And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do
Everest watches the reach with visible tension—not alarm, just a stiffening along his shoulders and the subtle way his hands press into the sand. He doesn’t stop Kaisel, but it’s clear he wants to. That pouch had a system. There was an order to it. And now it’s been shifted, even if only by one misplaced green. He waits, quietly, until the shard is returned—only then does he lift the pouch and wordlessly slide it to his far side, placing his hand over it in a way that isn’t exactly possessive but is very clearly protective. A boundary, politely but firmly set.
His expression stays neutral, or tries to. He doesn’t meet Kaisel’s eyes, gaze landing instead somewhere vague and inoffensive near his shoulder. Reading the new note, his frown deepens—not upset, more like a misfired equation. Something not lining up. He tilts his head just slightly, then shakes it. And because the notepad’s already in rotation, he reaches for it without asking, flipping to a clean page and angling it neatly on one knee.
The handwriting that appears is small, blocky, and so precise it looks printed rather than written. He doesn’t pause between lines, already composing as he moves:
He hesitates after the last sentence, considering whether to explain more, but ultimately decides not to. Instead, he just taps twice near the Everest Hart line and passes the pad back with the same deliberate care he gave to placing the sea glass.
His expression stays neutral, or tries to. He doesn’t meet Kaisel’s eyes, gaze landing instead somewhere vague and inoffensive near his shoulder. Reading the new note, his frown deepens—not upset, more like a misfired equation. Something not lining up. He tilts his head just slightly, then shakes it. And because the notepad’s already in rotation, he reaches for it without asking, flipping to a clean page and angling it neatly on one knee.
The handwriting that appears is small, blocky, and so precise it looks printed rather than written. He doesn’t pause between lines, already composing as he moves:
- My name is Everest Hart.
I used to live in Stormbreak. I’ve seen you around the Dragoons’ offices.
I thought maybe you couldn’t hear. Because of the notepad.
I can.
He hesitates after the last sentence, considering whether to explain more, but ultimately decides not to. Instead, he just taps twice near the Everest Hart line and passes the pad back with the same deliberate care he gave to placing the sea glass.
