Isla prepared tea for Lynx and Ryock while they seated themselves outside in the courtyard. The church served multiple purposes for Analyn, including hosting wedding celebrations and baptisms of faith. Stone tables and chairs were surrounded by a garden of blossoming flowers and fresh foliage. The fragrant scent of lilies, roses, hyacinth, and lavender was a welcome reprieve from the stagnant air of the church. Lynx allowed her hands to wander the blooms until her fingertips brushed the petals of a lily in full bloom. She carefully plucked it from its stem and twirled it in her hand.

“Do you take care of the garden?” Ryock asked.

Lynx blushed; she hadn’t realized he’d been watching her. “I do what I can.”

“It’s peaceful.”

She nodded, reaching for the bench. She’d lost count of her steps from the church door but was certain they should have come far enough. “I come here whenever I need time alone to think. Or to discuss matters of the church with my colleagues.”

Ryock paused. Lynx knew she must have looked silly to an outsider, blindly feeling about for a chair she’d used a hundred times. Her blush deepened.

“You can’t see.” Surprise tinged his statement.

“No, I can’t.” It had been nearly a decade since she’d lost her vision, but it still felt strange to admit it out loud.

“Here.” He took her hand and guided it to the cool stone.

Reading into someone without their express permission felt like a forbidden intrusion, but Lynx couldn’t help her curiosity. Every aspect of him felt foreign and new, as if the fundamental pieces that created who he was were entirely different than hers or anyone she had ever come into physical contact with. It was simultaneously exciting and terrifying.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, I-I’m sorry,” she stammered and repositioned herself over the bench, smoothing her long dress beneath her as she moved.

He took a seat as Isla returned with their tea, pouring Lynx’s carefully into her cup before adding a cube of sugar and a dash of milk. Isla had perfected how Lynx enjoyed her tea—it one of the many aspects about Isla that Lynx appreciated deeply.

Isla poured a second cup, then hesitated. Lynx realized the language barrier would still exist for everyone else. Whatever had broken it for them seemed to be an exclusive bond.

“Milk or sugar?” Lynx supplied.

“No, thanks.”

Isla left them shortly afterward, and Lynx sipped her tea. She had so many questions, but Ryock didn’t seem a man of many words, and his initial plea took priority over her inquiries. But there was one that burned on her tongue that she couldn’t manage to hold any longer.

“Are you truly not of this world?”

Ryock tapped one finger thoughtfully against the porcelain plate. “How do you know that?”

“Ah!” She silently chastised herself. Of course, he wouldn’t have understood Orlando. Nor did he know of her magical abilities—at least, she was fairly certain he didn’t know the latter. “I’m sorry, I… hmm…” she felt torn. There was so much to explain, and she’d stolen the attention from the importance of his message. “Please, you said you had something to speak with me about. I didn’t mean any offense.”

“Why are you the only one who can understand me?” He sipped his tea and replaced the cup carefully in its saucer.

Lynx realized that he hardly made any noise at all when he moved. And even if she couldn’t see it, the weight of his gaze on her was very heavy. “I… I do not know.”

He sighed. “Yes, to answer your question. I travel between worlds that need my help. Usually with companions. But they seem to have gotten lost somewhere between my world and this one.”

“Worlds that need help?” Lynx frowned. “What’s wrong with Analyn?”

“Analyn is the name of this world?”

“No, just this village. I suppose that was small-minded of me to say.” She took a drink of her tea. Her fingers felt numb. “This problem, then. It is bigger than Analyn?”

“Everything on this planet could be destroyed.”

Lynx blinked, set her cup down, and folded her hands together. That was a lot to take in. First, Saara, and now this? “You are certain?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

She lifted the lily from beside her and fingered the petals. Tears she couldn’t hold back spilled over her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

“Lynx—” he called softly.

Lynx shook her head and furiously wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress. “No, I apologize. This is simply… it is difficult to fathom.”

“I know.”

She held the lily to her lips and inhaled deeply. The familiar scent was comforting. “Can we stop it?”

“Yeah. But I’ll need your help.”

“What can I do?” Lynx was certain that one insignificant blind girl could do little in aiding a man intending on saving her world. She may have had the roads to her village memorized, but a single step outside was new territory—the unknown.

“Information is the first thing I need. What I’m looking for is called Drive. It’s a tiny, parasitic organism that works together to form a greater mass—like an ant colony or a beehive. It devours everything it touches.”

“And you believe this…Drive…it is here?”

“Yes.”

His answers beckoned more questions. It was so much to take in—his arrival felt more like a vivid fever dream than reality. “I can translate whatever you require. But how will we find it?”

“That’s where I really need your help. Have you lived here all your life?”

That was an odd question. “Yes. I was born here.”

“Then you know these people in and out. If someone tells us something that seems even the least bit off to you, we investigate it. Does that make sense?”

“I believe so.” Lynx raised her hands with the lily cupped in her palms. She hesitated, but her desire to trust him was greater than the fear of his response. “There is also something you should know about me.”

“Hmm?” Ryock drained his tea and reached for the pot.

Lynx concentrated on the flower, channeling what little energy she had left into its stem, sensing the threads of her magic flow into the tips of its petals. The lily gradually raised from her hold, the short stem resting in the center of her palm as the bloom shined with warm light. All of its tiny marks, blemishes, and bruises evaporated, leaving behind them brilliant, silken white petals.

The teapot faltered and rattled against the stone table. Ryock steadied his hand and carefully set it to the side. “You do know magic,” he murmured. “I could feel it when you touched me.”

“It is only restorative. However…” She didn’t know how to present it to an outsider. Would he call her a heretic for even uttering the words? “I am god-touched.”

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