Chapter Text
Sylvia Sherwood was a woman of routine— or so her SSS tails had been led to believe. How easy it was to lull them into complacency, how readily they believed that she was so rigid and dull.
She was hardly complaining; it was a weapon she wielded with skill.
It always left a niggling in the back of her mind, that there were machinations outside the boundaries of her routine that she missed because of it, but that’s what the rest of the WISE corps stationed in Ostania was for. For now she was simply Sylvia, attaché of Westalis’ embassy in their neighbouring nation, picking up a coffee on her morning break as she did every Friday.
She clocked the body about to make contact half a second before it did, but had to grit her teeth and take the bump.
It was a harder knock than she anticipated and the world tilted abruptly as she staggered to try and keep her balance, only for a hand to grasp her upper arm, and another to close around her grip on the coffee cup.
“I’m so sorry miss, are you alright?”
The sonorous voice of her impromptu acquaintance was a neat match for the strength of the limbs that caught her, and once Sylvia had her feet firmly back under her she turned to meet the man’s gaze, preparing to play either the embarrassed, clumsy foreign woman or the offended white-collar worker.
She was surprised to see a black man, the first she’d seen in this part of Berlint, who was much older than she’d expected. He wore a simple shirt and trousers with a plain jacket and flat cap, and his white hair was long enough to be held in a tight bun at the back of his head. There was breadth in his shoulders, but otherwise he was on the leaner side, particularly in the face.
This would normally call for the offended white-collar worker, but Sylvia was caught in the man’s gaze. His dark eyes seemed empty, his smile hollow.
And he’d bumped into her on purpose.
“Oh, goodness!” she blurted, making sure to sound flustered, “I’m really sorry for bumping into you, I wasn’t paying attention at all. My fault!”
She expelled some of her nervous energy fidgeting with her clothing and hair, one hand tight on her takeaway cup— a cup he’d caught along with her, not spilling a drop, with the strength of a man half his age.
“Not at all, miss. I knocked you rather harder than you did me. You’re not hurt, are you?”
Sylvia would normally be fighting not to roll her eyes at being called miss, but this man had at least twenty years on her. She probably was a ‘miss’ to him.
“No, no, just a bit shaken. And you even saved my coffee! Thank you,” she said, moving the cup to her other hand so she could offer a shake, “I’m Sylvia, by the way. Sylvia Sherwood.”
The man’s unnerving smile reached his blank eyes, a facsimile of a genuine expression.
“August Saros,” he answered, his voice much more convincing in its warmth, “It’s a pleasure.”
His grip was firm and warm, his hand callused and somewhat scarred. She couldn’t begin to figure out who he worked for or why he’d collided with her. Whoever it was, they were either foolish or powerful; Saros stuck out like a sore thumb in this part of the city and his approach was fairly bold.
“May I ask where it is you’re headed in such a rush?” he asked, his tone politely amused.
Sylvia feigned embarrassment.
“I don’t mean to walk so fast, honestly... I always grab a coffee on the corner there on my Friday morning break, and I just take a walk around the shops to stretch my legs before I have to get back to work. I get so stiff and restless just being sat at my desk all day.”
“I see. I’m not too familiar with desk work myself, but I can’t imagine being cooped up inside all day.”
He hadn’t dropped the smile once. The most concerning part was that Sylvia was starting to get used to it; his body language and vocal tone were so calm and jovial that they overrode the unease his expression caused. She’d have to keep her wits about her.
“You work outside then, Mr. Saros?”
“Yes, I’m a groundsman for the city.”
Sylvia couldn’t imagine him in a park, tending diligently to the trees and verges. If she’d ever spotted him working in one, she’d have clocked him immediately. “Ah, so we have you to thank for that lush park!”
Saros shifted, raised a hand to adjust his cap as he glanced away for a moment— bashful, or pretending to be.
“I’m hardly the only one keeping things healthy, but I appreciate it all the same. It’s not often I get thanks for my job.”
Sylvia put on a warm smile. “Well then, let me be one of the few to do so. It’s easy to forget how much work gets put into things like that, but who knows what state we’d all be in without people like you.”
Saros’ face went truly blank at that, and when he smiled again his eyes crinkled, his expression almost looking real for a moment.
“Well,” he said at length, a new note to his voice, “you’re very welcome, miss.”
Keeping her smile in place, Sylvia switched her coffee back to her right hand to check her watch. “Not much of my break left, it looks like. I’d better get moving! I hope you have a good day, Mr. Saros.”
Sylvia was poised to move once she heard the sentiment reciprocated, but Saros stayed silent. Once again she felt pinned by those eyes. She wanted to keep her composure, but it was more convincing to let her nerves show. August Saros... she needed to get someone on that name ASAP.
“Every Friday morning?” he asked at length.
“Y-yes, that’s right. I’m a creature of habit.”
He chuckled warmly.
“Then I shall keep an eye out next Friday,” he said, tipping his hat, “so as not to barrel into you again. You take care, Miss Sherwood.”
With that he stepped away, somehow vanishing into the crowd of white faces within seconds.
Sylvia could feel sweat on the back of her neck, heart beating rabbit-fast. She would also have to keep an eye out next Friday... preferably armed to the teeth with information on that man.
August Saros... who sent you?