I glance around the room again. Polished wood. Clean lines. A bed that looks soft as clouds. A fire crackles quietly in the corner, warm and constant instead of wild and unpredictable. And me, standing in the middle of it all like I belong here.
Dark sleeping trousers. A loose linen shirt laced at the throat. Bare feet instead of boots stiff with mud and blood.
I tug slightly at the sleeve, not because it doesn’t fit, but because it fits too well. “Strange,” I mutter.
The mirror across the room throws my reflection back at me. Same face. Same sharp edge. Same smile that usually comes a little too easily. But there’s something else there now.
Before I can decide what that is, there’s a knock at the door.
I don’t even bother asking who it is. “Come in.”
The door opens, and Oberon, Cassius, and Sylvian step inside looking equally exhausted, and freshly cleaned at the same time, dressed in loose sleeping clothes that somehow make the whole situation feel even stranger. After days of blood, mud, and leather armor, seeing them like this feels oddly intimate.
We just look at each other. Clean. Whole. Alive. It almost feels ridiculous.
“Well,” I say, spreading my arms slightly, “this is a drastic improvement from almost being sliced open like festival meat.”
Oberon huffs out something that might be a laugh. “Barely.”
Cassius leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. “You’re all still talking and not bags of meat, drained of your blood. Nothing matters more than that.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Next time we find a nice quiet room, I vote we check for ritual sacrifice circles before settling in.”
Oberon huffs first, low and rough, like he’s trying not to. I lose it a second later, my laugh breaking out sharp and a little too loud, because of course it does. Sylvian shakes his head, a quiet breath of a laugh slipping out of him, softer but no less real. Cassius just exhales through his nose at first, like he’s above it… then even he cracks, a short, dry sound that shouldn’t be funny but is. And that’s it. It spreads between us, uneven, unpolished, a little unhinged.
“Did you see Oberon’s face when they chained him down?” I add, grinning. “Thought he was going to take the entire cave with him.”
“I would have,” Oberon shoots back, but there’s no real bite to it. “If they hadn’t outnumbered us ten to one.”
“You still tried,” Sylvian says, a note of respect in his voice.
“Of course he did,” I say. “Man’s allergic to backing down.”
“And you’re not?” Cassius asks dryly.
I flash him a grin. “Please. I can back down when it’s logical.”
That earns another quiet laugh, and something shifts. It sneaks up on me, subtle at first. The tension that’s always been there between us… isn’t. We’re standing here, talking like this, like we didn’t spend half our lives trying to outmaneuver each other.
Like we didn’t start this as enemies.
I look between them, and a quiet realization takes root deep inside me. They’re not rivals. Not anymore. They’re something closer to?—
“Gods,” I mutter under my breath.
Sylvian glances at me. “What?”
I shake my head once, but I can’t quite stop the small, incredulous smile that pulls at my mouth. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think I’d ever say this.”
Oberon raises a brow. “Say what?”
I look at them again. Really look.
“It feels less like I’m stuck with you,” I say slowly, “and more like I’d be in trouble without you.”
Silence falls for half a second.
“Careful,” Sylvian says, but there’s something almost amused in his voice. “You keep talking like that, and I might think you like us.”