Most of the mercs were sprawled around the room, asleep or doing a very convincing impression of it. Kael was snoring.
Rythe lay still but not relaxed, one hand curled near her spear. Stitch had passed out half-on a crate with a bottle still tucked in the crook of his arm.
He stepped over someone's boots and moved toward the back wall—
And saw her.
Luneth.
Awake.
Leaning against the far stone post, hood half-down, silver-blonde hair catching the bare light like frost.
She didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
But her eyes tracked him the moment he entered.
He kept walking.
Didn't meet her gaze.
Didn't explain.
He sat near the wall, pulled his coat tighter, and settled in like nothing had happened at all.
The silence stretched.
Then, quietly, barely audible.
"…You smell different."
His jaw flexed once. "I washed my face."
"Not that."
He didn't answer.
Luneth didn't press. Didn't ask what he'd done. What he'd changed. What was humming faintly behind his skin now.
