showing interest in his discoveries.

"You've traveled extensively," he said during a lull in the conversation.

"Necessity rather than choice," she said with a shrug. "Never staying in one place too long was safer."

"Was there anywhere you enjoyed? Somewhere you might have stayed if circumstances were different?"

Fenella considered his question, absently tucking a strand of escaped hair behind her ear. "Greece," she said after a moment. "The islands, not the mainland. There's something about the quality of light there, and the people mind their own business." A faint smile touched her lips. "I rented a room in a little whitewashed house on Naxos for almost a year. Longest I ever stayed anywhere."

"Why did you leave?" Din asked.

The smile vanished. "A tourist recognized me from a bar I'd worked at in Vienna years before. I went by a different name, of course, and I claimed no knowledge of the barmaid he was talking about, the one who looked exactly like me, but it was time for me to leave. It's amazing how small the world seems when you want to disappear."

Din wanted to reach across the table and take her hand again, but he resisted the impulse. "It must have been exhausting," he said. "Always being on the move, looking over your shoulder."

"I adapted," Fenella said with a shrug that didn't quite achieve the casualness she was aiming for. "Speaking of adapting, how are you handling your job and your unchanging appearance?"

His smile wilted. "It won't last. At some point, I will need to disappear and return as someone else in a different university. The clan is very good at arranging for alternative identities, including titles. Naturally, it's better to live in the village or back in Scotland in our castle and only venture out on assignments like Max does. There is much less risk of exposure that way."

"Ah, yes, Max," Fenella said. "You two seem to have patched things up rather quickly. Fifty years of not speaking, and suddenly you're best buddies again?"

"Not quite," Din said. "But life's too short—even immortal life—to hold on to old grudges. Especially when there are far more important things at stake."

"Like what?"

"Like making amends for my part in what happened to you," Din said quietly.

Fenella's eyes widened. "Your part? You weren't even there when Max..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

"I didn't know you were a Dormant," Din said. "But there was something about you that I should have identified as more than just an attraction to a pretty girl. If I weren't such a colossal ass, I wouldn’t have said all those horrible things to you, lashing out in anger without thinking. I would have stuck around and found out what was happening to you when you transitioned. Imagine all the grief I could have saved you. Instead, I was so caught up in my rivalry with Max that I lost sight of what mattered."

Fenella stared at him, her expression unreadable. "So, you think that this is all your fault?"

"Not entirely," Din said. "I could have handled the situation much better, and I offer my deepest and most heartfelt apology for how I acted, but the blame for what happened ultimately lies with Max and with the monster who hurt you. Still, I could have prevented it, and I didn't. And that is my greatest regret.”

She looked away, her throat working as she swallowed. "It's in the past," she said dismissively, though her voice had a slight tremor. "Water under the bridge, as Max would say."

"Is it?" Din asked. "Because it seems to me that you're still carrying it with you."

Her eyes flashed back to his, suddenly fierce. "Don't presume to know me, Din. A few memories of who I was half a century ago don't give you that right."

"True," he conceded immediately. "I apologize."

She exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "It's fine. Just... let's not rehash the past, all right? It is what it is."

---