Yoniana did not kick down the balcony door this time.
Mei Lin came back from a morning of errands in the lower market expecting a quiet afternoon, maybe some rice, and found instead that somebody had already set her kitchen up. The pot was on the brazier. The rice was measured. A map of a mountain bigger than the balcony table was weighted at every corner with small smooth stones. And two gnomes were arguing about chilies.
"Two is enough," Devonmichael said.
"Two is punishment," Yoniana said.
"Two is measured."
"Three. And I will write the number in frost on your forehead while you sleep."
"Fine. Three."
They noticed her in the archway. Yoniana lifted a hand without looking up from the map. Devonmichael slid a mug across the stone railing that was already warm by the time Mei Lin touched it. He'd been watching the door.
"You're early," Yoniana said.
"I live here," Mei Lin said.
"Then you're right on time."
The map was Mount Hyjal. Not the version you'd see if you flew north today, green saplings and druid camps and a young World Tree. The other one. The version the Caverns of Time kept folded somewhere inside the mountain, with Archimonde at the top and a demon tide pouring up the slopes. The ink was fresh in places and old in others, like it had been redrawn every year for a long time.
Yoniana walked her through it without ceremony. This is where the undead come from. This is where the infernals land. This is where a doom guard named Kaz'rogal hits the line. This is where the bear should stand. She marked positions with chili flakes, which was both efficient and profane, and did not once look up at Mei Lin for permission.
Devonmichael chopped in silence. Occasionally he leaned over her shoulder, tapped a spot with the point of his knife, and made a small quiet noise. Yoniana would adjust the flake.
Mei Lin listened. Asked a question about the tree line. Another about the pit lord. Then, softly, because she'd been thinking about it since the first balcony night, "What do we do if the cowl isn't there?"
Yoniana stopped moving.
The pot hissed. Devonmichael turned it down a notch without being asked.
"We come back," Yoniana said. Not the fast voice. The small one. "That's what I said the first time I looked. That's what I said the second time. I've been coming back for seven years."
"Seven years."
"The dreams started after the first raid I survived. I thought they'd stop. They got worse. I could draw the cowl before I knew what it was called. I have a notebook at home with sixty drawings of a hat I have never held." She tapped one of the flakes on the map. "I know the angle it sits at. I know the knot at the back. I know the colour of the inside when light hits it. I do not know whether it's real."
"It's real," Devonmichael said. Quietly. Not looking up. "You've been right every time."
Yoniana breathed out through her nose.
Mei Lin watched her hands. They were steady on the map. Had been steady the whole time. The voice was small but the hands were not.
"Alright," Mei Lin said. "Show me the tree line again."
Devonmichael did not say much while they ate. He rarely did. But somewhere between the second bowl and the third, Yoniana said something about a tower in Dalaran, and his face changed in a way that meant the word was going to cost him if he spoke it. Mei Lin noticed. Filed it away. Didn't ask.
Devonmichael said, instead, "My mother was a mage there." A pause the size of a polite breath. "Before the lich king brought it down around her."
Mei Lin did not say I'm sorry. Grandmother had taught her the weight of those two words, and had also taught her that sometimes they were the wrong gift. Instead she poured him more rice. He ate it.
"Yoniana found me the week after," he said. Just that. A fact. The shape of a debt he wasn't going to explain.
Yoniana did not look at him. She adjusted a flake on the map and said, with her mouth full, "He followed me home. I fed him. He stayed."
Devonmichael smirked around a mouthful of rice. "Cat-like situation, really."
"I am not your cat."
"You absolutely rescued me."
"You are not my cat."
Mei Lin laughed. Both of them looked at her. Caught. Neither of them said the next part, which was that they'd both needed rescuing and neither of them was going to admit which direction it had gone.
Late. The mist rolled in. They'd eaten everything, including the chilies Yoniana had fought for and then deeply regretted. Devonmichael was cleaning the knife on the hem of his coat with the patience of a man who'd cleaned many knives on many coats.
Mei Lin walked to the railing. Her water totem was still there from the night of the frost, small and steady, the way it had been since it came out from behind the potted plant. She knelt beside it and asked, very quietly, can you hold for them too?
The totem hummed. Yes. A pause. Then, a little bit amused, if they ask politely.
"They will," Mei Lin said. "They're small."
Behind her, Yoniana was folding the map. Devonmichael was lining the empty bowls up on the railing in a neat row, largest to smallest, because of course.
"Same time tomorrow?" Yoniana asked.
"No," Mei Lin said. "Tomorrow we go."
Yoniana looked at her. The small voice again. "You're sure?"
"You've been sure for seven years. The least I can do is be sure for a night."
Later, alone, Mei Lin sat on the railing and opened the notebook. Under people I'll walk into fire for she wrote two names. One fast. The other carefully, because it was shorter than his character deserved.
Yoni.
Devon.
She looked at the list. It was getting long. She had no objection.
— Mist