Chapter 11: Fingers in the dark - 1
Lira had been back for two days, her return as silent as a shadow’s glide.
She slipped into Trail’s End on a morning quiet, mud caking her boots, her emerald eyes guarded behind a curtain of silver hair.
She spoke sparingly, deflecting Rin’s bathhouse taunts with sharp snark, offering no tales of her journey.
But the tavern saw her—stiff steps, bruises peeking beneath her tunic, a flinch when Mira’s candle flared too close.
Kio saw more.
Not just the physical marks, but the tension coiled in her frame, a weight that wasn’t born of wounds alone.
She’d brought something back, something that clung to her like damp cloth.
Now, on the morning after Rin’s departure, Lira approached the bar, her usual grace dulled by caution.
Her hair hung unbraided, veiling her face, her gloved hand clutching a bundle—tightly wrapped, bound with three layers of leather cord, each knot a testament to her unease.
Kio was already pouring tea, the steam curling upward, its herbal scent mingling with the tavern’s woodsmoke and polished oak.
He set the cup before her, his movements steady, his dark eyes meeting hers briefly.