Nocte Yin: Anti-Villain, Anti-Hero and Anti-Everything Else

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fifteen hours.

A lot could happen in fifteen hours.

She could catch a cold. The brother could sprain a wrist. The child could bruise a knee.

The world could end in the next fifteen hours.

It was too long; fifteen hours allowed for too much tragedy and endings, for too much grief and pain. It was too long.

Fifteen hours were too long.

White Knight to F3.

Doctor jerked when the plane hit turbulence, a slight jolt that sent the clouds spraying suspended rain — smack — into the windows. He frowned, his grip on the armrests taunt and uneasy as the fat drops streaked — blurred — ripped across the bright blue sky, distorting the image. He drew his lips to a firm, unbending line as the plane levelled with the clouds and sky, finally easing when the “Fasten Seatbelts” light switched off.

Nocte looked to the sky, her elbow on one of the armrests with her cheek pressed against her palm. Witley and, strangely enough, Siren sat across from her while Alex, Chantée, Ewan and Doctor were settled along the other side of the plane. She had tried, several times already, to meet Alex in the eye, but the charm maker had, thus far, avoided her in a rather practiced manner. Two months living together, and they could read each other like an opened book.

They knew what she wanted; he wasn’t ready to give it.

She tapped her armrest twice and Doctor unfastened his seatbelt. Smoothly, subtly, Nocte cast a Sleep on Siren, and carefully, inconspicuously, the songstress drifted into slumber, unaware of Nocte’s actions. It had been so delicate, that neither Alex nor Chantée noticed, but Ewan — the prophet — felt and understood her conduct. Quietly, he closed his eyes and drifted on his own. He understood the need to retreat when the time called for it.

Calmly placing his seatbelt aside, the Lucent didn’t even look at the brother before beckoning, “Alex. A word, please.”

Alex, in a brief unguarded moment, was honestly confused, but then he realized that they had planned it beforehand. He glanced at Nocte, and then away with a pinched expression.

They knew what Doctor wanted; Alex wasn’t ready to give it.

But Doctor didn’t wait, already strolling passed their seats and to the back of the plane, expecting Alex to follow — forcing Alex to follow. Begrudgingly, and knowing that he had stalled long enough, Alex stood from his seat, gave Chantée a reassuring smile, and then followed after Doctor behind the curtains and into the galley.

Chantée shifted nervously at the absence of her brother. She had not slept all night either, and they had just boarded a plane to a foreign land.

Nocte straightened from her sky-watching and gestured, with her hand, for Chantée. The girl blinked owlishly, and then her shoulders relaxed at the familiar face. It was the face she had had at her side when her brother was gone.

“Chantée,” Nocte called. “Come here.” She patted the empty seat to her right. “I have something I have to tell you.”

“Have to tell,” not just “tell.” Chantée caught the connotation, and even stalled in her making her way to Nocte. A bereft smile from Nocte and Chantée relinquished her hesitance, sliding off her seat and carefully settling down beside Nocte. The girl’s legs swung, too short to touch the floor, and so did Nocte’s, too short to touch the floor. Chantée was bound to grow taller than Nocte with age.

Short. Another shortcoming of Nocte’s.

She never did quite manage heels either.

Nocte rubbed between her brows to clear her thoughts, and then faced Chantée’s attentive expression, ready to soak up whatever information she was to share with her. Nocte decided not to colour her words bright and beautiful.