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She looks at me, lingering on the bandage at my side. “Go rest. I’ll sort through the new notes from the dockmaster and see if I can cross-reference them with your shipping ledgers.”

The sincere concern in her voice surprises me. “All right. But if you find anything important, let me know.” I hesitate, then add, “We’re in this together.”

She holds my gaze a moment longer. “We are.”

Sparks seem to dance between us, an acknowledgment of how entangled our fates have become.

I swallow the urge to say more and head indoors, leaving her to those suspicious records.

My personal chambers lie upstairs, near a corridor that overlooks the courtyard from a high balcony.

I climb the steps, mindful of the dull ache in my ribs.

At the top, I make my way to a modest room with tall windows, pushing the door open.

Sunlight spills across a bed with simple linens, a single wardrobe, and a small table.

I drop onto the edge of the mattress, gingerly loosening the laces of my tunic to check the bandage.

It’s stained with fresh spots of blood, not dire but enough to confirm I’ve pushed myself too hard.

A soft knock comes at the door, and I brace for another Senate envoy.

Instead, the door cracks open, and Mira steps inside. She hesitates, as though uncertain if she’s welcome in my private space. “You left some notes on the dining table about shipments. I wanted to—” She notices my bandage and stops short. “You’re bleeding again?”

I grimace, wiping sweat from my brow. “It’s fine. Just reopened the wound, a little.”

She advances, brow creased in worry, ignoring my attempt to wave her off. “That’s not fine. Let me see.”

I stiffen, not used to anyone fussing over me, but her expression brooks no argument. Carefully, I peel the bandage aside, revealing an angry cut that’s slowly oozing. Her lips press into a tight line.

“Stay put,” she orders, voice sharper than I’ve heard before. “I’ll find a clean dressing.”

Before I can protest, she’s gone. The hush of the corridor returns, and I rub my temples.

Part of me balks at needing help—especially from the very person forced into my custody.

But another part acknowledges I’ve never had an ally like her, someone who sees the city with fresh eyes, unafraid to call out hypocrisy.

She returns within moments, bearing a fresh bandage roll and a small bowl of water. I shift on the bed, letting her approach. She kneels, dipping a cloth in the water. I brace myself as she dabs at the wound. A hiss escapes me, but her touch is gentle.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “This might sting.”

I grit my teeth, beads of sweat gathering at my brow.

The cloth passes over the cut, soaking up blood.

Her face is close enough that I see the scattering of freckles across her cheeks, a detail I never noticed in the arena’s uproar.

She bites her lower lip in concentration, applying an herbal salve that stings pleasantly.

“You handle that like you’ve tended wounds before,” I say, voice tight.

She flicks a quick glance at me. “My father was a traveling scholar. We often had to treat our own injuries on the road. Bandits, beasts… you name it.”

I grunt softly. “Glad you learned, though I’m sorry you had to.”

She doesn’t reply, focusing on tying the bandage snugly.

Her deft fingers brush my skin, and a wave of heat flutters through my chest. A moment passes in silence, the pressure in the air far from hostile.

When she finishes, I exhale shakily, feeling both relief from the pain’s dull edge and a sudden awareness of our proximity.

She looks up, face inches away from mine. Her eyes catch the sunlight streaming through the window, making the green in her irises glint. My pulse thuds, memories of each scathing argument swirling with the sense of her unwavering spirit.

“Thank you,” I murmur, uncertain what else to say.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, voice a little unsteady. “Just… don’t overdo it again.”

A beat of charged silence. My gaze drifts to her mouth, then snaps away. She inhales, backing up carefully to give me space. The moment breaks, but the residual charge lingers like static in the air.

“I’ll let you rest,” she mutters. “We can talk about the sabotage leads later.”

I nod, throat strangely tight. As she slips out, I’m left staring at the closed door, heart hammering in my chest. I remind myself we’re caught in a precarious alliance—any deeper entanglement is both unwise and near impossible.

Yet the flicker of longing that surfaced when she was close is too real to ignore.

I lean back against the wall, pressing a palm to the bandaged wound. She saved me from risking a more serious infection or worse, tended me with unwavering care. There’s courage in her that matches any minotaur warrior I’ve met. And perhaps a spark of empathy for my predicament as well.

I let my eyes drift shut, trying to slow my breathing.

This infiltration scheme, the Senate’s demands, the threat of orcs returning—it all weighs on me.

But the memory of her voice, that rare moment of gentleness, reminds me I’m not as alone as I feared.

Even if we’re forced into this uncertain dance, maybe we can forge a path forward that breaks the Senate’s grip on both of us.

Lowering myself onto the mattress, I decide I’ll rest for a short while.

Then, with Mira’s help, I’ll figure out who dares to frame me for orc collusion and bring them to justice.

Let the Senate keep shouting about unity and tradition.

I have a stubborn human ally by my side, and sparks are flying between us.

In a world that thrives on half-truths and forced illusions, that might be the most honest thing we have.