The midday sun beat down on the cobblestone path as Olt and Mariah walked towards the heart of Hooma. The initial silence between them had unspoken anxieties. The shared experience of the morning's events still shook them. Olt's hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, as he focused on the uneven stones beneath his feet. Mariah walked beside him, her usual brisk pace slowed to match his, as she scanned their surroundings with a practiced alertness.

  As they approached the village square, the sounds of daily life grew louder. There was chatter of voices, the rumble of a passing cart, and the distant clang of a hammer from a nearby workshop. The square itself was vibrant with activity. There were vendors hawking their wares, children chasing pigeons, and neighbors exchanging gossip beneath the shade of ancient trees.

  Olt pointed subtly towards a shop tucked away on a side street, its entrance framed by overflowing window boxes bursting with colorful blooms.

  "There," he said with almost a murmur. "That's the place."

  The shop's facade was charmingly rustic, with weathered wooden planks and a large, multi-paned window that offered a glimpse into the dimly lit interior. Hanging above the door, a hand-painted sign depicted a variety of herbs and flowers. Their colors were faded by time and sun.

  They stepped inside. The interior was a feast for the senses. Sunlight streamed through the large front windows, illuminating a space that felt both ancient and alive. There was an intoxicating aroma of dried herbs, spices, and flowers – a blend of earthy, sweet, and pungent scents that mingled in a heady perfume.

  The shop was chaotically organized. Polished wooden shelves, stretching from floor to ceiling, lined the walls. They were packed with glass jars of all shapes and sizes, each filled with a colorful array of dried leaves, roots, flowers, and powders. Bunches of herbs hung from the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling, their leaves rustling softly in the gentle breeze that drifted in from the open doorway. A long, sturdy wooden counter dominated the center of the room. Its surface was worn smooth by countless transactions. Behind it, a young woman with neatly braided hair looked up from a large, leather-bound ledger. Her pen was poised mid-air.

  "Good afternoon," she said, her voice clear and welcoming. "How can I help you?"

  Olt hesitated, as he analyzed the array of jars and bottles. He had a slight unease in his eyes. He cleared his throat.

  "We're… uh… looking for some herbs," he began, his voice a little uncertain. "Some ginseng, turmeric, and ashwagandha."

  The young woman nodded, her smile unwavering.

  "Of course. How much of each would you like?"

  Olt glanced at Mariah, a silent question in his eyes. She stepped forward slightly, taking the lead.

  "An ounce of each, please.”

  The young woman turned, her movements efficient and graceful, and began to gather the requested herbs. She moved along the shelves, her fingers deftly selecting the correct jars. She scooped out precise amounts of each herb with a small, silver scale, and placed them into individual, neatly folded paper bags.

  Olt watched her, as his hands were still shoved deep in his pockets. His posture was tense. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a nervous energy radiating from him. He knew the question he had to ask. The Indigo was still missing.

  As the young woman approached the counter, placing the neatly packaged herbs before them, she spoke, her voice still polite and professional.

  "That will be five dollars, please."

  Olt remained still, frozen, looking at the herbs. The young woman, noticing his hesitation, looked at him with a questioning expression, then glanced at Mariah.

  "Is everything alright?"

  Olt took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

  "Actually…" he began, his voice low and hesitant, "…we were also wondering… do you… do you happen to carry Indigo?"

  The effect was immediate. The young woman's smile vanished, replaced by a look of shock. She glanced around the shop, as if checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned forward.

  "Lower your voice," she hissed, her eyes darting nervously towards the entrance. "Yes, we do have some. But it's… it's not something we openly display."

  She paused, searching Olt's face, assessing him.

  "It's very expensive. One hundred dollars… per leaf."

  Olt's eyes widened, the shock evident on his face. He glanced at Mariah, who merely shrugged. She had a small, uncomfortable smile playing on her lips. He knew it would be costly, but the price was still staggering. He thought of his dwindling savings, of the financial strain his family was already under. But then, he remembered the creature, the fear, and the feeling of helplessness. He knew he had to do this.

  "I'll take three," he said, his voice firm despite the tremor of anxiety he felt.

  He turned to Mariah.

  "Three, right?"

  Mariah nodded, her expression serious.

  "Yes, three should be enough."

  The young woman's eyes flickered between them with suspicion and curiosity. She didn't speak, simply turned and walked towards a locked cabinet behind the counter.

  Olt reached for his wallet, his hand trembling slightly. He pulled out a crumpled wad of bills, realizing with a sinking feeling that he didn't have enough cash. He looked at the young woman, flushed with embarrassment.

  "I… uh… I don't have enough cash on me," he stammered. "Do you…take checks?" He offered a weak, hopeful smile.

  The young woman frowned, shaking her head.

  "I'm sorry, sir. We don't accept checks."

  Before Olt could respond, a voice interrupted them.

  "What's going on here, Bella?"

  An older gentleman emerged from a back room, his steps slow but steady. He was short and stout, with a kind face framed by a halo of white hair. He wore a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

  "This gentleman," the young woman – Bella – began, gesturing towards Olt, "wants to purchase three Indigo leaves, but he doesn't have enough cash, and…"

  The old man cut her off, as he looked at Olt. He studied him for a moment, then recognized him.

  "Wait a minute…" he said. "Aren't you Omar Bartholomew's boy?"

  Olt, surprised by the question, nodded slowly.

  "Yes, sir. I am."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The old man smiled, a network of wrinkles wrinkling around his eyes.

  "I thought I recognized you. I know your grandfather. Good man, Omar."

  He turned back to Bella.

  "It's alright, Bella. Take the check. I trust this young man."

  Olt let out a sigh of relief, a wave of gratitude washing over him. He quickly wrote out the check, and handed it to Bella. She accepted it, her expression still cautious, but some of the suspicion had faded from her eyes.

  As Olt and Mariah turned to leave, the old man and Bella watched them go. They showed curiosity.

  …

  The kitchen was a cramped, chaotic space. A large, multi-paned window illuminated a jumble of mismatched cabinets. Their surfaces were chipped and faded. Some were a pale, sickly yellow, others a dull, institutional beige. The countertops were a similar patchwork of colors and textures, scarred with burns and scratches. A turquoise backsplash, cracked and stained in places, added a splash of unexpected color to the otherwise drab surroundings.

  An old, white stove, its burners caked with grime, occupied one corner of the room. Next to it, a similarly battered refrigerator hummed loudly. Its door was plastered with faded photographs and handwritten notes. A small, round table’s surface was covered with a worn oilcloth. It stood near the window, surrounded by two mismatched chairs. The floor was covered in a layer of scattered papers, a discarded rug, and a stray piece of orange cloth.

  It smelled like cheap air freshener, but better than the odors of the building. Through the window, there was a cityscape of towering high-rises.

  Mariah slammed a large, dented pot onto the stove. The metal clanged against the burner. She turned on the faucet, and the water rushed into the pot with a loud hiss. Her movements were agitated.

  "I can't believe I agreed to this," she muttered. "We should have done this at your place, Olt. Out in the open, away from… everything."

  Olt leaned against the counter, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression apologetic.

  "I know, Mariah. But you saw my family. It would have caused too much drama right now. Besides," he added with forced optimism in his voice, "who's to say I'll even awaken? Maybe it was just a fluke, like you said."

  Mariah shot him a skeptical look. She gestured towards the pot, where the water was beginning to simmer.

  "Olt, you accessed the Aether without the potion. That's unheard of. If anything, it means you're more likely to awaken, not less."

  With a frustrated sigh, she reached up and yanked open the window above the sink. The metal frame protested with a screech. A blast of warm, humid air filled the kitchen.

  "I just don't want this place smelling like a damn apothecary," she muttered, more to herself than to Olt. "This stuff… it's not exactly subtle."

  Olt frowned.

  "Why are you so nervous, Mariah? I mean, I appreciate you doing this, I really do. But…"

  Mariah turned to face him.

  "Indigo is hard to come by, Olt. Especially around here. The Firms control it. And if you try to find another source to buy it from, the prices are sky-high, as you saw at the shop. Or, you go the other route like most people in this neighborhood… the Cloud, the synthetic stuff."

  She paused, her eyes searching his.

  "And you know what that means."

  Olt nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face. He’d seen Cloud before, but didn’t know what type it was. He smelled it. You could smell it all across the streets of South Bonao. A cheap, readily available substitute for the real thing. It was a drug that fueled the city's underbelly for recreation and its side-effects.

  "The gangs," he said. "You're worried they'll think…"

  Mariah cut him off.

  "…That I'm cooking up a batch? Yeah, Olt, that's exactly what I'm worried about. The last thing I need is goons knocking on my door."

  Olt stepped forward, placing a hand on her arm with a gentle touch.

  "Mariah, I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

  His eyes were filled with a sincerity that momentarily pushed back the fear that had been building within him. Their proximity, the closeness of their bodies in the cramped kitchen, created a sudden, unexpected intimacy. Mariah's breath hitched slightly, her eyes widening. She looked away, breaking the spell, with a faint blush rising on her cheeks.

  Knock, knock.

  A sharp rap on the door, followed by a muffled electronic buzz, shattered the moment. Mariah jumped, startled, her hand flying to her chest.

  "Damn it!" she whispered. She rushed towards the door, peering through the peephole.

  Olt moved closer.

  "Who is it?"

  Mariah's shoulders slumped slightly, relief crossing her face.

  "It's my mom," she muttered. "She lives across the hall."

  Mariah took a deep breath, forcing a casual smile onto her face as she unlatched the chain and swung the door open.

  "Mom, hi! What a surprise."

  She tried to sound nonchalant, as if finding her mother on her doorstep in the middle of a clandestine potion-brewing operation was the most normal thing in the world.

  A tall, elderly woman stood in the hallway. Her jet-black hair contrasted her pale skin. Her expression was a mixture of relief and annoyance, as her dark eyes narrowed with concern.

  "Mariah! Where have you been? I was worried sick! I knocked early this morning, before I left for work, and you didn't answer. Then I tried calling the apartment, and even Ganjo's gym, but nothing!"

  Mariah winced inwardly, offering a sheepish, apologetic smile.

  "Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry. I… I decided to go for an early morning walk. And I took the day off. I just needed some air."

  Mariah hoped the flimsy excuse would suffice.

  Her mother's eyes remained skeptical, scanning Mariah's face with a scrutiny that made her feel like a teenager caught sneaking out past curfew.

  "An early morning walk? In this neighborhood? Mariah, you know how dangerous that is. At least let me know next time."

  Mariah’s mom sighed, as the lines around her mouth deepened.

  "I respect your privacy, I do. But with all the changes happening, it worries me."

  There was a general sense of unease across the neighborhood, and other communities like it across Synoro. Hadic’s supposed democracy had worsened crime in places that suffered from it.

  Before Mariah could respond, her mother shifted, focusing on someone behind her.

  "And… is there something you need to tell me, dear?" she asked, her voice suddenly taking on a softer, almost curious tone.

  "Do you have company?"

  Mariah's heart sank. She'd been so focused on her mother's lecture that she'd forgotten Olt was still in the kitchen. She desperately tried to block her mother's entry, positioning herself awkwardly in the doorway.

  "Oh, uh, Mom, actually, I…"

  She stammered, her mind racing, trying to come up with a plausible explanation to keep her mother from stepping inside. The smell of the simmering herbs, growing stronger by the second, was a ticking time bomb.

  At that moment, Olt appeared behind her. He offered a warm, disarming smile.

  "Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, respectfully. "I'm Olt, a work friend of Mariah's from the Institute."

  Mariah's mother's eyes widened slightly with something that made Mariah's stomach clench – crossing her face. The stern, worried mother was replaced by a woman with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her eyes. A slow, sinister smile spread across her lips.

  "Oh," she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Well, well, well. Mariah, you should have told me you were… busy."

  She stepped back slightly, giving Olt a pointedly appreciative look.

  "It's lovely to meet you, Olt. I'm Mary, Mariah's mother. I've… heard of you."

  The emphasis on "heard" was unmistakable.

  Mariah felt her face flush with embarrassment.

  "Mom!" she hissed, shooting Olt an apologetic glance.

  Mary, unfazed, turned her attention back to Olt, launching into a flurry of small talk.

  "So, Olt, how are you finding things? It must be so scary, with everything that's happened at the Institute. All those layoffs…"

  Mariah could practically smell the potion reaching its critical point. She had to get her mother out of there, now.

  "Mom!" she interrupted, her voice sharper this time. "We really have to go. I'll… I'll call you later, okay?"

  Mariah tried to usher her mother away from the door, as her hands fluttered nervously.

  Mary, finally seeming to take the hint, chuckled softly.

  "Alright, alright, dear. I won't keep you."

  She winked at Olt.

  "It was lovely meeting you, Olt."

  With a final, lingering look at Mariah, Mary turned and walked back towards her own apartment.

  Mariah closed the door with a sigh of relief, leaning her forehead against the cool metal.

  "Oh my god," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Now she thinks we're… having a booty call."

  She turned to Olt, exasperated.

  "I swear, she has the worst timing."

  Without another word, she rushed back towards the kitchen. Her senses were on high alert, praying she hadn't let the potion boil over, or worse, set the apartment on fire. The aroma was a potent blend of earthy and spicy. It was now undeniably strong, filling the small space with its distinctive fragrance.