The city had begun to thaw under weak evening light. Jason walked instead of taking the tram, winding through side streets with his coat collar up and his mind spinning.

  The bell over the restaurant door jingled as Jason stepped inside, shrugging off his coat. The scent of garlic, simmering onions, and toasted spices hit him like a warm wave - familiar and grounding.

  It wasn't busy. It never really was, not during the late dinner lull. Two tables occupied. One family with a toddler fighting a spoon, one older couple sharing soup in silence. Jason nodded toward the kitchen door and took his usual spot by the window. Table three. Always table three.

  He didn't need to order.

  Three minutes later, Lina emerged from the kitchen, apron tied crooked, a steaming bowl of rice and roasted vegetables in her hands. Her hair was pulled back in a practical knot today, a few strands escaped and framing her face. She had a smudge of something - flour? sauce? - on her cheek.

  "You're late," she said, sliding the plate down in front of him. Her voice had that perpetual rasp, warm and slightly rough.

  Jason glanced up at her, taking in the details he tried not to notice: the way her eyes caught the overhead light, the small scar on her wrist visible as she set down the plate, the efficiency of her movements. "Had to actually finish work today."

  Lina smirked, wiping her hands on a towel. "God forbid."

  She didn't leave after setting the bowl down. She pulled out the chair across from him and sat, exhaling as if she'd just run a marathon. Her shoulders relaxed, and she rolled her neck once, a small pop audible.

  "Your dad okay with you taking a break?" Jason asked, nudging the plate slightly to make room for her elbows on the table.

  "He'll survive. He's upstairs yelling at suppliers or pretending not to nap." She grinned, the expression softening her features.

  Jason chuckled and picked up his fork. "Still blaming you for the front window?"

  "Technically I didn't break it," Lina said, mock-defensive. "The delivery guy did. I just happened to be the one holding the mop that knocked him over."

  He smiled and took a bite. The flavors were perfect, as always. Earthy and balanced, with just enough heat to demand attention. "This is new."

  "Lemon chili glaze," she said, resting her chin on one hand. "Dad thinks it's too much. I think he's too old."

  Jason chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. "You win."

  "Obviously."

  They sat like that for a few minutes - quiet, easy. The kind of silence that only came after a hundred similar meals. Not awkward, not performative. Just... known.

  Jason glanced up. Lina was staring past him, out the window, her expression soft and distant. The yellow light from the streetlamp caught in her dark hair, and for a moment she looked like someone from a painting - still, contemplative, unreachable.

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  "You ever think about leaving?" he asked before he could stop himself. The words came out quieter than intended.

  Lina blinked, her focus returning. "The city?"

  "Yeah."

  She leaned back, stretching her arms above her head. The motion pulled her shirt tight for a moment, and Jason very deliberately looked at his plate. "All the time. Then the oven timer goes off and I forget."

  Jason smiled, but didn't press further. He never did. She was the one thing he didn't want to ruin by trying too hard.

  And maybe, deep down, he already knew it wouldn't change anything.

  Lina tapped her fingers on the table, a three-beat rhythm he'd learned to recognize as her thinking pattern. Then she looked at him sideways, her gaze assessing. "You're quieter than usual."

  Jason took another bite. "Just tired."

  "You always say that."

  "Maybe I'm always tired."

  She snorted. "No, you're always thinking. Same thing, I guess."

  Jason didn't respond right away. He let the moment stretch a little, watching the steam rise from his bowl.

  Finally, he said, "Do you ever miss it?"

  "Miss what?"

  "You know." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The academy."

  Lina raised an eyebrow but didn't laugh. That was one of the things he appreciated about her - she took questions seriously, even when they seemed to come from nowhere. "That's a weird question."

  "I know. Sorry."

  She looked at him a second longer, then leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "Yeah. Sometimes. Not the pressure. Not the people. But the feeling... that maybe something in the world was waiting for me."

  Jason nodded. That made sense. That made too much sense.

  "Why?" she asked, tilting her head. "You thinking of applying somewhere?"

  He shook his head. "No. Just... curious. Trying to understand what makes someone go for it."

  "Desperation. Arrogance. Hope," Lina said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Sometimes boredom. Sometimes a teacher who sees something and won't shut up about it."

  She tilted her head, studying him with those sharp, dark eyes. "Why? You thinking about trying?"

  Jason gave a half-laugh, low and unconvincing. "Not really my thing. Remember, I got tested at sixteen, like everyone else. My potential wasn't zero, but... it wasn't anywhere near academy level."

  Lina smiled gently. "Could've changed since then."

  He didn't answer. He didn't want to lie. And he didn't want to say more than she was ready to hear.

  So instead, he picked up the last piece of roasted squash, ate it, and said, "You still make the best food in the city."

  "You say that every time."

  "Doesn't make it less true."

  She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward. "Flattery will get you an extra spring roll next time."

  "I'm counting on it."

  They sat in comfortable silence for another moment. Outside, a tram passed, its bell ringing twice. Inside, the family with the toddler was packing up, the child now covered in more food than he'd probably eaten.

  Lina stood, collecting his empty bowl. "You good to get home?"

  "Yeah. Thanks for this." He gestured at the table, meaning the food but also the company, the space, the easiness of it all.

  She understood. She always did. "Anytime, Jason."

  As he stood to leave, pulling on his coat, she called after him. "Hey."

  He turned.

  "Whatever you're thinking about," she said, her voice lower, more serious. "Be careful, okay?"

  His chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know." She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on his. "You just seem... different lately. Like you're standing on the edge of something."

  Jason forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just work stuff."

  Lina didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. "Okay. But if you need to talk..."

  "I know where to find you."

  She nodded, satisfied. "Good."

  Outside, the air had turned properly cold. Jason pulled his coat tighter and started the walk home, his breath fogging in the streetlight.

  Lina's words echoed in his mind. Standing on the edge of something.

  She was right. She was always right.

  But what she didn't know - what he couldn't tell her yet - was that he'd already stepped off the edge.

  And he was still falling.

  Or maybe, just maybe, he was learning to fly.

  The resonance pulsed once, soft and steady.

  Jason smiled despite himself.

  "Yeah," he whispered to the empty street. "I hear you."

  And for the first time in a long time, that didn't scare him.

  At least, not as much as it should have.