Breakfast (Not) Date

The next day was Monday, which meant no school.

My morning routine didn't change all that much, though. I woke up bright and early, kissed my mum on the cheek as she sat down to have her breakfast, and headed out the door with my hoodie up.

Being up and about before anyone else had woken up was always pretty nice, and I wished that I was able to get up and out of the house so early every day.

A thin layer of misty fog drifted lazily across the ground. As I jogged toward the centre of the main quarter to begin my loop, there were no people or cars around. It was just sixth thirty in the morning, and the sun had only just finished rising, so the air was still crisp and cool. It was like the city had become a ghost town, and it felt eerily peaceful.

My training routine had me running every single morning without fail. In the evening I'd either go for another run or do some strength-building exercises, all depending on what day it was.

My main goal was to try and build up my stamina. Every time I tried to get away from Micheal he was able to outrun me with ease, not because he was faster than me, but simply because he could run for longer. At first, he hadn't even been out of breath at the times he had caught up with me, these days he was starting to feel it a little more, I could tell.

While I had never exactly been overweight, I could tell that I was a lot more fit these days. My gangly thin arms and legs had started to fill up more with a little bit of muscle, and what body fat I did use to have had been burned away leaving me with a fairly lean figure. Jogging no longer left me winded.

But jogging had never been the main goal of my workout sessions. As I jogged, I increased my pace further and further, until eventually, I was in an all out run.

I never tried to time myself, and I never really tried to worry about counting how many kilometres I'd run. I'd always thought that doing things that way would serve as a distraction. If things ever felt like they were easy, I'd just push a bit harder, run a bit faster, go a bit further.

I took a slightly different route every single day, it was my mum's idea, but I always ended up on a pretty similar loop.

I'd work my way down to the River Thames, cross over one of the bridges, run down one side of the river, cross another bridge, and then loop back around on the other side. Running through the marketplace of the Main Quarter was fine, it was something I did every time, but I made sure to stick away from any strange side roads that I didn't recognise. Who knew how many villains could be hiding down them.

I slowed down as I came up to the main bridge that crossed over the River Thames. It led over the water to what used to be the seat of power in the whole of the UK, the Houses of Parliament. Though of course now they were nothing more than a burned-out husk filled with the bones of those who had died on the Gold Dawn.

Along the banks of the river, the working day was just getting started. While most of the stalls were still closed, those selling hot food and drink were just getting started. Others had horse-drawn carts or crafter built vehicles unloading goods onto tables. In the sparsely populated area, it was pretty easy to pick Lauren out.

She was down on the Southbank, a place that at one point apparently held numerous cultural monuments and street performers. Now it was one of the only places that could truly be considered safe in the city. Stalls lined the water's edge, and the London Eye had been brought down onto its side to create a gigantic plaza bridge stretching from one side of the river to the other.

Lauren was easy to spot.

She was leaned up against the stone barrier, looking out over the river. Balanced on the barrier was a small bag and four steaming cups of hot tea in a holder box.

"Look who got here on time," Lauren said with a smile.

She looked different from the last time I'd seen her. She wore a long brown trench coat that stretched right down to her knees, and under that a blue waistcoat paired with some smart black trousers. Brown boots came up past her thighs, and a red undershirt completed the look.

She looked… well… great, to be honest.

"Uh, hey," I said, feeling just a little bit underdressed.

"Got a breakfast muffin and some tea, if you want it," She said, waving the bag in my direction.

"Mmmm, want, definitely want," I said, grabbing the bag out of her hands and then immediately feeling like an idiot for resorting to one-word answers, "Uh… thank you," I added.

I bit into the muffin and had to stop myself from melting there and then. It was good, really good. The sort of good that only the richest of the rich in the community would be able to afford. The sort that didn't come from one of these stalls, but from one of the few actual shops that had been able to get up and running.

"This tastes like it cost a fortune," I said, feeling a little guilty.

"Well yeah," Lauren snorted, "But we can afford that sort of luxury, Tristan."

The reminder was gentle enough that it took me a moment to process the concept.

They were making thousands upon thousands whenever they took on a job. I may not have had the guts to spend any of my money yet, I felt a little guilty considering where it had come from, but they had no such coniptions.

That was going to take some getting used to.