No Promises

My eyes couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Lorcan—possibly the answer to every question I had—was standing in front of me. At my door. Holding a poster for our podcast.

“And…,” I say, trying to steer away from the obvious, “you like our podcast?”

Lorcan raises an eyebrow.

“To be honest, I’ve never listened to it,” he says.

“Well, you should. Best Monday night entertainment on campus. It’ll keep you company on those hill nights. The Wi-Fi reaches up there, right?”

Lorcan looks very serious.

Bad sign.

“Elena,” he says flatly. “We need to talk. In private.”

“In… seriously?”

“Yes. It’s urgent.”

My expression must change, because what Lorcan says next completely throws me.

“Do you feel like getting ice cream?” he asks.

I process that for a second.

“Is this a date?”

“It’s ice cream.”

“Fine, but… can I shower first? I spent the entire afternoon putting up posters, and I’d like not to smell like paranoia on our very-not-a-date.”

Lorcan nods, but I catch hesitation in his gaze—as if he’s facing something new. He takes a step forward. I stop him with a hand.

“Hold it,” I say. “You need two or three dates and a bouquet of flowers before you get to come in while I shower. Wait out here.”

Lorcan exhales slowly, but in the end he leans against the wall across the hallway.

“Fine,” he says. “Don’t try to run.”

“No promises,” I reply with a smile as I close the door.

The ice cream shop was a couple of blocks away. The walk felt longer than it should have. We moved through an awkward silence—tight, tense. One look at Lorcan’s face and I didn’t dare break it.

The bell over the door rang far too loudly. It didn’t help my erratic headache. The smell of sugar and vanilla, however, calmed me more than I expected.

The place wasn’t crowded. Lorcan picked a table in the back. Whatever he had to tell me, he clearly didn’t want an audience.

So why bring me somewhere public?

A waitress comes over and takes our order. Two ice cream sundaes. Two glasses of water. I grab mine almost immediately—my throat feels dry.

The ice cream arrives a few minutes later, and Lorcan has been quieter than necessary the entire time. He barely touches his. I’m done waiting.

“So…” I say. “I heard the campus nurse quit…”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Lorcan replies, flat. “I don’t go there.”

“But we were the last ones to see her, weren’t we?”

Lorcan looks straight at me. Those eyes are… intimidating.

“That wasn’t the nurse anymore,” he says.

“I see. Is that why you set her on fire?”

“Elena…”

“What? Are you going to set me on fire too?”

“I could try,” he says dryly, “if you keep asking too much.”

Those eyes. Those damn eyes. For one second, I’m afraid. Just one.

Then anger. The sheer indignation of being spoken to like that after everything.

I stand.

“Where are you going?” Lorcan asks.

“To get more water,” I say, flatly. “I need to stay hydrated for when you decide to incinerate me with your powers.”

Lorcan sighs, deep and irritated. He takes my glass before I can grab it. I don’t understand what he’s doing—until the glass refills instantly.

I just stare.

The water is crystal clear. Cold. The glass fogs over immediately.

I look at him. Lorcan doesn’t quite dare to meet my eyes.

“Lorcan,” I say. “Did you wash your hands?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he replies. “But I might’ve gotten them dirty with ice cream.”

A laugh escapes me. I take the glass and drink it in one go, defiant.

“Alright,” I say. “I think we’ve both had enough theater. What was so urgent that we had to come all the way here?”

Lorcan sets his ice cream aside, practically untouched.

“I think you deserve an explanation for what happened two nights ago.”

My heart stops for a second. I breathe.

“I can’t give you every answer,” he continues, “but it’s the least I can do after you got dragged into this.”

“Well,” I say, “we could start with the obvious. You’re some kind of… wizard?”

“Yes,” he replies. “The real answer is much longer, but ‘wizard’ will do for now.”

Interesting.

“And the nurse…?” I ask.

“That…” He hesitates, jaw tightening. “That was demonic possession. A very advanced one. You saw how the body wasn’t human anymore. Even if you exorcise the demon, the nurse doesn’t come back from that.”

My stomach turns at what he said—and what I understand he meant.

There was no saving her. Only fire.

“So what are you,” I ask, “some kind of… paranormal secret agent?”

“If you want an operational term,” he says, “special forces.”

If only Gabriel could hear this. The absurdity almost pulls a nervous laugh out of me.

“But if you’re here, ‘special forces,’ it’s because—”

Lorcan takes a sip of water.

“I told you when we met,” he says. “I was off-duty. Everything else was a very unfortunate coincidence.”

I blink slowly. A little anticlimactic, but fine. I take another bite of ice cream.

“Okay. Demons, possessions, and a hybrid of wizards and Green Berets,” I list. “Why are you telling me all this now?”

Lorcan holds my gaze. Something shifts in him. He looks colder. Professional.

“Because I plan to erase your memory before you finish your ice cream.”

The entire world stops.

I drop my spoon without realizing it. It hits the floor with an absurdly loud clink.

“You’re going to do what?!” I snap, my voice rising.

“Elena, you saw too much—up close,” Lorcan says, not looking at me now, like he’s reciting a handbook. “We have a protocol. Civilians can’t be exposed to this. It’s an unacceptable risk.”

“Risk?” I repeat, fury surging. “So what—did you bring me here to soothe me with ice cream so I wouldn’t make a scene?”

My voice comes out louder than I meant. A few customers glance our way.

“You are making a scene, Elena,” he says.

“Good!” I snap. “That’s exactly what I want right now!”

For the first time since we sat down, Lorcan looks genuinely tired.

“Elena, I understand,” he says. “But this is for your own good.”

There it is. That phrase. The universal justification.

“My own good?” I repeat. “According to you, ‘my own good’ is stealing my memories? My emotions? What I know happened?”

“Are you sure you want to keep feeling what you’re feeling?”

I want to answer. The words catch in my throat.

“Knowing these things doesn’t give you power,” he continues. “It takes choices away. It forces you to spend the rest of your life seeing shadows and wondering if they’re something else. It takes a normal life from you.”

“And what if I don’t want a normal life?”

The question hangs between us. It came out before I had time to fully process it. Lorcan looks at me like I just said something forbidden. He exhales.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” I say. “Do you know what my normal life is? Classes that don’t matter. Metrics for a podcast going nowhere. Tasteless coffee. Sleeping badly. Repeat. Pretend it’s fine. And now you tell me there’s a whole new world—demons, wizards, possessions, and… you. And I’m supposed to forget it all and go back to pretending.”

“It’s not pretending,” he says. “It’s surviving.”

I lean forward.

“Easy for you to say,” I whisper, “when your life isn’t boring.”

That lands. He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is lower.

“My life isn’t interesting,” he says. “It’s dangerous. And if I don’t erase your memory— even if you manage to live without getting possessed—I can’t promise I’ll always be there to protect you.”

Silence falls again.

“Erasing your memory,” he continues, “is the safest way to keep you alive.”

I look down at the melting ice cream. His words make sense.

That’s what’s worst about them.

“I don’t want to forget,” I say, barely above a whisper.

Lorcan sighs, exasperated.

“You’re unbelievably stubborn,” he says, resigned.

Then he mutters to himself—but I still hear it.

“And a spoiled child.”

That hits worse than any threat.

As if my rage, my fear, my refusal to be wiped like a faulty device were just a tantrum. As if my life—my choice—were worth less than his.

For a second, I think I’m going to scream at him. Or cry. Or throw the glass of water in his face.

In the end, I do none of that.

I simply stand up and turn to leave.

“Elena, wait—” Lorcan says, startled, almost alarmed.

“No,” I cut him off. “You’ve said enough.”

“If you leave like this—if I don’t erase your memory—”

“Then don’t come near me again,” I interrupt, looking straight at him. “Don’t look for me. Don’t follow me. Don’t ‘protect’ me. Disappear.”

I leave before he can say anything else. Before he can touch me—or try to violate my memories.

I walk toward the door of the ice cream shop without running. Without looking back.

Outside, the air is much colder than I remember. Or maybe it’s just me.

I walk a few blocks with no direction, pulse racing and mind empty. The noise of the city fades little by little, as if someone is turning the volume down.

I stop the moment I feel the cold return.

Not suddenly. Not violently.

Patient. Subtle. Almost welcoming.

As if something had been waiting for me to be alone.