Coffee or Tea (Artskaf)

[Nora Saint-Clair]

The moment Claude reminded her of her own words, something shifted in her expression. The anger faded first, chased quickly by shame, and then—reluctantly—by something softer. Concession. He was right. She knew it. But that didn’t settle the nerves coiling in her gut like smoke that refused to clear.

Claude might understand. He always tried to understand. But their family? That was a different story.

Everyone had heard the whispers—Atharim bloodlines tainted by gods. Some families disowned their own. Some chose silence that turned inward, cutting themselves off in every sense of the word. Others fled entirely, vanishing into exile rather than face the fallout. Nora couldn’t imagine forcing that kind of choice on their parents. It would destroy them. It might destroy her.

The tremor from earlier had already faded by the time they left Artskaf, but it still lingered in her thoughts. A shadow that wouldn’t quite dissolve.

“I don’t know if it was me or not,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Maybe? I’m not... very good at it.”

She hated admitting that. Hated how small it sounded.

“Just—swear you won’t tell anyone,” she added quickly, tugging on his arm like she used to when they were kids and her little brother had somehow grown taller than her overnight. It was instinctual, a gesture rooted in a thousand memories and unspoken pleas.