Shadows Heart

Janus's chair feels cold without him. I thought maybe if I sat here long enough, I'd feel something—his warmth, his kindness, his promises—but it's just a chair. Just a stupid, empty chair.

Oriel left without saying anything, like he always does when he's upset. He tries to hide it, but I've known him too long not to notice. He's like a pot that's always on the verge of boiling over, but instead of steam, it's silence.

I stay in the common room for a while, watching the sky outside the window shift from bright to dull. The city feels too far away today, like it's moving on without us.

Janus's words keep replaying in my head.

"I'll come back."

"I'll bring a cure."

"I promise."

Promises are funny things. They're supposed to make you feel better, but sometimes they just leave you feeling more alone.

When I finally head back to my room, the hallways are quiet, the kind of quiet that feels too big to fill. My slippers shuffle against the tiles, the squeak of my IV pole the only sound. I hate that sound. It's like it's reminding me that I'm stuck here.

Oriel's door is closed when I pass it. I pause for a second, my hand hovering over the handle, but I don't knock. He wouldn't answer anyway.

Instead, I go back to my room and close the door behind me.

The crane is sitting on my windowsill. I asked Oriel about it once, but all he said was, "It's just a stupid piece of paper."

It's not, though. It's more than that. It's Janus's voice folded into sharp, careful creases. He believes that things can get better, even when it feels impossible.

I pick it up, running my fingers over the edges. It feels fragile, like it could fall apart if I'm not careful.

I think about Oriel, about the way he stormed out of the common room earlier, his face tight with anger. I think about Janus, walking away with his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking back at us like he was afraid we'd disappear if he didn't.

And I think about myself, sitting here in this room with nothing but an origami crane and a hollow ache in my chest.

The next morning, I find Oriel sitting on the rooftop. His back is to me, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He doesn't look up when I sit down next to him, and for a while, we just sit there in silence.

"I hate waiting," I say eventually, my voice barely above a whisper.

Oriel doesn't respond, but I can feel him listening.

"I keep thinking about what he said," I continue. "About the cure. About coming back."

Oriel scoffs, his breath visible in the chilly air. "Janus has always been good at saying what people want to hear."

"He meant it," I say, my voice firmer now.

Oriel finally looks at me, his eyes sharp and tired. "How do you know?"

"Because it's Janus," I say simply. "And Janus doesn't break his promises."

Oriel doesn't say anything for a long time. He just stares out at the city, his expression unreadable.

"Maybe you're right," he says quietly, so quietly I almost don't hear him.

It's not much, but it's something.

Later, when we head back inside, I notice the crane is missing from my windowsill. I don't ask Oriel about it, and he doesn't offer an explanation. But when I see it later, tucked carefully into his jacket pocket, I don't say anything.

Because maybe, just maybe, he's starting to believe too.