"I hope this was important," Rose whispered from behind her straw. She glanced around, banally, before spooning the glob of ice-cream from the crook bottom of her glass.
Chris gave her an eyeroll and flicked his eyebrows, forking at the dirty-fries plate before him. "Don't act like you don't want to be here," he told her, plucking a napkin from the metal dispensary. "I thought you liked this place—"
"No, no...I do!" she exclaimed, abruptly flustered.
Rose scratched at the red leather booth seats and pursed her lips, looking around at the brick diner; sleek bar-top bench, vibrant and glowing game machines, and women in peach dresses with cream aprons. It was everything she'd ever wanted in America, just to feel like she was in some ravaging 50s novel...but there were no people, only those in suits and glasses and maybe some asshole perched outside with a gun.
"Then why the rush?" Chris asked, frowning. He folded his hands, gloved black like the rest of him, and his tactical gear rustled beneath his coat. Rose pulled into herself, thumbing her father's jacket splayed across her lap. "You shouldn't need to study on your birthday, Rose."
"I don't want to, but it—but it just helps not to think about aging." She sighed, her spoon clattering against the long, purple glass and shoulders slumped, defeated she had to confess—yet again—to Chris why her birthdays felt...sullen. For her fourteenth, the first after Mia Winters' living wake, she remembered being in a room with a few friends who were allowed to visit her in protection; she'd never felt so excluded.
Rose's lips uttered but pinned shut, cheeks inflated and pushing out a long breath. Chris chewed the inside of his mouth and leaned across the table, ears perking at the sound of a suit moving.
"Rose."
"Chris." She grinned, feeling good news coming up.
"I have some bad news I didn't wish to give you on your birthday." His eyes flicked in the direction of their guests, and he pointed subtly to his sleeve. She peered but could see nothing up there. Still, she took his hand. "I unfortunately am not yet at the status to permit a group set foot in that village...we're not even sure if it's still there..."
"What's your point—"
"That I can't get us there anytime soon to find out. That's for a scientist to know only and I'm strictly a man of military," he explained but with a thrust and jostle of his arm. A paper shook free, and Rose crinkled it into her palm, withdrawing her hand quickly and snaking it under her. "I'm sorry, Rose."
"Is that why you bought me here?" she asked softly, putting a certain crinkle in her voice so the pigeon-eyed bastards went unsuspecting. "To let me down softly?"
Chris nodded slowly; fists folded in front of his beard. "Yes, unfortunately. And now..." He raised an eyebrow at a clock behind an agent who gestured with their head. "I must leave."
The man gathered himself fast, and Rose stood up twice as quick, grabbing him into a tight hug. Chris's arms flew up in self-defence but relaxed, flapping his hands at the raised guns drawn protectively. She muttered into his chest some gratitude before letting him go. In the backseat of a cold car, she gently unravelled the plane ticket, New Orleans – Romania.
Everything Chris had told her...it was a lie. A team was there, scouring, and she soon would be too!
You sly bitch.