Chapter 62 The Morning After

The bed wasn’t meant for four, but none of them wanted to sleep alone.

They had crawled onto it in silence after the door shut behind them. Skye first, then Fara curling against her, Revoli sliding in on the edge, Patrona last. None of them cared about comfort. They just needed warmth. They needed to know they weren’t alone when the dark pressed in.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Fara tossed, turning from one side to the other, tails shifting, flickering light breaking through each time her heart kicked. She kept waking up, gasping, expecting him to be there, expecting his hand to ruffle her hair or his voice to cut the silence. But he wasn’t. Every time her eyes opened, it was the same—only the sound of the others breathing, only the hollow ache inside her chest.

Patrona stayed awake longer than the rest. Her body was tired but her mind didn’t stop. She sat against the wall for hours, eyes locked on the ceiling, listening for sounds in the distance. Nothing came. Her thoughts went back, again and again, to Kai. The way his mouth had pressed against hers. The way it felt less like a kiss and more like a strike—something that cut through her armor, left her stunned, bleeding in a way she couldn’t name.

She told herself it was just a kiss. But it wasn’t. It lingered. It scratched at her every time she blinked. Would she ever feel that again? Would he even want to? Or had that one moment been all there was?

She lay down finally, dragged by exhaustion. She didn’t mean to. Her guard slipped. The others shifted close in their sleep, heat pressing in around her. Patrona didn’t fight it. For once, it felt… right. Warm. Better than the empty beds she’d taken before.

The thought hit her before she closed her eyes: If he doesn’t come back…

She didn’t finish it. She didn’t want to. Darkness took her before she could.

The morning came too soon.

They woke tangled together, limbs and tails and stray hair. For a moment, none of them moved. It felt safer not to. As if the moment they rose, the truth would land again.

But the truth was already there.

Patrona stood first. She stretched her arms, rubbed her eyes, and turned toward the window. The light was pale. The world outside didn’t care what they had lost.

Fara sat up, hugging her tails against her chest. Her eyes were red. She hadn’t cried much the night before, but the weight on her face told the others she’d done it quietly in the dark.

Revoli rubbed her hands over her face, groaning into her palms, muffling the sound. Skye rolled off the edge of the bed with a thud, muttering a curse before pushing herself up.

None of them spoke.

They moved together down the stairs. The inn’s wood creaked under their steps, the sound too loud in the morning quiet. They hoped, stupidly, that he would be there waiting. That he’d be at the table, arms folded, mocking them for sleeping too long. That he’d grin at them like none of last night had happened.

He wasn’t.

The common room was nearly empty. Only Helena behind the counter, wiping down mugs, and another barmaid setting out plates. She looked young, close to Skye’s age. Brown dog ears flicked atop her head, a tail swayed behind her, and her eyes—one brown, one blue—watched them for a moment too long. A tanned patch circled her right eye, darker than her skin, giving her the look of a mutt who had fought hard to keep her place.

The girls froze halfway down the stairs.

Helena didn’t smile. She walked toward them, towel still in hand. Her eyes were softer than her voice when she spoke. “Go to the baths. Wash. You had a hard night. And you don’t know what the day will bring. You need to be ready.”

The words hit harder than kindness would have. None of them argued. They didn’t have the strength.

One by one, they slipped through the door that led behind the inn.

The baths waited.
Metal barrels stood in place of stone pools, each resting on sturdy stands with iron grills beneath, fires already lit and crackling, keeping the water within at a steady warmth. Buckets still leaned near the well, but it was clear someone had done the heavy work already—Cherish’s craft showing in the ironwork, her forgers having shaped the barrels to Kai’s rough plans. Helena had seen to the rest, setting her barmaid to fill and tend the baths until steam curled in the cool morning air. The mingled scent of smoke and heated metal clung faintly, less delicate than herbs, but no less welcoming.

Fara trailed her fingers over the rim of one barrel, the metal still warm from the forge as much as from the fire beneath. It felt too much like home. Too much like him. Her throat tightened.

They undressed in silence and stepped into the water. The heat wrapped around them, sinking deep into tired muscles, but none of them could relax.

Revoli broke first.

Her breath hitched, then cracked, and the sound was out before she could stop it. She covered her face with her hands, but the sobs came through anyway. Loud. Raw.

Skye reached for her shoulder, awkward at first, trying to offer comfort. Revoli leaned away, ashamed of how ugly it sounded, how weak it felt.

But Patrona moved without hesitation. She sank down beside her, pulled Revoli into her arms, and let her cry against her shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Patrona murmured, hand stroking through Revoli’s hair. “Don’t hold it back. Cry for him. You love him. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Revoli’s nails dug into Patrona’s arm, but she didn’t push her away. She clung tighter, shoulders shaking.

Patrona kept speaking, voice steady. “He wouldn’t stop you. He’d tell you to let it out. He’d tell you to be honest about it.”

Fara’s eyes filled, tails curling around her tighter. Skye turned her face away, jaw set, but her hand didn’t leave the water.

Revoli cried until her breath broke into hiccups, and Patrona held her through every second.

None of them knew how long they stayed like that.

But they stayed. Together.