Chapter 15
Liverpool's weather wasn't exactly inviting for a swim.
Heavy gray clouds swallowed the sky, making Another Place seem especially bleak today.
The iron figures stretched endlessly across the shoreline.
Silent.
Motionless.
Alone.
I'd always interpreted their solitude differently.
As wholeness.
Inner balance.
The kind of self-sufficiency not everyone was capable of finding.
Today, however, they looked abandoned.
Like survivors of a storm.
As if each figure had been torn away from something precious and left staring toward a horizon that would never answer.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Maybe forever.
“So this is the place that calms Ria down?”
Gwendolyn's voice pulled me back to reality.
As usual, she'd taken it upon herself to become Airis's personal guide to my personality.
And apparently to the three people from the squad assigned to protect them as well.
Besides Lars, there was a girl named Camille and a tall guy named Justin.
“These statues look gloomier than usual today.”
Gwen folded her arms.
Honestly, I couldn't disagree.
The tension between Airis and me still lingered.
Neither of us had mentioned our argument again.
But silence had settled between us during the drive.
Only Dwayne had made repeated attempts to keep everyone talking.
Mostly by flirting with Lars.
And occasionally dragging either me or Airis into the conversation.
“They don't always feel melancholic,” I finally said.
“On sunny days, you can actually see freedom in them.”
My gaze drifted toward the distant figures.
“Strength in solitude.”
I exhaled quietly.
“Alright.”
Dwayne clapped his hands together.
“Not everyone enjoys philosophical discussions about creepy metal people.”
Despite the complete absence of sunlight, he still refused to remove his sunglasses.
Knowing Dwayne, that wasn't surprising.
The man firmly believed they made him look irresistible.
“I suggest we relax and paint.”
He spread his arms dramatically.
“Because if I have to listen to one more conversation about symbolism, loneliness, destiny, or emotional growth, I'm throwing myself into the sea.”
“And if somebody doesn't know how, I'll generously provide lessons.”
Lowering his sunglasses, he winked at Lars.
Lars remained completely expressionless.
“I always hated art classes in Istmond.”
“That,” Dwayne replied immediately, “is because you've never had a brilliant teacher like me.”
For the first time, I thought I saw the corner of Lars's mouth twitch.
Two years ago, Dwayne's paintings had started appearing at exhibitions with surprising regularity.
Something he was ridiculously proud of.
Becoming an artist had always been his dream, despite studying finance.
“I'm still passing,” Lars said, shifting his attention toward the restless Irish Sea.
“What about baseball?” Mike offered, pulling a ball from the trunk. “I spotted a net a few meters away.”
“I'm in.”
Lars nodded immediately.
Soon Gwen, Camille, and Justin agreed as well.
Only Airis and I remained silent while Dwayne pretended to consider his options.
“Well.”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Since nobody else volunteered, I suppose I'll join too.”
His expression grew increasingly heroic.
“I wouldn't want you all suffering while trying to decide which team gets two players and which gets three.”
With that, he started marching confidently in the wrong direction.
Mike sighed.
Pointed toward the actual field.
And redirected him.
Dwayne adjusted course without a trace of embarrassment.
Naturally.
Before leaving, Gwendolyn glanced back at me.
“Can I leave you two alone without returning to a murder scene?”
“Go already.”
I rolled my eyes and began setting up a small easel low enough for me to sit comfortably cross-legged in front of it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Airis doing exactly the same thing.
“You could've stayed with them,” I said.
“Nothing's going to happen to me here.”
“I like painting.”
Airis's answer came so casually that I looked up.
“So I agreed to this for my own benefit, not yours, Fireling.”
A quiet snort escaped me.
At least his irritation level had apparently dropped.
He'd started calling me Fireling again.
Opening my brush case, I reached for the water bottle.
Airis grabbed it first.
Then poured water into my cup without a word.
I immediately looked away.
God.
I was acting like a teenager.
“So painting was one of Gwendolyn's methods for helping you control your powers?” Airis asked unexpectedly.
“Nope.”
I smiled faintly.
“I've loved drawing since I was a kid.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
The wind rolled in from the sea, carrying the scent of salt and rain.
And somehow, after everything that had happened over the past few days, the silence didn't feel uncomfortable anymore.
The wind tangled itself in his silver hair as Airis used the end of a thick brush to dig a small hole in the sand.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The distant sound of waves mixed with laughter from the others.
And for the first time in days, the silence between us didn't feel sharp.
It felt peaceful.
Then he carefully secured the cup of water inside the hole.
“And what about you?” I asked. “Decided to train your hand control?”
As far as I understood, painting really did help with controlling magic that flowed through the palms and fingers.
“Nope.”
Airis didn't even hesitate.
“I've loved drawing since childhood.”
A quiet laugh escaped me.
Looking down at my palette, I studied the scattered colors, trying to decide where to begin.
Which color felt right tonight?
“What kind of paint do you like working with most?” Airis asked while peeling the plastic wrapping from two small canvases.
He didn't hand them over immediately.
Just set them beside us.
“I don't know.”
I shrugged.
“Probably watercolor.”
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“I like never fully knowing what the final result will look like.”
For a second, I watched the waves rolling toward the shore.
“Watercolor always feels alive to me,” I added quietly. “Like it has its own plans.”
I dipped my brush into the water.
“Though when I first started using it, I thought I hated it.”
“I understand that.”
Airis nodded.
“I hate watercolor.”
That answer made me smile.
“Really?”
“I can't let go of control.”
For a moment, I just stared at him.
Because that answer felt painfully honest.
“I get that,” I said quietly.
And for once, I wasn't lying.
There had been a time when I tried controlling every step of my life.
Sometimes even the people I loved.
Learning to let go hadn't happened overnight.
It had happened slowly.
One watercolor painting at a time.
From my experience, watercolor could never truly be forced into becoming exactly what you imagined.
It moved where it wanted.
Blended when it wanted.
Refused to obey.
Watercolor always felt alive.
Unpredictable.
Stubborn.
Almost arrogant.
As if it somehow knew better than you did.
Eventually, you either learned to trust it—
or ruined the page trying to control it.
And after throwing enough ruined sheets into the trash, you started feeling like an accomplice to murder.
Tree murder, specifically.
“What do you like working with?” I asked, pulling myself from my thoughts.
“Oil and acrylics.”
Of course.
The two most controllable options.
The answer suited him perfectly.
Silence settled between us again.
But thankfully, not for long.
“There’s a painting course in Istmond,” Airis said.
“Students don't just improve their skills there.”
He dipped a brush into paint while speaking.
“They learn trust.”
I looked up.
“Trust?”
“And understanding.”
His gaze remained on the canvas.
“They learn how the other person thinks.”
“How?”
“Two students work on the same painting.”
That immediately caught my attention.
“They take turns adding something of their own. Piece by piece, they start understanding each other's instincts, priorities, and habits.”
He paused briefly.
“How much they trust each other.”
Another brushstroke.
“How much they respect each other.”
I considered that for a moment.
“That’s actually a little terrifying.”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“Most people say interesting.”
“I stand by terrifying.”
That earned me the closest thing to a smile.
“Want to try it?”
I blinked.
The offer surprised me more than it should have.
After our argument.
After everything that had happened.
He was the one suggesting it.
Not me.
And somehow, that felt important.
“Sure.”
I adjusted my position in the sand.
“How does it work?”
“Paint whatever comes to mind.”
Airis placed a blank canvas beside me.
“To keep things fair, we'll work on two paintings.”
I nodded.
“That way we both get to decide how the story begins.”
Something about that sentence felt strangely important.
Maybe because it wasn't just about art.
“Fine.”
I dipped my brush into black paint.
Within a few strokes, a rough circle appeared in the center of the canvas.
I'd always preferred abstraction.
Though expressionism fascinated me too.
“Ready to switch?”
I nodded.
A moment later, we exchanged canvases.
At the center of Airis's was a pale blue cloud.
Soft.
Almost weightless.
I frowned.
What was he planning to create?
And why was that somehow harder to guess than everything else about him?
My gaze lingered on the cloud.
Then another thought occurred to me.
Airis hated losing control.
He'd practically admitted it a few minutes ago.
Which meant suggesting this exercise had forced him to surrender part of that control from the very beginning.
I looked at the cloud again.
Maybe this wasn't just an exercise.
Maybe it was a peace offering.
A quiet invitation toward cooperation.
Toward trust.
Toward whatever strange thing was growing between us.
Taking another brush, I dipped it into white paint and added several soft highlights.
I didn't want to fight his idea.
I wanted to understand it.
For some reason, that felt far more important.
“Ready?” I asked, immediately trying to peek over his shoulder.
Airis shifted.
His broad back completely blocked my view.
“Give me a second.”
“Why are you hiding it?”
“You’ll see it when it's finished.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You act like one glance from me could ruin everything.”