Devotion After Dark

CHAPTER EIGHT

Perhaps names were unimportant to some because they had lived long enough to know how easily they could become memories.

There was something unsettling about a stranger who refused to give his name. Solenne had never thought a name could matter so much until that evening.

It should have been the simplest exchange between two people. A greeting. A name. Perhaps a polite question about where he lived or why he had appeared in her grandmother’s garden at an hour when most of the town had already begun settling into the quiet of night.

Instead, she had somehow ended up standing across from a man who seemed determined to turn the most ordinary conversation into a puzzle.

His gaze drifted toward the garden beyond her shoulder. The evening had settled over the property, leaving the paths dim beneath the trees. Somewhere beyond the wall, a motorcycle passed along the road, its engine fading gradually into the distance. The brief noise should have broken the strange stillness between them, yet when it disappeared, the silence seemed to return even more noticeably.

Solenne watched him carefully. He did not appear uncomfortable. That was the part that bothered her. Most people who were questioned repeatedly would eventually laugh, become irritated, or offer an answer simply to end the conversation. He did none of those things. His composure remained intact, almost unnaturally so, as though her curiosity was nothing more than a minor inconvenience he had already expected.

When he finally looked back at her, whatever had crossed his face was gone.

“Names are rather unimportant.”

Solenne blinked. “That’s easy for someone with a name to say.”

A faint curve touched his lips.

“Perhaps.”

There was no embarrassment in his expression. No sign that he understood just how deliberately irritating he was being. If anything, he seemed almost amused by her frustration, although the amusement never reached his eyes.

“Do you know any other word?” Solenne folded her arms.

“Several.”

“Could you use one of them?”

He considered that. For a moment, she thought he might actually answer her properly. His attention remained fixed on her, quiet and unreadable, as though he were weighing the question far more seriously than it deserved.

“I could.”

“Then please do.” A pause followed.

He looked away. “No.”

She almost laughed. Not because anything was funny, but because she genuinely could not understand how someone could be this infuriating while appearing completely unaware of it.

A breath escaped her, caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement. She shook her head, trying to decide whether she was dealing with an eccentric man or simply someone who enjoyed making other people lose their patience.

“You know,” she said, “…normal people introduce themselves.”

He turned his attention toward her again. “Do they?”

“Yes.”

“And if I were normal?” The question was so quietly spoken that she almost missed it. Something about his voice had changed. The teasing quality had disappeared. There was no trace of amusement now, only a strange stillness that made Solenne hesitate before answering.

She studied him. His expression gave her nothing. For the first time since their conversation began, she wondered whether she had accidentally touched upon something he had not meant to reveal.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

He did not respond immediately. His eyes moved past her once more, toward the garden where shadows gathered beneath the branches. His attention seemed to settle on something distant, something she could not see. The shift was subtle, but Solenne noticed it.

She had the peculiar feeling that he was remembering something.

Or someone.

When he finally spoke, his tone had returned to its earlier calmness. “It means precisely what you think it means.”

The more Solenne tried to learn about the stranger beside her, the more she began to suspect that his silence was not uncertainty—it was practice. “That doesn't help.”

“I wasn't trying to.” The answer came with such effortless calm that Solenne could only stare at him.

For a moment, she said nothing. She pressed her lips together, holding back the response that immediately rose to her tongue. There it was again—that maddening composure that seemed impossible to disturb. He did not look embarrassed by his lack of explanation. He did not seem irritated by her persistence, either. If anything, he appeared almost amused by it.

Solenne studied his face, searching for some indication that she had finally managed to catch him off guard.

Nothing.

His expression remained composed, his attention resting on her with an almost unsettling patience. There was no nervous movement, no hesitation that might suggest he was struggling to invent an answer. Even his silences seemed deliberate, as though every pause had been considered before she had even finished speaking.

That was what made him strange.

Most people became easier to read when they were questioned repeatedly. They fidgeted. They laughed awkwardly. They changed the subject too quickly or offered unnecessary explanations to fill the uncomfortable space.

He did none of those things.

He simply let her questions fall between them and decided, with quiet precision, which ones deserved an answer.

Solenne felt her curiosity sharpen rather than fade. If anything, his refusal only made her want to know more.

“All right,” she said at last, forcing her voice into something lighter than the irritation she felt. “Then I'll ask something else.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “Go ahead.”

The invitation sounded almost sincere. That somehow made it worse. Solenne watched him for another second before choosing her next question carefully. “How long have you lived here?”

For the first time, she thought she might have finally asked something that would make him pause.

She waited. But whatever reaction she had expected never came. His expression remained unchanged. There was no visible surprise, no flicker of discomfort. His gaze stayed steady, and his posture remained as relaxed as before.

“Long enough.”

Solenne stared at him. An incredulous look slowly settled across her face. “That isn't an answer.”

“It is technically an answer.” The sheer absurdity of his response left her momentarily speechless.

“Technically?”

“Yes.” There was something almost infuriating about the way he said it. He wasn't arguing with her. He wasn't even trying particularly hard to defend himself. He simply seemed perfectly content with the answer he had given, as though the problem belonged entirely to her for expecting anything more.

Solenne let out a quiet breath through her nose. “You really enjoy doing this, don't you?”

“Doing what?” His attention shifted fully toward her.

She gave him a look that made the answer obvious. “Avoiding every question I ask.”

For the briefest moment, something changed in his expression. His lips curved again, barely enough to count as a smile. It wasn't the sort of smile that offered reassurance. Nor did it look apologetic. It carried the quiet amusement of someone who knew exactly what he was doing—and had no intention of stopping.

“I wouldn’t say every question.”

The answer should have been satisfying enough to end the conversation, but somehow, it only made Solenne more determined.

She stared at him for several seconds, trying to decide whether there was something hidden behind the calmness of his expression or if he simply enjoyed making people work for every piece of information he gave them. His face remained composed, almost indifferent, yet there was something about the way he watched her that made her feel as though he knew exactly where this conversation was going.

“You haven’t answered a single one.”

There was a faint shift in his expression, so subtle that she nearly missed it. The corner of his mouth moved, not quite forming a smile, before settling back into its usual restraint. “That depends on what you consider an answer.”

Solenne narrowed her eyes. For someone who had barely told her anything about himself, he certainly had a talent for making every conversation feel like a puzzle she had somehow agreed to solve.

She could not decide whether she wanted to laugh, walk away, or continue questioning him until he finally surrendered. The sensible part of her suggested leaving him alone. The more curious part had already dismissed that suggestion entirely.

Unfortunately, the third option was beginning to sound the most appealing.

She tilted her head, studying him with renewed suspicion.

“Fine. Let me make it easier.”

He waited. There was no impatience in his posture, no visible irritation at her persistence. He simply stood there, giving her the unsettling impression that he had all the time in the world.

“What should I call you?”

The question lingered between them. For the first time since she had begun questioning him, he did not immediately have an answer. Something changed in his eyes.

It was brief—so fleeting that Solenne almost questioned whether she had imagined it. His composure seemed to falter for the smallest fraction of a moment, as though her question had reached somewhere he had carefully kept out of reach. There was no obvious anger or discomfort, only a strange hesitation that left her more intrigued than before.

She watched him closely, waiting.

He eventually looked at her again, and whatever had passed through his expression was gone. His features had returned to their usual calm, giving away nothing.

“You can call me whatever you like.”

Solenne blinked. For a moment, she simply looked at him. Then her eyebrows lifted in disbelief.

“That isn't a name.”

“I didn't say it was.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to sigh. Of course. Somehow, he had managed to turn the simplest question into another unanswered one.

She studied him again, searching his face for some indication that he was joking. There was something almost infuriating about how effortlessly he avoided giving her what she wanted. He never seemed flustered, never stumbled over his words, and never appeared concerned that she might eventually grow tired of asking.

Instead, he looked at her as though her persistence was something mildly entertaining.

Solenne folded her arms. “You're avoiding the question.”

“I answered it.”

“You avoided it while answering it.”

His gaze remained fixed on hers. “And yet you understood me.”

That made her pause. She hated that he had a point. The silence that followed felt different from the ones before. Solenne became suddenly aware of how closely she had been watching him, how much attention she had given to every pause and every change in his expression. She had wanted a simple name, something ordinary that would make him easier to understand.

Instead, she had received another mystery. And, much to her annoyance, she wanted to know what was behind it. The first thing Solenne noticed was that he had a talent for answering questions without actually answering them.

It had become increasingly obvious over the course of their conversation, though she had only just begun to understand how deliberate it was. Every time she thought she had managed to corner him with something simple, he found some quiet little turn in the conversation that allowed him to slip away from the subject. He never appeared flustered. He never seemed irritated by her persistence. If anything, he appeared faintly entertained by it, as though her attempts to uncover something as ordinary as his name were part of a private amusement she had unknowingly agreed to participate in.

She studied him from across the garden.

The evening had settled comfortably around them. The last traces of daylight had disappeared behind the trees, leaving the old house and its surrounding grounds softened beneath the pale glow of the moon. Somewhere beyond the walls, insects hummed among the grass, while the occasional rustle of leaves stirred whenever the breeze passed through the branches.

He remained perfectly still. There was something peculiar about that.

Most people moved without thinking. They shifted their weight, adjusted their sleeves, scratched an itch, glanced away when they became uncomfortable. He seemed to have none of those ordinary habits. Even when she had spent several minutes questioning him, his composure had barely changed.

It was beginning to bother her. Not because she disliked him. That would have been much easier. The problem was that she liked talking to him. Perhaps more than she should.

There was an ease to their conversations that she could not explain. He listened without interrupting, remembered insignificant details she had mentioned days earlier, and possessed a dry sense of humor that caught her off guard at the most inconvenient moments. Yet there was always a boundary between them, invisible but unmistakable.

She could approach it. She could even make him acknowledge that it existed. But whenever she tried to cross it, he stepped away.

Tonight, she had decided to try again. She narrowed her eyes at him. “That is not how names work.”

His expression barely shifted, although something almost resembling amusement touched his eyes. “It seems to be working rather well for you.”

For a moment, she genuinely had no response. Then she exhaled through her nose and folded her arms across her chest, trying to conceal how badly she wanted to laugh.

“I don't even know what to call you.”

“You'll think of something.” The casualness of his reply made her look at him again.

There was no hesitation in his voice. No embarrassment. He said it as though being nameless was an entirely reasonable arrangement between two people who had already spent several evenings speaking to one another.

She let out a quiet groan. “You are impossible.”

“Perhaps.”

“There are other words.”

“I know.”

“And you're doing it again.”

“I am.” That finally broke whatever restraint she had been trying to maintain.

Solenne could not help it. She laughed. It was a small sound, almost unwilling, escaping before she could stop it. She turned her face slightly as if she could somehow hide it, but the amusement had already loosened something inside her. The tension that had been gathered between her shoulders slowly disappeared, replaced by a strange lightness she had not expected to feel.

For several seconds, she simply laughed beneath her breath.

She had expected him to react. Perhaps he would smile properly this time. Maybe he would make another dry remark, or give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had finally managed to amuse him.

Instead, he simply watched her. The laughter gradually faded. Solenne noticed the change almost immediately.

His attention had never truly left her, but now there was something different in his expression. His gaze rested on her with an intensity that made her suddenly conscious of everything she was doing—the way her fingers had curled against her sleeves, the warmth lingering in her cheeks, the uneven rhythm of her breathing after laughing.

She stopped smiling. She wondered what he was thinking. He offered no explanation.

His face remained composed, yet there was something unreadable behind his eyes. It was not the distant amusement he had shown moments earlier. It seemed quieter than that, almost thoughtful, as though her laughter had reminded him of something he had not expected to remember.

Solenne felt the impulse to ask.

Instead, she hesitated. There were moments when his silence felt deliberate, as though he were choosing every word he allowed her to hear. She had begun to suspect that there was far more beneath his calm exterior than he was willing to reveal.

There was something peculiar about the way he answered questions. He never seemed to lie outright. Instead, he stepped neatly around whatever she asked, leaving behind just enough truth to make it impossible for her to accuse him of avoiding the question.

Solenne had noticed it almost immediately. She had also noticed that the more she tried to understand him, the less certain she became. He sat beside her beneath the shadow of the trees, his attention resting on her with an unsettling calm. There was no obvious reason for the way he watched her, yet she could feel his gaze whenever she turned away. It was not invasive. If anything, it carried a strange restraint, as though he were constantly reminding himself not to look for too long.

“You're staring.”

His brow lifted slightly. “I am looking at you.”

“That is basically the same thing.”

“Not necessarily.” She gave him a skeptical glance. He offered no further explanation. Of course. A small smile threatened at the corner of her mouth despite herself. For someone who had managed to remain almost entirely unknown to her, he was remarkably comfortable sitting there as though they had been having conversations like this for years.

Her curiosity returned. “What should I call you?”

The change in his expression was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Something tightened behind his eyes before the familiar composure settled back into place. “The man who lives next door.”

Solenne stared at him. “That is terrible.”

A faint curve touched his mouth. “I've been called worse.”

“By whom?”

The amusement disappeared. For the briefest moment, he looked somewhere beyond her, toward a time she could not see.

“People who knew me a long time ago.”

The answer stayed with her.

A long time ago.

She studied his face again, searching for some explanation in the quiet lines of it. There was something old in his manner, something that did not belong to the ordinary rhythm of the present. Even his silences seemed practiced, as though he had spent years learning exactly how much of himself he could reveal without giving anything important away.

“Do you know my grandmother?”

His gaze returned to hers. “I've known of her.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

“I know.” He looked away. It was such a small movement, but Solenne caught it. Until then, he had seemed almost impossible to unsettle. Now there was the faintest fracture in his composure.

She wanted to press further.

She wanted to know what he knew about her grandmother, why the old mansion had seemed strangely familiar, and why looking at him sometimes gave her the uncomfortable impression that they had crossed paths somewhere neither of them remembered.

Instead, she found herself yawning. She quickly covered her mouth.

His attention shifted to her immediately. “You should sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

His gaze lingered on her for a moment. “You just yawned.”

“That proves nothing.”

“It is past midnight.”

She glanced toward the darkened house. The windows were almost entirely black now, and the garden had grown quieter while they talked. She had not realized how late it had become.

“I can stay a little longer.”

“You shouldn't.” There was no sharpness in his voice, but something about it made the suggestion sound less like an opinion and more like a boundary.

Solenne sighed and pushed herself to her feet. “Fine. But I'm still going to find out your name.” He looked up at her. For the first time, something almost gentle softened his expression. “I believe you.”

She took a few steps toward the house before glancing back. He remained beneath the trees, motionless in the dim light, watching her with an expression she could not decipher.

She still did not know his name. Yet somehow, that felt less like an unanswered question now and more like the beginning of one.