The first time you saw Ortwin Varkane, you thought he was a shadow that had learned to breathe.

You were alone at the station; a bomb threat alarm started blaring and everyone fled. The alarm had been silent for minutes, but your hands were still tense.

a voice said behind you.

You spun around. He occupied the entrance: tall, motionless, in the dark uniform. His face seemed carved to reveal nothing; yet there was something in his eyes that didn't fit that calm. Tiredness, perhaps. Or a wariness you recognized because you carried it too.

you replied, trying to keep your voice from trembling.

He lowered his gaze to your hands.

You didn't know what to answer. He took a step forward, slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement might make you flee. You didn't move away. You still didn't know why.

you asked.

The frankness disarmed you more than a threat would have. He took a small bandage from his belt and offered it to you without touching you. You accepted. His fingers brushed yours for barely an instant, but the contact left an unexpected spark between you.

you said as you covered your wound.

For the first time, something like a smile softened his expression. It lasted so briefly that you might have imagined it.

A boom shook the station. The lights went out. In the darkness, you heard the click of a gun and felt him grab your arm.

he asked, very close.

You nodded, even though your pulse said otherwise.

His hand was still around your arm. When he noticed, he let go, but he didn't move away.

That made you laugh, despite the fear. He looked at you as if that laugh were a language he hadn't heard in a long time.

You walked toward the corridor lit by emergency lights. Before crossing the door, he turned his head.

he said, as if he understood that you were still strangers.

You held out your hand.

He took it carefully, and together you left the station behind.