Page 53 of Unseen Eye
He sets the glass down on the nightstand, moving toward me with uncharacteristic caution. “It was just a dream,” he says softly, crouching beside the bed. His hand hovers near mine, close enough to offer comfort, but not close enough to intrude. “You’re in Coire. You’re safe.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, grounding myself in the sound of his voice. Slowly, my breathing steadies, the terror of the dream loosening its grip. Callon hands me the glass, his movements deliberate, careful. “Here,” he murmurs. I take it, the cool water soothing the dryness in my throat.
“Thanks,” I mutter, embarrassed by my reaction.
We sit there in silence for a while, the stillness between us feeling less like awkwardness and more like quiet understanding. Callon doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. He’s always been distant, impossible to read, but right now, there’s a shift between us. Something unspoken.
I catch him glancing at me, and for a brief moment, I see past the hardened exterior. He feels... real. Not the strategist, not the fighter, but someone who, for once, doesn’t have all the answers.
Finally, he stands, his eyes lingering on me a moment longer. “Get some rest,” he says gently. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything.” He turns to leave, his footsteps soft, almost hesitant, as if he doesn’t want to break the quiet.
The door closes softly behind him, but his presence lingers, a quiet echo in the room. I settle back into the pillows, the remnants of the nightmare still curling at the edges of my mind, but somehow, the fear feels less suffocating. The city in flames, the drakos—they’re fading into the background, replaced by the memory of Callon’s cautious steps and the soft concern.
***
That morning, I meet Theo in the barracks, stifling a yawn ashe drones on about the history of the place. Normally, I’d be interested, but today all I can think about is coffee.
Theo finally notices me dozing off. He raises an eyebrow, and I shrug. “I didn’t get my coffee this morning,” I explain, as if that explains everything.
Theo laughs. “You sound just like Izzy now. First floor, all the way down the hall, take a right, then a left. You’ll find the kitchens. Ingrid makes a mean cup of coffee. If you hurry, you might get back before Izzy shows up. I’ll finish setting up.”
“You’re my favorite person ever,” I say with a grin as I turn and head back through the courtyard and into the castle. After a few wrong turns and scaring a maid half to death while asking for directions, I finally find the kitchens and the bustling activity within.
The moment I step in, the rich aroma of coffee hits me first, warm and inviting, cutting through the faint scent of freshly baked bread. The space is alive with the bustle of breakfast preparations—pots clatter, knives chop with rhythmic precision, and the hum of conversation mingles with the sharp commands of the head cook. The large, rustic room has a comforting warmth, with wooden beams stretching overhead and well-worn stone floors.
I stand there awkwardly until a woman approaches with a friendly smile and graying hair pulled back into a neat bun.
“Good morning,” she says. “Can I help you with something?”
I return her smile. “Theo says Ingrid makes a mean cup of coffee.”
The woman laughs. “Of course he would say that, and he’s right—I sure do. Follow me.”
I weave through the organized chaos, narrowly avoiding a collision with a young girl rushing past with a basket of eggs. A burly man kneads dough in a steady rhythm. Nearby, an older woman tends to a massive griddle, carefully turningover golden-brown pancakes, their smell blending with the rich aroma of sizzling bacon.
“You must be Eva,” Ingrid says as she starts preparing my coffee. “You just missed Cal. He mentioned we had a special guest. Tell me, what do you think of Coire so far?”
“I haven’t seen much of it,” I admit. “We arrived late last night and I haven’t left the castle yet.”
Ingrid continues making my coffee. “Well, that simply won’t do. You tell Theo that if he expects me to keep making his coffee, he better show you around. Coire is absolutely beautiful, and that’s not me being biased.”
“I’ll make sure he knows,” I reply, laughing.
“Here you go, hun,” Ingrid says, handing me a steaming cup. “Be careful, it’s hot.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. “Oh my gods, Theo was right. This is amazing.”
Ingrid smiles at my reaction. “Good. Now go kick Theo’s ass. That boy could use a lesson in manners. And remind him about the tour. If he doesn’t show you around, I’ll have to knock him over the head with my frying pan again.”
Chuckling, I store the mental image of Ingrid wielding a frying pan against Theo.
By the time I return to Theo, he’s already chatting with Izzy. The barracks are buzzing with activity as guards spar around us.
“What? You didn’t bring me one?” Theo asks, pretending to be hurt, though I can tell he’s more amused than upset.
“Ingrid sends her regards,” I counter, setting down my empty cup. “She says if you don’t behave, she’ll knock you over the head with a frying pan”—I pause for dramatic effect— “again.”
Theo’s eyes widen, and for a brief moment, he looks genuinely alarmed. “She told you? That woman and I are going to have a serious talk.”
