The sun filtered through pale curtains as Lina padded across the apartment floor, coffee in hand, hair loosely tied, robe barely staying on her shoulder.
She had barely slept. Again.
Not because of the noise.
But because of the call.
Kael's message—"There's someone I want you to meet soon"—kept circling in her mind like a quiet storm.
Someone who made Kael cook?
She had only known him as icy, controlled, almost too still. Like a man who lived at the edge of something sharp and never let anyone near it.
Her phone buzzed.
Sora.
"Rise and shine, cryptid star. Get dressed. We've got three meetings lined up—stylist, photographer, and an anonymous sponsor who apparently thinks you're 'emotionally marketable.' Gross, right?"
Lina blinked. "What time is it?"
"Showbiz o'clock. Let's go."
Three hours later, Lina sat in a quiet café tucked between art galleries, sipping citrus tea while trying to remember the difference between brand pitch and media persona.
Sora had gone to take a call outside, leaving her temporarily blessed with silence.
Until a man slid into the seat across from her.
"Vale," he said.
Lina froze.
Not Kael.
But someone who wore a tailored suit like a blade. Hair slicked back. A small, crescent-shaped scar on his brow.
He didn't offer a name.
"Uh… do I know—?"
"No," he said. "But I know Kael. And I know you were at his house recently."
Her chest tightened.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled. Not kindly.
"I'm someone who worked with Kael. Years ago. Just thought I'd see the girl who's softening the monster."
Her blood ran cold.
"Kael's not a monster."
The man chuckled. "That's what they all think. Until the walls bleed."
Before she could react, he stood and left—vanishing into the afternoon crowd.
[System Alert: Emotional Spike Detected – Cortisol +37%]
[Do you require grounding assistance?]
Lina exhaled.
"No. I'm okay."
"Noted. But you don't have to be."
Later that night, Kael picked her up without a word.
The silence stretched, but this time, she broke it.
"Someone came to see me. He said he used to work with you."
Kael's grip on the wheel tightened.
"Scar on his brow?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at him. "For what?"
"For my past. It tends to find people I care about."
That was the closest he'd come to admitting anything.
She waited for more.
He gave none.
But something flickered in his voice—guilt.
They drove until the city faded, until the air felt older and softer.
Then Kael parked outside a quiet, two-story home with red shutters and a wide front porch.
"…Where are we?"
He cut the engine. "You wanted to know who I really am?"
Lina nodded slowly.
"Come in."
The house smelled like ginger and dust and old stories.
Inside, a woman hummed from the kitchen, while an elderly man adjusted a clock in the hall.
Kael cleared his throat. "Grandmother. Grandfather. This is Lina."
The woman turned, eyes sharp but warm. "So you're the one who made him learn how to scramble eggs."
Lina blinked.
The old man snorted. "About damn time."
Kael sighed. "Please don't embarrass me."
But his lips twitched at the corners.
Dinner was soft laughter, careful conversation, and bread that tasted like memory.
Lina barely spoke at first. But then the grandfather asked about her parents—and something cracked.
"I never really knew them," she said.
Silence.
Then the grandmother reached over and placed a hand over hers.
"You've known yourself, though. That's even harder."
And Lina almost cried again.
That night, as Kael walked her to the car, she touched his sleeve.
"Why are you like this?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Closed. Distant. But still… warm."
He didn't answer right away.
Then:
"Because kindness from someone like me always costs something."
She stared at him.
"Maybe. But maybe I'm willing to pay."
His expression faltered.
But he said nothing more.