Page 21

AREZOO

" O ne more!" Drova encouraged as Arman struggled through his fifth push-up. "Keep your back straight."

"It's hard!" Arman grunted, his arms trembling.

"Hard things are worth doing," Drova said. "That's how you get stronger."

Cyra sat cross-legged beside them, counting loudly and not entirely accurately. "Seven, nine, eight!"

The scene felt surreal—a Kra-ell warrior running an impromptu boot camp for human children at a playground. But the boys were eating it up, despite sweating and grunting.

Focusing on her cousins, Arezoo didn't notice Ruvon returning until he was standing beside the bench and blocking the sun.

"Here is your coffee." He removed one of the paper cups from the cardboard tray and handed it to her.

"Thank you." She forced a smile as she took it.

"I also brought this." He pulled a small paper bag from beneath the carrier. "It's a Danish. I didn't bring more because I didn't know if you were allowed to eat this. I mean, if you and your family are following any dietary restrictions. But I can go back and get more."

She loved the Danishes from the café, and she was a little hungry.

"We don't follow any dietary restrictions.

Not anymore." She reached for the paper bag.

"We are not religious, and we are very happy to be free of being forced to follow rules that were imposed on us.

We are Persians, originally. Our ancestors were Zoroastrian and were forcefully converted.

My grandmother was secretly a Zoroastrian, but my grandfather wasn't, and he ruled his house with an iron fist. Thankfully, my mother and her sisters were always rebels at heart and only appeared to accept the dogma to survive. They pretended to comply."

She didn't know why she was sharing all this with him. Perhaps she wanted to shatter any illusion he might have about her beliefs. She wasn't the meek and subservient woman he might have expected, being Iranian.

The truth was that Arezoo didn't know much about Zoroastrianism other than the few things her grandmother had told her about it in secret. Still, perhaps she should learn more about it now that she was free to do so and had access to nearly any kind of information she sought.

That was probably the greatest freedom of living in a country that didn't restrict access to knowledge.

Ruvon nodded. "I understand completely."

Did he?

"Does the Brotherhood have dietary restrictions?"

He shook his head. "We only did that when we were stationed in countries that had them. Mortdh's teachings did not include anything about food other than cautioning about indulging in excess."

Well, that made sense. Immortals didn't need to worry about things being healthy or unhealthy, and the comment on excess had probably been more about conserving resources than the health or well-being of the foot soldiers.

Still, she was surprised that he'd shared that with her.

When an uncomfortable moment of silence followed, Ruvon glanced at Drova, who was now demonstrating a complicated push-up routine and singing a catchy tune to accompany it.

"I should give Drova her coffee before it gets cold," he said. "I don't want to interrupt her routine, though. It's damn impressive."

Arezoo chuckled. "It is. I could never do that even if I trained for a hundred years. She's incredibly strong."

He cast her a look that was hard to decipher, but it was so intense that she had to look away.

"Drova!" she called out to hide her unease. "Your coffee is here."

Drova jumped to her feet with her usual fluid grace and sauntered over, not even breathing hard. "This is just what I needed. Thanks, Ruvon."

"You're welcome." He handed her the cup and put the cardboard tray on the bench. "That was an impressive performance."

"It was nothing." She waved a dismissive hand. "One of the Guardians saw it on YouTube or one of the other social media platforms and started doing it, and it caught on like wildfire. Everyone is doing it now in conditioning."

"It's a catchy tune," Ruvon said. "And it's challenging."

"Pfft." She snorted. "Not for me. But if you want, I can send you a link." She looked pointedly at his lean arms. "If you were a Kra-ell, those scrawny arms would be just fine, but you are an immortal, and you could benefit from some bulking up."

Arezoo was so embarrassed for Ruvon that her cheeks were flaming with heat. Were all Kra-ell so blunt?

For a long moment, the guy was speechless, and then he nodded. "You are right. It's just that I find physical training incredibly boring. I prefer to challenge my mind."

Oh, that was good, and Arezoo wanted to give him the thumbs up for the perfect retort.

Wait, why was she siding with the Doomer against her friend?

Drova laughed and clapped Ruvon on his back. "Then watch some boring lectures while you are training if that's your thing."

"Good suggestion." He took a sip of his coffee. "I need to trick myself into liking the exercise."

It was a relief to see them reaching an understanding and neither appearing offended. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned from this. They each had said their truth as they saw it, and they were both smart about not taking offense just because they had different interests in life.

Drova took a long sip of her coffee, her dark eyes moving between them with poorly concealed amusement.

"I should get back to the kids before they decide to try something dangerous.

Zaden's been eyeing that tree like he wants to climb it, and it's dangerous for a little human with tiny, worthless muscles. "

"They're not worthless," Arezoo protested.

"You know what I mean." Drova waved a dismissive hand and walked away, leaving Arezoo with Ruvon.

"Would you like to sit?" she offered, gesturing toward the bench.

"Thank you." He sat, spreading his legs.

"Sorry about my friend. She has absolutely no filter." Arezoo eyed the Danish and debated whether she should offer him half.

"She's honest. I like it." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and cradling his coffee cup between his palms.

Arezoo chuckled. "She's brutal, but then that's not a big surprise. She's a pureblooded Kra-ell. They are known for that."

"So I've heard."

She lifted the pastry. "Can I offer you half?"

He hesitated. "Maybe just a little piece. You are hungry."

"I have snacks in my bag." She tore it in half and handed him the slightly bigger portion. "Enjoy."

The Danish was delicious—flaky pastry with a sweet cheese filling and a drizzle of icing. She ate it slowly, using it as an excuse not to talk while she studied him from the corner of her eye.

He wasn't handsome by immortal standards.

Where most of the males she'd seen around the village were broad-shouldered and confidently attractive, Ruvon was slight, almost fragile looking.

His features were pleasant enough but unremarkable, and he held himself with a hunched quality as if trying to take up less space in the world.

His lack of confidence was actually refreshing.

Every other immortal male she'd encountered so far carried himself with the assurance of an apex predator, and it made the immortal males a little intimidating.

Then again, Ruvon valued his mind, not his muscles, and the intensity of his intelligent gaze was as intimidating as, if not more so than, the swagger of the other immortals.

"The coffee's good," she said, needing to fill the silence. "Stronger than what usually comes from the vending machines."

"That's because it's a double shot," he said. "You can choose that when you order coffee."

How did he know that she liked her coffee strong?

He'd been watching her, she knew that, but she hadn't known that he'd been paying attention to small details like that.

It was flattering, but also a little creepy.

"Do you come to the playground often?" he asked.

"This is the little ones' favorite place in the village, so when their mothers need a breather, either I or one of the older kids brings them here."

"It must be nice to have a big family," he said.

Something in his tone made her look at him more directly. "Do you have family?"

"Not anymore. My mother passed away a long time ago, and so did my sisters. I didn't have any brothers, so it's just me now."

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken history. Arezoo got curious despite her better judgment. "How old are you?"

"One hundred and thirty-seven."

The number made her stomach twist. He was old enough to be her great-great-grandfather, sitting here bringing her coffee and pastries like a schoolboy with a crush.

But then, age meant little to immortals.

Din and Max were both over five hundred years old, and neither Aunt Kyra nor Fenella seemed bothered by it.

"I still have a hard time reconciling immortal youthful looks with how old you really are," she said. "I can't imagine living so long."

"You learn to focus on the present instead of the past or the future."

Another long moment of silence followed, and Arezoo struggled to find something to talk to him about.

"What do you do for Kalugal?" she finally asked. "I mean, when you are not bringing coffee to thirsty humans and Kra-ell?"

He looked startled at her attempt at a joke, then his lips curved in a tiny smile. "I'm in charge of electronic security. Making sure our systems can't be breached, monitoring for threats, that sort of thing."

"That sounds complicated."

"It can be," he agreed, some of his awkwardness fading as he warmed to the subject. "Technology changes rapidly. What was secure yesterday might be vulnerable today. It requires constant adaptation."

"Where did you learn to do that? I can't imagine the Brotherhood had computer science programs."

His expression darkened, and she immediately regretted the question.

"There was barely any education in the camp other than how to kill as many as possible as fast as possible.

I could barely read and write when Kalugal took me under his wing.

He taught me and the others, so we were at least literate.

He could have just left us ignorant, but he wanted us to be more than what we'd been made to be.

We were the lucky ones, and not just because Kalugal saw something worth saving in us.

We were not as dumb as the average Doomer was back then. "

Arezoo lifted a brow. "Back then? Are the Doomers smarter now?"

"Navuh is working on it. He finally realized that a dumb army of brutes is no longer what would win wars for him. He needed smarter soldiers, so he changed the kind of men he brought to the island to breed his warriors. The next generation of Doomers will be smarter and much more dangerous."

When he'd mentioned breeding, the fight or flight response kicked in, and Arezoo suddenly had a hard time getting air into her lungs.

"Are you okay?" He looked at her with worry in his eyes.

"I'm fine." She forced a smile. "So, how did you get from learning how to read and write to modern tech?"

"That happened much later. After we escaped and got to America, we needed to start from scratch, and Kalugal needed robust security because he feared Navuh coming after us. I discovered that I had a knack for it, and I've been teaching myself everything I could about the subject ever since."

"That's impressive," she said. "Teaching yourself such complex skills."

He nodded. "Thank you. I can't change where I came from, but thanks to where I am now, I can be whoever I want to be, and I owe it all to Kalugal."

"You really care about him."

"I owe him everything," Ruvon said with quiet intensity. "My life and my soul. If I'd stayed with the Brotherhood..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I would have shriveled up inside. Kalugal gave me the chance to live a life free of hate and death."

Arezoo felt a shift inside of her, an uncomfortable loosening of the rigid categories she'd constructed. This man beside her, this shy and unassuming guy, was a survivor, just like her.