Whispers in the dark (Leila and Rowan)

[Rowan Starling]

BREAKING NEWS: Four more Faes confirmed dead at local nightclub. Local Authorities confirming cause of death has been the same unapproved underground drug called ‘Duskthorn’. Local Authorities are also asking that if you see or hear any suspicious activity in regards to the drug to report it.

The TV is abruptly turned off by the Fae police Chief a sigh shortly following. “With all due respect sir, I really don’t want to watch this.” 

Rowan nodded his head a sympathetic frown plays on his lips. He had heard that one of the Faes who was considered dead happened to be his sister. Rowan had met her once she was apart of the Elemental Court. She was wonderful with Earth Fae magic and very spunky. She was only 452 years old. So very young for a Fae. 

“I’m sorry about your loss Chief, but why is it that called me?” His tone held confusion and sympathy at the same time.

“If I’m being honest, I want you to do something. I want justice for whoever is behind this.” The police Chief looked at the king with a blaze in his gaze that Rowan knew where this was heading.

“Chief I’m doing everything I can but there is a reason why this is staying unresolved. The underground movement is hard to track down as it is, let alone capture one of them.” Rowan wanted to help but the Fae King was limited in what he could legally do. 

“What if I have a lead that could get you closer?” The Chief smirked, the fire in his eyes growing brighter. Rowan furrowed his brows together.

“Again what do you need me for? You have plenty of officers who could do this.”  Rowan leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms looking at the chief trying to make sense of his logic. 

“They’re to close to this after working to uncover the past six months of this. Rowan, sir, please we are no closer to uncovering this then when we first started.” The chief sat in the chair next to Rowan, pleading with him. “If my lady officers go, they risk being drugged themselves and the men I have have been in there to much they’re raising suspicions asking questions. Please. I’m asking for your help.”

Rowan’s hazel gaze held the chiefs for a long minute while he internally contemplated his options. Finally Rowan sighed and closed his eyes feeling morally obligated to help. He could never deny a plea to help his fellow Fae. “Okay Chief. I’m in. What intel do you have.”

For the next hour the Chief briefed Rowan on everything that he had from the first case up until what just happened. He mentioned how Female Faes were the main target, other than that there wasn’t much to go on but the bartender who works there says she’s notice some weird activity from a couple regulars. It was the only thing the Chief had to go on. With a plan to speak with the bartender tonight Rowan shook the other Faes hand and left. 

Rowan decided to take the rest of the evening off of his usual work and went home to take a couple hours nap before he woke up when the sun was setting to dress in a plain shirt and jeans with a jacket. His usual neat and slick dark hair that he combed through for work had returned to their somewhat curly texture. Throwing on a jacket he left the comfort of his home and made his way to the place where it all began. 

There was already a line forming to get in. Checking his watch the time read half past eight which seemed insane to Rowan since the club only opened thirty minutes ago. “Hey man how’s it going?” Rowan flashed a smile at the large bouncer to which he only gor a glare back in return. “Not so good? Yeah I get it one of those days huh?

“What do you want?” The bouncer asked annoyed

“I really need to get in there, it’s kinda important that I do.” Rowan’s stated in a wishwashy way adding in a smile at the end.

The bouncer snorted and nodded to the line, “Yeah all those people want to get in too but I don’t think they want their king in a place where they let..loose.” 

Rowan had heard about how Faes brought in other species to do god knows what and god knows who. In establishments like these, contraband and other normal illegal activities were overlooked. “I’m not here to crash their fun I just need to-“ Rowan tried to advance forward which resulted in the bouncer shoving him back. 

“Beat it, your highness. You're not welcomed here.”

With a grin of his own it spoke unforetold consequences of what will become of that bouncer. “We’ll see about that.” Turning around Rowan walked out of sight before kicking a nearby item across the street. “Shit!” He exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. He had a feeling this wouldn’t work. He was so easily recognizable, why would they let him in a place that everything illegal is happening. “I just need to think,” he mused out loud as he walked further down the alleyways. 

An idea struck him. He glanced around looking to recognize where he was exactly. He knew this part of the twilight court, he was close enough to the Night Court and knew a certain Fae lived there. Pulling out his phone he scrolled through his contacts until he landed on the name he was searching for. Taking a breath he hoped her number hadn’t changed in the couple years of them speaking. As the phone rang and rang Rowan was starting to think either her number had changed or he was going to voicemail. Finally a voice on the other line answers him.

“Leila? It’s Rowan. I need a favor.”

[Leila Allen]

Entry Date: Gloamhour 3rd, 24th Year of the Fractured Star

I can’t sleep. Again.
The dreams have been quieter lately—not gone, just… holding their breath. Which is almost worse. Like something is watching me watching them. Like the silence is waiting to break. But what’s keeping me up tonight isn’t the Hollow Bloom, or Velan’s riddle, or the flickering fragments of Fawn’s death echoing through the dreamroot. It’s my father. Oliver.

He’s been… wrong. Off. Not in the usual melancholic way he gets when he’s remembering Mother, or trying too hard to seem unaffected by the Court’s suspicions about me. This is different. This is hunted.
This morning I found residue from blood ink in the washbasin—ritual-grade. Fae blood. Not his.
He swore off all soulbinding work after the war, said it was “a younger man’s mistake.” And now he’s working in secret with restricted materials? Why?

He’s scared, I can see that. Truly scared. Not for himself, I think, but for me. Which makes it worse. Whatever he’s doing, it’s about protecting me—but from what? Or who? I think he’s working for someone.
There’s a tension in his voice when I ask questions. A reluctance. Not lies—he’s too good at avoiding those. But the kind of silence that protects a deal made in desperation. A pact.

Tonight, I almost followed him. But something told me not to. Not yet. I don’t know what’s worse—the idea that he’s working with someone behind my back, or the possibility that he’s trying to shield me from something so dangerous he can’t even name it aloud.

Dawnlight bleeds through the window. I hear the door. He’s home.

I’m writing this as I hear his boots thud softly down the hall, hear the slow creak of the floorboard outside my room he always tries to avoid. He stops there sometimes. Lingers. Like he wants to say something. Like he wants to warn me. But then the floorboard creaks again, and he moves on. Back to his room. To silence.

I’ll confront him soon. Not out of anger. Out of fear. Because whatever he’s doing, he’s not doing it alone. And we’ve already lost too much to secrets.

—Leila
(who wishes her father still looked her in the eye the way he used to)

Quietly she closes her journal resting the quill pen on top of the hard cover and gives her father a quick grin. He kept his head low, avoiding eye contact. 

Later that night, Oliver was due to leave again, this time he was rushing. "Someone waiting on you?" Leila said with her head resting on the dark wood frame of the door, her arms were crossed with annoyance. Oliver was too focused to answer. Shuffling through papers, tossing books and folders, making a mess of his office. She stands there for a moment awaiting his response, "Did Velan say something to upset you? Father please, you're acting like.." Oliver freezes staring at the ground, he looked like he was about to cry but something was holding him from speaking. Leila could sense the evil surrounding him. It could be Fae magic but this is too strong. How?

Oliver sighs with relief finding the item he was looking for, he was just about ready to walk out before he turns to his only daughter and looks deeps into her eyes. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Bug." He takes a long pause before leaving. "Somethings not right," She says to herself alone, "He only calls me that when it's serious." Leila looks around trying to find anything that could be a clue as to where he might be going. "Velan, you would tell me how bad it is? Is he safe?" the worry in her voice became clear and the black raven looked at her with his shimmering eye, turning over his head as the black eye stared at her. He speaks to her in a low whisper for only her to hear, "Leila..." he flaps his wings, “You ask if he is safe. Safety is not something your father has known in years. Not truly. He traded it for something he cannot name, even to himself. He wears the weight of old choices like armor now—but armor rusts. Cracks. And the thing pressing in on him from the dark? It knows where to split the seam.”

Velan’s voice twists slightly, sharper, like wind threading through bone branches. “He is not lost yet. But he is bleeding in places you cannot see—and there is a name he dares not speak, even in his dreams.” And then, more quietly, with something resembling sorrow, “I would not lie to you, Leila. I never have. It is bad. But not hopeless. He has made himself a lantern in the dark… just be certain you do not become the flame it consumes.” The air goes still. Somewhere far away, a raven cries once—and is silent.

Riddles and tongues is all this bird knows but helpful nonetheless. Leila nods her head and leaves out a bowl of his favorite; moonmilk with gravehoney, warmed with crushed nightmint. It’s quiet, delicate. It reminds him of the last thing he tasted before prophecy rewrote his name.

In the distance a soft vibration echos throughout the cabin, Leila follows as she picks up her phone. A wrinkle formed between her brows as she answered: "Rowan?" She says with half excitement half curiosity, "It's been what—two years? No messages, no solstice cards, not even a cursed bird with a note. And now you're calling me for a favor?" Her tone was stern but it wasn't in her nature to deny anyone help.. let alone the Fae King. "Where are you? I'll meet you. Maybe you should hear this..but not over the phone, anyone could be listening."

[Rowan Starling]

A soft, sheepish chuckle escaped his lips once Leila picked up. “Yeah, I know I should have called sooner than I am now.” his free hand rubbed the back of his neck while he paced around. If Rowan was being honest he was the one to push himself away from her in the first place there wasn’t anything wrong with Leila, it was a classic case of ‘it wasn’t you it was me’. Rowan found himself becoming too close to her, close enough to call her a friend, and it scared him. He had already lost his best friend in the war and he didn’t want to lose another, he couldn’t put his heart, his mind, his soul, even, through another break like that. So he distanced himself from her until he was nothing more than a memory. Had it really been two years though?

“Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?” His pace stopped mid step as he looked up at the buildings that surrounded him trying to make sense of where he was, but she was right anyone could be listening. “Yeah we should meet in person, it's not safe right now.” Rowan agreed, trying to think of a place where they could speak privately where no one wanted to be at. 

An Idea came to his mind. “I got it, meet me at the one place you know where I love to get milkshakes.” Rowan didn’t want to specifically say the name outloud in case anyone was listening in on their conversation. He knew he was alone but he didn’t know if she was. Hitting the end call button he hoped Leila remembered Jubilee’s. What once was a renowned restaurant known for their hospitality, their food but most importantly their milkshakes. If there was anything Rowan couldn’t resist it was his sweet tooth for a good milkshake. Nowadays Jubilees has driven nearly out of business thanks to the humans opening up more chain like restaurants that drive Faes to their world for a sweet treat, but Rowan was loyal to the  business when it came to sweets. 

Walking back out to where the population was he headed in the opposite direction where the nightclub was towards his new destination and towards an old friend. Leila had brought back many memories that clouded Rowan's mind as he walked. 

The raven cawed at him probably out of disgust before flying at him and settling in his curly hair. The image of Leila laughing while Rowan frantically tried to get the bird out of his hair.

Rowan watched as Leila wrote in her journal, her hand steady as the pen flowed with ease. He was fascinated how her hand was able to keep up with her mind.

Countless memories played of their interactions with each other even though their time was short with another Rowan was genuinely making a friend through her. The soft breeze made him catch his breath followed by an instant sigh. What Leila would look like now, how much had she changed? How much remained the same? He thought to himself before his thought continued this time in panic, What would she think of me? I wonder how much I’ve changed to her, or how much I stayed the same.. His thoughts made him groan. He was excited to see her but nervous for reasons he couldn’t explain. Maybe part of it was guilt because he had let time pass for to long.

Two years.

HIs mind allowed him to stop reminiscing once Jubilee’s came into view. The red brick building had faded  swirls of white and pink to make it appear whimsical, fun even. The two giant doors made with colorful stained glasses really made you feel as though you were in another world once the sun hit it just right inside. The kids would absolutely lose their minds over it. Grabbing the handle he pulled open one side and walked in. It was cold inside but the temperature didn’t bother the Fae. Actually he welcomed it compared to the hot night that he just escaped from. Seeing how there were two other customers inside, probably to escape the heat with a nice sweet local treat he made his way towards the corner booth in the back and chose the side that looked towards the door. 

A elderly woman with bright cherry red hair, a yellow dress that went to her knees and a notebook in hand approached him with a small snarky smile. “Well well, look who it is. It’s my favorite customer.”

“Hello Jubilee,” Rowan smiled brightly, “Fancy meeting you here. Dare I say you are looking beautiful today.” he shamelessly flirted.

Jubilee snickered and placed her hands on her hips, “You know your little pick up lines doesn’t work on me handsome,”

“Then why is it that I still get a free milkshake?” He winked at her.

“One day you’re going to meet a girl who won’t fall for your flirtatious lines.” 

“Why would I flirt with anyone else when I have you?” Rowan's smile never broke.

Jubilee snorted and rolled her eyes, “I’ll be back with your usual sugar.” As Jubilee walked away the distant bell of the door opened signaling someone entering. 

In walked another customer that wasn’t Leila only making Rowan more anxious to meet her. His mind started to wonder if she was hurt, or if she would actually show up. 

“No she’ll be here,” he mumbled to himself as he began to shake his leg up and down. A nervous tick he picked up on recently. Soon enough Jubilee brought back a chocolate milkshake just as the door chimed open again, a dark hair woman entered his view, silver jewelry glistening as pale as the moon and making noise to out ring the bell that hung on the door. 

Leila. 

[Leila Allen]

Leila let the line go silent for a single heartbeat after Rowan hung up, long enough for the Thorn Key at her waist to tremble against its moon-glass core, as if reminding her that every choice is a lock turning somewhere else. Two years. Time enough for old trust to sour into doubt, yet the sound of his voice scraped raw with guilt, sweetened by that ridiculous milk-shake code—pulled something warm and unguarded out of Leila. Velan settled on the window ledge, silver-veined feathers ruffling against the breeze. “Hollowborn,” he croaked in that memory-deep timbre, tilting his star-lit eye toward the horizon. He fears the fracture still.

Rowan and Leila's friendship is a complicated dance of intimacy and distance, stitched together by fleeting moments, unspoken fears, and unbreakable threads of understanding. They are not the kind of friends who talk every day or even every season but when they do connect, it's like the silence between them was never there. Their bond is forged not from abundance, but from scarcity; from the spaces where most people would lose each other, they somehow stay tethered.

In the early days, their friendship bloomed quickly, almost dangerously so. Leila, cloaked in illusions and wounds too old for her age, let Rowan see pieces of her that most never glimpsed. He was drawn to her quiet power, her dry wit, the way her pen danced across pages like it was conjuring spells. And she saw in Rowan someone who made the weight of her prophecy feel lighter. His charm disarmed her, his jokes cut through her fear, and his grief mirrored something buried deep in her own chest.

But Rowan pulled back. Not out of betrayal, but fear. He had already lost too much and the thought of losing her felt like inviting a blade straight to his soul. So he vanished, slowly, gently, the way people do when they think disappearing is kinder than staying. Leila, too proud to chase, let him drift. She understood abandonment better than she liked to admit. But she never erased him—not from her journal, not from her spells, not from the quiet ache she sometimes woke with.

Two years passed like a dream decaying at the edges. And now, with that single phone call and milkshake code, Rowan reopens a door that never fully closed. Their friendship is no longer innocent. It’s weathered. Tense with memory. Tender with old affection. And edged with questions neither of them yet know how to answer. It’s the kind of friendship that can either resurrect itself as something unshakably real—or shatter, spectacularly, under the weight of what was left unsaid.

Leila paused in the threshold, letting the door’s chime die beneath the delicate clink of her silver bangles. Jubilee’s smelled of malt and nostalgia—vanilla ice cream, scorched sugar, the faint ozone tang of old neon. A single shard, hidden in the pocket over her heart, answered with a low hum, as if testing the air for danger.

Rowan sat tucked into a booth like a prince in self-imposed exile: shoulders rigid, leg jittering beneath the Formica until the whole glass rattled. Two years had sculpted sharper hollows under his cheekbones, shadowed his hazel eyes—but the smile that cracked wide when he saw her was still reckless sunshine.

She stepped toward him, glamour peeling away in soft spirals: first the shimmer of dusk-lilac over her hair, then the coaxed dimness that had hidden the silver filigree at her throat. Let him see me as I am, she decided—moon-pale, night-inked, undeniably Unseelie.

Velan alighted on the lamp above the booth with a soft thrum, one star-bright eye fixed on Rowan’s milkshake like a silent dare. The other customers barely noticed; glamour nudged their attention elsewhere, back to sundaes and gossip. “Rowan Starling.” Her voice slid across the space between them. “Still bribing Jubilee with charm and chocolate, I see.” He opened his mouth, maybe a joke—so she saved him the scramble. Sliding into the seat opposite, she folded her hands; the rings whispered against each other like restless keys.

“You called.” A simple statement, but she let it hang, heavy with all the unspoken yesterdays. She gives a gentle laugh, tinged with shadow. “I would’ve believed you were dead if Velan hadn’t told me otherwise.” The raven gave a dry caw, agreement or mockery, even Leila wasn’t sure. She leaned in, vanilla-cedarwood perfume warming under the diner’s fluorescent lights. “Two years is an odd distance, Rowan. Long enough for memories to blur, short enough for old vows to ache. Tell me what’s on your mind, then I may tell you mine.”

Outside, lightning flickered beyond the tinted glass, no storm on the weather report. My magic answering his worry, she realized. She steadied her breathing; the sparks died.

[Rowan Starling]

Quiet. It was the quiet that filled his ears and wrapped around inside him. It was the quietness that made his legs cease their tremors. It was the quiet that she brought into the sugar coated facility that allowed Rowan to finally breathe, he could finally think, he could finally just be. There was a reason why the night and quiet often went hand in hand. 

His dazzling smile he put on for Jubilee slowly faded into an expression that studied her as she towards the table he chose. Faes were required to keep a Glamour spell on them at all times outside the courts, exposing their true nature was dangerous not only to them, but to other species as well. It was optional to keep up the Glamour inside the courts because Fae’s knew their true forms, it was the one thing they all had in common. Seeing Leila release the Glamour spell showing Rowan who she truly was, he was astonished. 

His hazel eyes roamed her body taking in how her hair shimmered to a color that resembled stars in the blackest of night, a silver choker clenching her throat almost collar like announcing she belonged or owned by someone or something before her skin radiated in a white so pure, it shamed the moon. She was night personified. 

Leaning slightly forward he placed his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together and rested the bottom half of his face against them covering the small smirk that played upon his lips. ‘She’s pissed at me.’ He thought to himself. He wasn’t at all surprised by this by how she sounded on the phone and now showing her truest of form to him. He only broke eye contact with her when Velan, her familiar, landed on the lamp above where they would be sitting. The damn bird even looked at his milkshake. “Don’t even think about it, bird.” He warned the raven in a low voice before his attention went back to his master as she spoke his name. 

Her jab at him bribing his favorite restaurant owner made him gasp exaggeratedly, even bringing a hand to his chest where his heart was. “I am so shocked you would ever think I would bribe her. What me and Jubilee have is real love, I’ll have you know." The teaseful tone never ceased. It was amazing how just twenty seconds ago Rowan was nervous about this meeting but now that Leila is here, it felt like no time had passed between them.

Quiet, So quiet.

Leila didn’t seem too keen on his teaseful nature at the moment and why would she. He calls her out of the blue, basically demands to see her and she shows up and he acts as if they saw each other two days ago not two years ago. Her only statement hung in the air but it felt more like a knife. It demanded answers. It demanded reasons, It demanded more than what Rowan could probably give her. Dropping his hands back on the table and folding them, mirroring her actions Rowan decided he would save the lighthearted gestures for another time. And he was running out of time now. 

“I need your help Leila,” he spoke low enough where the female fae could hear him. “I need to get in the nightclub down the street and I need your help getting me in. I’m too recognizable and if I can’t get in, more people will die tonight.” Was he telling her more than he should? Probably but Rowan hoped that the urgency and seriousness of this matter came across to her. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure if people were going to die tonight but given the track record of what has been happening, it was a safe gamble. 

A stroke of lightning flashed outside where they were sitting, Rowan only blinked at the sudden light show, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her knowing she was the cause of the weather disturbance. “I see you’re still having trouble with your powers.” He grabbed at his milkshake, finally breaking the eye contact he refused to let go, to take a sip of the sweet chocolate sugar malt that made his inner child happy. “I can teach you to control it,’ he offered sincerely. 

It had been over a year since he was able to control his own gifts he knew the struggle of letting the power control you but he had to give credit to Leila, she seemed a lot stronger than when he left her two years ago still lightning appearing in the dead of the night with no signs of rain gave away she was letting her emotions get a hold of her. 

“Now that I answered your question, pray tell, what trouble are you in?” he once again picked up his milkshake and started to take longer gulps through the straw eyeing her questionably almost enjoying the fact that she needed him, just as much as he needed her.