She eased her foot onto the gas, and the car rolled forward.

Her movements were more confident than yesterday—still careful, but not rigid. She checked the mirrors without me prompting her. Turned the wheel with smoother hands.

"Nice," I said. "See? Already better."

"I'm trying not to overthink," she replied. "That's the hardest part."

"Driving's mostly muscle memory," I said. "Your brain just needs to stop getting in the way."

She shot me a look. "That sounds like advice you give yourself often."

"Eh, well, maybe."

She drove along the edge of the lot, slow and controlled. Turned the wheel for a wide curve instead of a sharp one. The tires crunched softly over gravel near the curb.

"Brake a little earlier," I said gently.

She did, and the car slowed smoothly instead of jerking.

"Good," I added. "That was perfect."

Her shoulders relaxed just a bit.

We did another loop. Then another. Each time, she looked less tense, her hands settling into a rhythm. She even adjusted her seat slightly on her own.

"You're not correcting me as much," she said after a moment.

"That's because you're not giving me reasons to."

She was quiet for a second. Then, softer, "That's… reassuring."

We drove past a row of parked cars. She navigated between them carefully, eyes sharp behind her glasses.

"I was scared I'd hit something again," she admitted.

"You didn't," I said. "And you won't. You're paying attention. That's half the battle."

"Only half?"

"The other half is trusting yourself."

She considered that, then nodded.

We did one last loop. This time, she picked a spot near the edge of the lot and eased into it.

"Okay," she said, voice steadier now. "I'm going to park."

"Take your time."

She lined it up, adjusted once, then brought the car to a smooth stop. Shifted into park. Turned the engine off.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then she exhaled and leaned back in her seat. "I did it."

"You did," I said, grinning. "And cleanly, too."

She glanced at me. I expected the usual neutral expression. The composed, serious Amelia I was used to. Instead, her lips curved upward. Not a polite half-smile. Not a brief acknowledgment. An actual smile. It softened her whole face. Changed it. It didn't quite fit her serious demeanor—but that made it even more striking.

I blinked. "Wow."

She caught herself and quickly looked away. "What?"

"That," I said honestly. "You smiling."

She froze for half a second, then shook her head, embarrassed. "Don't make it weird."

"I'm not," I said. "Just… wasn't expecting it."

She muttered something under her breath and opened the door.

We stepped out of the car and started walking back toward the building.

"You did really well," I said as we climbed the steps. "At this rate, you'll be better than me."

She glanced over. "I doubt that."

"Give it time."

She hesitated, then smiled again—smaller this time, but still real.

"Thanks, Evan."

Yeah.

That was definitely new.

We walked the rest of the stairs side by side and pushed through the glass doors into the building. The lobby was quieter now, late-afternoon quiet, the kind where even footsteps sounded too loud.

We stepped into the elevator together.

The doors slid shut.

Silence settled between us again—not uncomfortable exactly, but thin. Like neither of us wanted to poke it and see what happened.

I watched the floor numbers tick up. Amelia stared straight ahead, hands folded, posture composed again like she'd slipped the armor back on.

The elevator slowed.

My floor.

I stepped out and turned back. "Hey."

She looked at me. "Yeah?"

"Good job today," I said again, softer this time. "Seriously."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you. For… being patient."

"Anytime."

She reached out and punched another button before the doors could close. "And—" she paused, then added, "thanks again."

I nodded. "See you tomorrow."

"See you."

The doors slid shut, and she was gone.

I walked back to my desk, dropped into my chair, and let myself exhale. The quiet hum of the office wrapped around me again.

My phone buzzed.

Nala.

I glanced toward her office and saw her sitting behind her desk, phone in hand, eyes already on me through the glass.

I picked up. "Hey."

"The anime convention," she said immediately. "They're starting early. Weather warning. Might snow hard tomorrow."

"Wait," I said. "It starts now?"

"At eight," she replied. "Four hours from now."

"Oh." I nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll call Cora. You sure you won't come?"

She smiled faintly, still watching me. "Like I said, Evan, I can't afford to be seen in public wearing cosplay. Especially not with Project Phoenix looming over everything."

"Fair enough," I said. "But if you change your mind, you know where we'll be."

"I know." Her gaze softened. "I saw you teaching Amelia again. How was she?"

"She's good," I said. "Getting better."

"Mm." She nodded. "You can leave early if you want. I'll handle things here."

"Alright." I leaned back. "I'll call Cora and see how bad the panic is."

She smirked. "Good luck."

"Bye, boss," I said, deliberately sarcastic.

She rolled her eyes. "Bye, Evan."

The call ended.

I didn't wait. I tapped Cora's name and held the phone to my ear.

She answered almost immediately. "Evan?"

"Hey," I said. "So. Small update."

"Um… o-okay?"

"The convention's today."

Silence.

Then—"What."

"Eight p.m.," I added quickly. "They moved it up because of the weather."

"Today?" Her voice jumped an octave. "As in—today today?"

"Yep."

"Oh my god." I heard rustling on her end. "No, no, no, no, no—Evan, I'm not ready. My wig isn't styled properly, the straps on the costume are still wrong, and Esme hasn't even tried her horns on yet."

"You'll be fine," I said calmly. "Trust me."

"That doesn't mean I'm socially prepared," she shot back. "Those are two completely different skill sets."

I smiled. "Cora."

"I'm serious," she said. "What if people stare? Or take pictures? Or talk to me?"

"That's… kind of the point of conventions."

She groaned. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"You said that before too," I reminded her.

"B-but… Evan, I don't know."

"You'll survive," I said. "I'll be there. Esme'll be there. You won't be alone."

There was a pause. Then, quieter, "What if I freeze?"

"Then we step outside," I said without hesitation. "Or we leave. No pressure. No forcing."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Another pause. I could practically hear her chewing on her lip.

"Okay," she said finally. "Okay. I can… try."

"That's all I'm asking."

"When are you picking us up?"

"Two hours," I said. "Enough time to panic constructively."

She huffed out a nervous laugh. "I hate that you're right."

"I know."

"Okay," she repeated. "Two hours."

"See you then."

"Evan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," she said softly.

"Anytime."

The call ended. I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. Seeing Cora and Esme in cosplay, surrounded by people?

Yeah.

That was going to be weird. And somehow, I already knew I wouldn't trade it for anything.

❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

Goodbye to my date with Carrie… for now.

The convention was already in full swing by the time we arrived. The café had been completely transformed—dim, warm lighting, wooden beams propped up along the walls, fake iron sconces with flickering orange bulbs, banners stitched with fantasy crests hanging between shelves. Someone had gone all-in on the "old tavern" aesthetic. It smelled like roasted coffee beans mixed with cinnamon and something faintly sweet, maybe honey syrup.

The tables were crowded, not just with drinks but props—foam swords leaning against chairs, spellbooks that were definitely notebooks in disguise, dice trays, plush creatures piled like loot. Servers walked around in themed outfits, carrying drinks in thick, oddly shaped glassware that looked like something pulled straight out of an anime fantasy world. My coffee came in a heavy goblet-like mug, etched with runes that were probably nonsense but looked cool as hell.

People were everywhere. Some stood near the makeshift photo corner—brick-pattern backdrops, fake barrels, lanterns—posing dramatically while friends snapped pictures. Others sat in groups, laughing too loudly, comparing costumes, pointing out details on armor or wigs. Cameras flashed now and then, catching bits of glitter, metal, and colored lenses.

We'd claimed a small round table near the side, half-sheltered by a wooden divider. Close enough to feel part of it, far enough not to be overwhelmed.

Cora sat to my left, shoulders slightly hunched, hands wrapped around her drink like it was a lifeline. Since this had all been last-minute, she hadn't had time to do her full cosplay. Instead, she wore a soft, oversized sweater in muted pastel tones, paired with a short skirt and thigh-high stockings. The real standout was the wig—long, silver-lilac hair that framed her face beautifully—and the fluffy tail clipped behind her, swaying slightly whenever she shifted. She'd bought both here, cheeks pink when the vendor helped her put them on.

Esme sat across from me, already halfway to dozing off.

She was dressed like a fantasy peasant—simple earth-toned dress, apron tied loosely, sleeves rolled just enough to look intentional. But the horns ruined any attempt at "normal." Two small, curved black horns jutted out from her hair, subtle but unmistakable. Apparently, she'd picked a super niche character: the first human turned into a demon, long before becoming the Demon Lord's helper. This was the "before" version. Human. Tired. Horns included.

It fit her disturbingly well.

I took a sip of my coffee. Strong. Bitter. Good.

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