The waitress comes then, delivering our food. She looks to Petrik. “Have you decided on anything?”

“Not yet,” he returns.

She leaves, silence and steam the only things filling the air in her wake.

“So, Petrik,” Temra says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. The rich mahogany locks catch the light with the motion. “Tell me about Skiro. I’ve never been there before.”

I can tell he’s staring at me. I can feel it. Temra makes her best attempt to direct the scholar’s attention back to her, but Petrik all but ignores her.

“I must have spoken too hastily, Ziva. I apologize. It’s been a long journey, and I didn’t mean to ambush you at dinner. I hadn’t expected you to walk into the very restaurant where I was eating. I meant to seek you out. Set a proper appointment and explain the whole arrangement. I would of course compensate you for your time. Perhaps I could come by your forge sometime so we could discuss the matter further?”

“No, thank you,” I repeat.

“May I ask why?”

“The forge is Ziva’s safe space,” Temra explains. “She doesn’t like anyone intruding. She’s a very private person. I’m sure you understand. Maybe I could talk to you to help with your book. I assist Ziva in the forge frequently. I’m familiar with her process and have extensive knowledge of all the weapons she’s made. Maybe the two of us could get together sometime. We could meet up for dinner again.”

Yes, I like that idea much better. Just leave me out of the entire thing, and Temra can flirt with the supposedly handsome boy.

“Are you certain I can’t do anything to convince you otherwise?” Petrik asks, his attention never wavering from me.

I need to be direct. Confident. If there’s any hint of uncertainty from me, he’ll likely keep hounding me. So I raise my gaze, look the scholar firmly in the eye. “I’m certain. I have no desire to be questioned or to have my life scrutinized.”

Then I pick up my fork and knife and start cutting pieces out of the roast lamb. I try not to repeat what I said in my head. I don’t want to fixate. I don’t want to worry. I just want to enjoy my dinner.

Petrik rises without another word. Instead of retreating back to his table, he exits the restaurant altogether.

Good riddance.

“Can you believe him?” Temra says.

“I know,” I say. “How many times do I have to say no for him to understand?”

“What? Oh, right. But also, he completely ignored me! Rude. He just used me in the beginning of the conversation to get to you.”

That’s a first. People usually mistakenly try to talk to me to get closer to my pretty sister.

“He’s gone now,” I say, and I finally take a bite of the mouthwatering food. It’s delicious, as always.

Temra only dips her spoon in her soup, never actually bringing it to her lips, her mind clearly still on the strange encounter.