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For a few precious hours, it almost feels normal.

Two weary travelers resting on a merchant’s cart, the road stretching ahead of us, the world quiet except for the steady rhythm of hoofbeats against dirt.

But I don’t forget the hunger in her gaze.

And I don’t forget what we promised each other.

We’ll figure it out. Together.

We have to.

Aria

Thelateafternoonsunspills across the winding cobblestone streets as we bid the merchant goodbye. He waves once, tipping his hat, then rumbles off with his cart of ceramic goods. There’s a cool breeze rolling in, carrying the faint smell of spiced bread from a nearby bakery. It’s a comforting contrast to the tension that’s been knotting my stomach all day.

I caught the name of the town when we passed the weathered sign at the entrance: Cliffhollow. Small, quiet, the kind of place that might forget our faces if we leave quickly enough.

There’s salt on the air. Are we close to the ocean? I think so—the wind tastes like waves and deep things just beyond sight.

Roan steps up beside me, scanning the tidy row of buildings. She’s calm, as ever—if you don’t know her as well as I do now, you’d miss the slight furrow in her brow that betrays her concern. We’ve only just arrived, but I can sense her internal debate.Is this place safe? How long until someone notices us?

The same questions swirl in my head, but I push them aside.

“There,” I say quietly, pointing toward a modest-looking inn nestled at the curve of the lane. Its painted sign sways gently in the breeze,The Driftwood Lantern.

The windows glow with warm amber light, promising a hot meal for Roan and maybe—just maybe—a few hours of peace for both of us.

Roan gives a single nod and steps forward without a word, her hand closing around the door handle. She glances back at me, raising one eyebrow—Ready?

I nod.

We go in together.

The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman in a simple apron, greets us with a brisk smile. “You folks looking for a room?”

“Yes,” Roan replies, fishing out a couple of coins from her belt pouch. “If you have one available.”

The innkeeper gives our travel-worn clothes a polite once-over, then nods. “I’ve got a room or two free on the second floor. Cozy but clean. One bed or two?”

The innkeeper’s question lingers in the air like an unsprung trap.

Roan tenses at my side, stiff as a dagger wedged too tightly in its sheath. But the memory of this morning still clings to me, the ache of waking up alone, of finding only her scrawled note in place of her warmth.

My pulse stumbles.

“One,” I blurt before I can overthink it.

Roan’s head snaps toward me, surprise flickering in her eyes. “One?”

The innkeeper shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly aware that this is no simple lodging decision.

I clear my throat. “I don’t mind sharing,” I say as I glance up at Roan from under my lashes. “Do you mind?” My voice is suddenly quieter than I intend.

Something flickers in her dark eyes, something unreadable. She huffs out a breath, lips curving into that familiar half-smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“DoImind?” she echoes, as if the thought is absurd. “No, Mouse, I don’t mind.”

The words sit heavy between us, weighted with more than their meaning.