Morning crept into the inn softly, as if it did not wish to disturb what little peace the night had given. Pale light slipped through the uneven wooden shutters, painting thin gold lines across the stone floor. Outside, birds argued over crumbs and the distant clink of cooking pots drifted in from the back of the building.
Lira woke first.
She lay still for a moment, listening—not just with her ears, but with that deeper sense she had learned to trust. The air here felt settled, old, layered with many travelers' footsteps and quiet lives lived between departures. No danger pressed at her senses, only a faint tug of… attention. As if something nearby had been waiting for them to wake.
Renkai slept on his side, one arm flung protectively across the space between them, even in rest. His breathing was slow, steady. Lira allowed herself a small smile before carefully sitting up, pulling her cloak around her shoulders.
A soft knock came at the door.
