Rinerva stayed quiet, throwing herself into her map. She leaned heavily against the table, a hand buried in her white hair, gripping the roots.

  The room was hollow. It contained all the remaining members of her company, yet it felt vast and suffocatingly empty.

  Missing Agon drinking an endless amount of shitty liquor.

  Missing the rumbling sighs as he stared at the never-ending rain.

  Missing the soft, bass-filled chuckle at one of Nomi’s stupid jokes.

  Nomi sniffled softly. She sat on the floor, leaning her back against Talos’s legs, her ears pinned flat against her skull. She looked small.

  Talos didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He sat slouched forward over his knees, staring at a knot in the wood floor, silently letting Lillik stitch his shallow cuts back together.

  Lillik’s fingers moved with practiced, mechanical motions, knitting flesh. All eight of her eyes were focused on the needlework, refusing to look at the empty chair by the window.

  It was her fault.

  Rinerva’s eyes darted across the ink of the map. She had miscalculated. She had lost her Siege Breaker. She had bet on the armor being enough against a Flesh-crafter.

  Maybe if she had gone, the outcome would’ve been different. What if she’d sent Lillik as well? Maybe they could’ve found a biological weakness. Or if they had waited a few days—if she hadn't been so impatient—Talos would’ve been able to heal. Then it wouldn’t have been the Giant’s job alone to—

  “FUCK!”

  Rinerva roared, sweeping her arm across the surface.

  Inkwells, quills, and the rolled parchment map scattered across the room, clattering loudly against the walls. Rimefrost danced across her trembling fingers as she stared down at the empty table, her breath hitching in a room that suddenly felt too quiet.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Nomi flinched, her gaze snapping to the commander. Talos didn’t react; he was staring at nothing. Only two of Lillik’s spider eyes shifted from her work to watch Rinerva.

  They wouldn’t say it aloud. They wouldn't blame her to her face. But the truth hung heavy in the air. She was the leader. It was her plan. It was her math. And today, the equation had cost Agon his life.

  Rinerva kept her hands planted on the wood, leaning forward, her body trembling as she fought to force her composure back into place.

  Nomi rose.

  She moved quietly, cautiously shifting around the overturned chairs to approach the table.

  “What?”

  Rinerva snapped, her head jerking up, eyes wild and defensive.

  The Fox flinched at the tone—a reflex of fear—but she didn't retreat. Instead, she stepped into the mage’s range. Slowly, carefully, she reached out. She didn't strike; she wrapped her arms around the noblewoman’s stiff shoulders and pulled Rinerva into a hug.

  Rinerva’s entire body tensed. She held that rigidity for a heartbeat, two... and then the tension broke.

  She let out a shaky, defeated sigh. She didn’t hug the Fox back—she didn't know how to—but she didn't push her away. The rimefrost on her fingers melted, the anger transmuting into heavy, suffocating exhaustion.

  He was such an irritating variable. Always bickering. Always arguing about morals. About stupid, useless feelings that had no place on a battlefield.

  ...Who would center her now?

  The Fox was still shaking softly against her, but she was warm. Solid. Real. Standing there, wrapped in the arms of the assassin she had scorned, Rinerva finally started to understand why Talos couldn’t get rid of her.

  “...We’ll… figure out how to move forward tomorrow.”

  Rinerva muttered the words into the silence. Nomi pulled away with a small, understanding nod, letting Rinerva slouch back against the wall.

  Finally, Talos rose.

  Rinerva’s eyes shifted toward him. He walked around the unattended bar, heavy boots thudding on the wood. He pulled a massive flagon of ale—the cheap stuff Agon preferred—and poured four mugs.

  He handed one to each of them. Lillik paused her stitching to accept hers with a bloodstained hand.

  Talos raised his glass, his voice rough.

  “To Agon. And his love of complaining about the rain.”

  Nomi sniffled, raising hers. “To his shitty sense of humor, always egging on my jokes.”

  Lillik chimed in softly, her eyes downcast. “To his endless stories, and his love of telling them.”

  Rinerva looked down at the dark amber liquid.

  “...To his morals. And our circular arguments.”

  The cups clattered together—a wooden, hollow sound in the quiet room.

  They drank.