The pavilion sat at the edge of the resort grounds, quiet, lantern-lit, mostly empty this late into the night.
Lexel sat alone beneath it, one leg stretched out, the other bent with his arm resting across his knee. A wide plate sat in front of him, filled to the brim with something amber and strong-smelling, and he lifted it to his mouth without ceremony, drinking straight from it like a bowl rather than bothering with anything smaller.
Blood still crusted along his knuckles, dried dark in the creases. He hadn't bothered cleaning up yet.
The liquid burned going down, familiar in a way that settled something in his chest more than it should have for something so simple. He set the plate back down against the stone with a soft clink, staring out at nothing in particular, at the dark shapes of trees swaying faintly against a sky finally, mercifully quiet.
