Heart Attack

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No, we hadn’t left yet. Not because we didn’t want to, but because General Ironwood and Damian were still circling each other like two stubborn Beowolves who hadn’t decided if they were going to tear each other apart or finally start working together. I hated watching it. Hated feeling it. That taut, brittle silence between them was everywhere lately, filling rooms like frost creeping up glass.

I sipped my tea—lukewarm now, bitter—and tried to ignore how my fingers wouldn’t stop fiddling with the braid Damian had done for me. Tangled, he’d called it. Said it suited me. I wanted to smile at that thought, but my stomach wouldn’t stop twisting. Across the room, Penny was laughing softly with Oscar and Bart, their heads close together like puzzle pieces that somehow fit despite coming from three different boxes. A strange little family. A happy one. I liked seeing them like that.

I almost envied them.

“Amyrti.”

His voice was low, smooth—winter steel that never quite thawed. I turned and found Altair beside me, golden eyes catching the light. He didn’t smile, not really, but there was something in them softer than usual. Concern.

“Is the General’s and our king’s relationship still concerning you?”

“Yes,” I admitted. He didn’t need my semblance to know; he could always read me, like he saw straight through the cracks I didn’t even know I had. “I just… want to help. But I don’t know what to do for them.”

“Come.”

I blinked. “Where to?”

“I have a vague idea who could help. He’s coming back today. I am to escort him. Will you accompany me?”

“Of course!”

I didn’t even hesitate. And that’s when I heard it—clear as a bell, in his thoughts before he slammed the door shut on them. This is a date.

My heart stuttered. He’d blocked me out after that, like always, which only made me more aware of every brush of his shoulder as we walked, every shift of his hand when it almost touched mine. He wasn’t Dick. I reminded myself that constantly. Altair didn’t burn hot and vanish like a flare; he was quiet, steady, patient. Winter, not summer. And yet… my stomach still fluttered.

The frozen landscape around us glittered white and cruel. Atlas always looked like this—beautiful, yes, but in that way snow can be beautiful even as it bites at your skin and numbs your bones.

“Who are we going to get?” I asked as we neared the landing zone.

“He is someone special to the General,” Altair said, parking the vehicle. He stepped out first, held out his hand to help me down. His fingers were warm even in the cold.

“Oh? Who is he?”

Altair only smirked and led me forward. We didn’t have to walk far before I spotted them—two blondes, both with golden eyes like his. The shorter one wore a red coat over black, his face sharper, older; the taller was softer, younger, but carried himself like someone who’d already seen too much. Their resemblance to each other—and to Altair—was uncanny.

“Major Edward. Alphonse.” Altair called. His hand slipped from mine, and suddenly the wind felt colder.

“Altair!” Both blondes grinned and hurried toward him.

“And who is this?” the taller one asked.

“This is Kori Anders,” Altair introduced. “Kori, this is Edward and Alphonse Elric.”