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"What about you?" Din asked. "You said you spent time in Greece. Where else did your travels take you?"

Fenella hesitated, sorting through which parts of her nomadic half-century she was willing to share. There were dark chapters she preferred to keep to herself—desperate times when she'd done things she wasn't proud of to survive.

"I moved around a lot," she said finally. "Europe mostly, though I spent a few years in Southeast Asia. Bangkok, then Cambodia for a while. Morocco for almost two years. I waited tables, served drinks in bars, cleaned hotel rooms—whatever would pay cash with no questions asked. And I played poker to supplement my income, but I had to be careful with that. A girl alone winning games is perceived as an easy target."

"That must have been difficult," Din said softly.

Fenella shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "I adapted. The hardest part was never staying long enough to form attachments, but I got used to that as well. Though perhaps that was for the best. Attachments complicate things." She put a hand over her chest. "It's nice to have calmness here when it's quiet and there is no turbulence. That's practically impossible when there are other people in my life to complicate matters."

Din studied her face for a moment. "I know what you mean, but what's the point of living forever without feeling anything in here?" He touched his chest. "It's an empty kind of life. Ask me how I know?"

She tilted her head. "Are you lonely, Din?"

"Yes, and like you, it's by choice. But I often reflect on my decisions and wonder about their validity. Avoidance is not a recipe for happiness, and even though relationships are messy and sometimes painful, it's better to experience them than not."

Fenella looked away, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "There was a monastery in Tibet," she said, deliberately changing the subject. "I stayed there for almost six months, high in the mountains where the air was so thin it made my lungs ache. The monks took me in, no questions asked." She smiled faintly at the memory. "Talk about choosing avoidance. I was the calmest I've ever been but also bored out of my mind."

He chuckled. "I can't picture you in a monastery."

"I would have stayed longer despite the boredom, but I couldn't stay anywhere for long. It's not just the non-aging that gives us away. It's the little things like hearing or seeing something that shouldn't be possible for a human or healing too fast from scrapes and bruises. We just can't live with humans without risking exposure."

"So, you ran again," Din said.

"It's what I do or rather did. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, now that I'm here."

"Whatever you want," Din said. "That's the gift of this place—the freedom to choose a path without constantly looking over your shoulder."

16

DIN

Din credited his years at the university with his newfound ability to communicate with people and especially women, which was now helping him with Fenella.

She was slowly opening up to him.

He hadn't had the skill fifty years ago, and talking to a woman with an explosive personality like hers had seemed daunting. Paradoxically, it was the type he was most attracted to.

Her volatility and unpredictability stirred something inside of him. She excited, challenged, and forced him outside his comfort zone and into uncharted, unscripted territory.

She alleviated the boredom and drudgery of over five centuries of existence.

"I need to catch that guy Atzil," Fenella said. "I need to ask him about a job at his Hobbit Bar. I was good at bartending back in the day, and I enjoyed it."

"I remember," Din said with a smile. "You had a way of making even the most sullen patrons feel like they belonged, like they were part of the cool club."

She laughed. "Are you talking about yourself? You were always skulking around, watching me from dark corners like a stalker, looking angry and dejected."

He looked surprised. "You noticed that?"

"Of course. You are not the only one with observational skills."

He frowned. "I hope I didn't scare you."

"You didn't. Somehow, I knew that you were harmless. I just assumed that you were going through some crap in your life that made you unhappy." She patted his arm. "I'm not one of those idiots who expect everyone around them to be smiling all of the time, or who think that every frown is about them. Life is full of misfortune, and when it slaps people around, they often come to the bar to drown their sorrows. I never held that against my customers, and I was always willing to listen if they wanted to talk about it, but I never pushed. That's why I didn't ask you what your problem was. Maybe if I had, I would have saved us both a lot of hardship."

"Don't ever blame yourself. It was all my fault." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It was easy to blame Max. He is guilty of being an insensitive jerk, but I shouldn't have shrugged off responsibility for what happened. My cowardice cost us fifty years." He sighed. "Instead of just watching and skulking in dark corners, as you so elegantly described it, I should have said something."

An awkward silence fell between them, the ghosts of their shared past hovering over them like a physical presence.