The Department Store doors spit us into the Veilstone night, the neon buzzing alive overhead. The air smelled like oil and spice from the streets below, faint smoke from lanterns strung along the main road. My pouch was lighter, the Shell Bell at my hip heavier. I wasn't sure which one mattered more.
Cynthia didn't ask where we were going. She just walked beside me like it was natural, her coat brushing my sleeve, and angled us toward the heart of the night market.
Vendors called from either side. Smoke curled from braziers where skewers hissed, fruit blistered, and meat dripped fat onto the fire. A flock of children dashed past with paper lanterns, nearly colliding with Luxio's ball at my belt. He thumped against it once in irritation, then quieted at my touch.
Cynthia tilted her head at a stall lined with skewers. "You look like you haven't eaten since Fantina's arena. Two salty, two sweet."
"I can pay," I said.
"You can," she agreed, not moving.
So I paid. The vendor wrapped them in paper and passed them over with a grunt. We carried them to a stone step at the edge of a service alley, sitting with our shoulders nearly level.
The first bite burned my tongue, and I tried not to show it. Cynthia didn't bother hiding her amusement. "You look serious even when you eat. Is that a habit, or are you worried the skewer might challenge you to a battle?"
I gave her a flat look, chewing. "It's hot."
"Ah," she said, leaning in a fraction. "Good cover. I almost believed you."
Her hair caught the lamplight, a curl loose against her cheek. She didn't fix it. She took another bite, neat and decisive.
She was the one who broke the silence. "I told you about Celestic Town once—ruins, stories, my grandmother. I've been thinking… I made it sound tidy. It wasn't. It was beautiful, yes, but it was also lonely. Sometimes busy looks the same as lonely."
I nodded, the words settling heavy.
"And you?" she asked, glancing sidelong at me. "You never really talk about before. Not the philosophy, not the training—the beginning. What pulled you onto the road?"
For a second, I thought about saying nothing. My past wasn't tidy either. But Cynthia's eyes weren't sharp right now. They were open, waiting.
"Tyrunt," I said simply. "I found him in the ice. Or he found me. Hard to tell which. An old man and his Houndoom kept me alive long enough to learn what that meant. He taught me how to breathe, how to last. Everything else came later."
Cynthia's gaze softened. "The hunter."
I nodded. "Grotle wasn't mine at first. He was part of getting Tyrunt back. He stayed anyway. Shinx… he followed me until I stopped pretending he wouldn't. That's the short version."
"The short version is enough," she said, and the way she said it made me believe her. She tapped the Shell Bell pouch on my belt with one fingertip. "No wonder you chose rhythm over power. You've been living like that since the start."
I let out a slow breath. "Control is the only thing between me and losing them. Or losing myself."
Her smile tilted, playful again. "You make it sound dramatic. But it's flattering, too. All that weight—and you're still here, sitting on a step, chewing skewers with me."
"I didn't have a choice," I muttered.
"Everyone has a choice," she said softly. "You just keep making the hard ones."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The market noise filled in the space: a Chatot mimicking a vendor's call, the clang of coins, laughter somewhere too loud for the street.
Cynthia broke it with a grin that was almost sly. "You know, if you stay this serious all the time, I'll have to assume you're secretly planning something romantic. Like naming a constellation after me."
I nearly choked. "That's—what?"
"Or presenting me with a Bidoof that delivers tea," she added, straight-faced.
"That's not—"
She laughed, bright and quiet, enough to cut the heaviness without breaking it. "There it is. Not haunted."
I shook my head, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me. "You're impossible."
"I'm versatile," she corrected, brushing ash from her sleeve as she stood. "Walk me back? Unless you'd rather keep fighting skewers."
I followed. The lanterns swayed overhead, shadows touching and parting as we walked side by side down the stone road. She didn't ask more, and I didn't offer more. What we'd said was enough.
At the lodging house door, she paused. "Good night, Orion."
"Good night, Cynthia."
She slipped inside. The door closed on the sound of a small bell—not the Shell Bell, but something simpler, ordinary.
I stood there another minute, the night market still buzzing behind me, the Shell Bell cool at my hip. I could still hear its clear note in my bones, and her laugh beside it. Rhythm. Not miracle. Enough.