The room was quiet, golden with the lazy light of sunset. Shadows stretched long across the floor, dust turning in the still air like suspended thought. Starling blinked awake, groggy and warm, tangled in sheets that didn't belong to her.
Lucanis and Viago's bed. Still.
She exhaled slowly. Not out of relief or regret, but something in between. It hadn't been a dream. They'd fed her. Touched her hair. Spoken to her like she mattered. Then they'd coaxed her back to bed like she was something precious. Like they meant it.
And now... gone.
She pushed upright, rubbing the heel of her palm over her eye. The room was empty, and the silence was too clean to mean anything good. Starling slid out of bed and padded across the floor, her bare feet ghosting against cold stone. Her back twinged. The gash along it itched and burned under the bandage, hot and raw and annoyingly present.
She needed pants.
Lucanis's drawers were well organised. Of course they were. Everything folded like the man didn't know how to make a mess even if he wanted to. She found a pair of linen trousers and stepped into them, rolling the waist a few times to make them fit. Loose, comfortable. Not hers.
That was the problem, wasn't it? She couldn't just live in Lucanis's room like some ghost girl draped in borrowed shirts. She had her own shit to sort. Her own place, her own clothes, her own tansy stash.
Starling pulled on one of his dark undershirts, tucked the hem into the too-big pants, then paused at the door.
Caterina.
A sour twist in her gut reminded her it wasn't safe to walk out of here like she belonged. Not if the woman was home. Not if Illario was lurking somewhere nearby with his slow smile and bottomless eyes.
She turned to the balcony. Safer. She slipped over the railing and dropped lightly down to the rooftop below, landing with the kind of practised quiet that didn't stir even a cat. The rooftops were familiar, almost comforting - this city's bones were old, but they had always made space for people like her. People who moved better out of sight.
The wind nipped at her still-damp hair as she darted over roof tiles, crossing shadows and sun-bleached beams. Her back screamed with every leap, but she kept going. She just didn't want to be seen like this.
Her loft was hot when she got there, narrow windows collecting the last light of day like gold caught in a bottle. Starling locked the door behind her, flipped the bolt out of habit, and stripped out of Lucanis's clothes as soon as she was clear of the stairs.
Her own skin. Her own floor. Her own smell. It helped.
She peeled the bandage back carefully, grimacing at what she could see of the angry wound beneath. The stitched gash had gone from numbing pain to maddening irritation, and she scratched carefully around it before forcing herself to stop. She couldn't afford to rip it open.
She dressed in her own shirt, something soft and long-sleeved, tugged on the most comfortable trousers she had, then rolled her shoulders. Better. More herself. Less... possessed.
She moved to the little shelf tucked above her firepot and reached for the tin she kept hidden behind a jar of dried rosehips. Tansy. Her own stash, separate from the one at the Hall. She didn't trust the Hall to have her back when it counted. Not always. Not anymore.
The tea took time. Boil. Steep. Don't scratch at the wound again. Her hands moved out of habit, but her mind wasn't quiet.
They'd gone that far for her.
Viago, with his smile that always knew too much. Lucanis, with his impossible steadiness and storm beneath the surface. They'd risked Caterina's wrath. Brought her into their bed. Treated her like she mattered.
Half of her was stunned. Bowled over by the idea that someone might go to such lengths without strings attached.
The other half? The smarter half? Still waiting. Waiting for the moment it snapped shut around her. For Caterina to find out, and Lucanis and Viago to suddenly remember who they were loyal to. For the warmth to be bait. For the comfort to become leverage.
People were only kind until they were cornered.
The tea hissed when she poured it and she winced when she burned her mouth on it. Dumb ass.
--
The door opened to soft light, warm sheets, and an empty bed. Lucanis paused on the threshold.
The covers were still rumpled where they'd left her, half-slid off the edge like she'd only just slipped out. But the space where her body had been was cooling.
She was gone.
Behind him, Viago made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. "That collar and leash idea is getting more and more tempting."
Lucanis didn't argue. He just grunted - an annoyed, resigned sound in the back of his throat. He crossed the room, eyes sweeping over the details. He crouched beside the drawers, noticed one left slightly ajar. Linen trousers missing.
"She took pants," he said. "Mine."
"Well, at least she's finally showing some taste," Viago muttered.
"We'll try her loft." Lucanis stood and reached for his coat.
Viago tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You mean the loft we're not supposed to know about?"
Lucanis gave him a look, dry and unimpressed. "And she was supposed to be here when we got back."
Viago opened his hands in concession.
They moved quickly. Lucanis didn't bother with his usual weapons. He wasn't expecting trouble - not unless she'd fallen off a roof, or run herself ragged, or reopened the wound like the stubborn idiot she could be when left alone for longer than an hour.
He didn't want to be angry. But irritation was easier than concern. And there was concern, low and quiet in his chest, like a dog waiting at the door.
She'd let them care for her. Let them see her curled and bloodied and near collapse. She'd let herself be soft. And now she was gone. Not gone-gone. He knew that. She would've taken her knives, her boots, her secrets, if she meant to disappear. But still... They'd left her wrapped in quiet, safe and warm. And came back to emptiness.
He clenched his jaw as they turned down the alley near her loft. Viago's footfalls were light beside him, almost cheerful, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss her or scold her.
Lucanis knew what he wanted. To see her. To make sure she was still breathing. To bring her home.
The dormer window was open when they reached the roof - blessedly open, which meant they wouldn't need to break it. Lucanis didn't particularly care about propriety, but he preferred not to startle her into throwing a knife.
Viago slipped in first, nimble and quiet. Lucanis followed, boots hitting the floor with the dull weight of certainty. The attic space was cramped and uneven, ceiling slanted, the corners packed with half-finished repairs and the kind of clutter that marked this as hers.
And there she was. Perched cross-legged on her bed, book open in her lap, a steaming mug in her hand. Her shirt hung loose over her frame. Her hair was damp from washing. Clean clothes. Comfort. Safe. She looked up, blinking in surprise.
"The estate has a library," Lucanis said, his voice dry as flint.
He didn't smile, but the edge of his mouth pulled slightly as he and Viago stepped further inside, shadows cast long in the amber light.
She tilted her head, eyebrows raised. "My loft has a door."
Viago's lips twitched. Lucanis took the moment to catalogue her fully - no blood, no limp, no gauze coming loose. The wound hadn't reopened. Good. But still. She was alone. Unwatched. Unclaimed...
"How did you find this place?" She asked, tone shifting.
Lucanis didn't answer.
Viago waved a lazy hand, stepping around a crate. "You weren't very careful one night."
"You're stalking me?" She shot back, sharp.
Viago smiled, faint and unapologetic. "Looking out for you."
She narrowed her eyes. Lucanis saw the flicker of calculation there - the measuring of boundaries, of intent.
"I thought we said you weren't leaving," he said, voice low.
The amusement didn't quite hide the bite underneath.
"That was during sex," she replied with a shrug. "People say things then."
Lucanis looked at her, steady. Let the silence stretch for just a second too long. Maker, she tested him. With that mouth, with that stubborn insistence on slipping away the second he let his grip ease. He wanted to put her back in their bed, wrap himself around her like a second skin, and keep her there.
But the sight of her here - tea in hand, clothes too loose around her ribs, that flicker of challenge in her eyes - it thrilled something dark and possessive in him. She was fire, and he had always been a man drawn to burns.
"You were warm," he said finally, stepping closer. "Fed. Safe." He let the next words hang, deliberate. "Ours."
Her expression twitched.
"And now you're here. Alone. Drinking tea."
He looked down at her book, then back to her. Slowly. Like he was trying to decide whether to kiss her or scold her.
"Why?"
Because he didn't want her to run. Because he didn't want her slipping away every time something was soft. Because he was sick of chasing her. Because he would, every time, but that didn't mean he liked it.
Viago leaned against a support beam, arms folded, watching them with that too-knowing calm.
Lucanis stayed standing over her, jaw tight, eyes sharp. "Tell me why you left."
She didn't flinch. Didn't fidget. Just looked up at him with that maddening, infuriating calm she wielded like a blade.
"Because I like my clothes."
She plucked at her shirt to emphasise the point. Then lifted her mug with a flick of her wrist, indicating the tea.
"And I don't want to get pregnant." Her lips quirked. Not quite a smile- too dry for that. More like she was enjoying herself. "Last thing any of us needs."
Lucanis stared at her. Viago choked on a laugh behind him.
"She has a point," Viago said, clearly amused. "You forget how fertile we are, Lucanis. Probably the Antivan air."
Lucanis didn't take his eyes off her. Her flippancy grated. Not because it was disrespectful - he could live with disrespect. He expected it from her. It was herself she disregarded. Her body, still healing. Her safety, still precarious. Her place with them, still unsteady.
She had left without a word. For tea, for clothes, for control. Lucanis exhaled through his nose.
"You could've said something," he said, quieter now, but no less firm. "You didn't have to disappear."
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug that didn't quite reach ease. "Didn't realise I was being held hostage."
Viago moved closer then, all slow charm and soft pacing, circling behind Lucanis.
"Not hostage," Viago murmured. "Kept. Like something we didn't want to lose."
Lucanis didn't move. His voice stayed low, even.
"You're bleeding. You're exhausted. You nearly died, Starling."
She rolled her eyes, but he didn't let her deflect.
"You're not a prisoner. But don't make us chase you down like one."
She blinked. Not wounded, exactly. But there was something quieter in the way she held her mug after that. Some part of her processing. Filing it away. Lucanis stepped forward one more pace, close enough to touch her but didn't. He looked down at her like she belonged to him. Because she did. She just hadn't accepted it yet.
"You want your tea. Your clothes. Fine. But next time you leave our bed…" He paused. "Say goodbye."
He didn't ask it like a plea. It wasn't a request. It was something solid. A line he didn't want crossed again.
Starling looked up at him, eyebrows lifted. "You weren't there to say goodbye to."
Then she sipped her tea and added, almost flippantly -
"But fine. Next time I'll write a note."
Lucanis's jaw flexed. Viago made a soft noise behind him - half laugh, half sigh - but Lucanis didn't look away from her.
"Or," he said, voice flat, "just wait until we get back."
She let out a small, amused sound, light and airy as if he hadn't just spoken to her like she mattered more than breath.
"No, you'll just try to stop me from leaving."
That smile of hers - sharp as a blade, sweet as a trap - should've made him angry. It didn't. It made him want to bite. Lucanis stepped closer. One more pace. Now he was close enough to reach her knee, to touch her throat, to press his hand to the soft space above her heart and remind her who she belonged to.
"Yes," he said simply.
Her smile faltered, just a fraction.
Viago laughed then, the sound low and warm. "Of course we would. What do you expect, Starling? You climb into our bed, melt in our hands, and think we won't try to keep you?"
She shifted but didn't retreat. Lucanis's voice dropped lower.
"You're ours when it suits you. But when we suit you - when we give you warmth, safety, us - you run."
Her eyes narrowed again, defensive. "I didn't run. I went home."
"Alone. Bleeding. Over rooftops."
She rolled her eyes. "The bleeding has stopped. You're being dramatic."
Lucanis said nothing. She set her mug down with a deliberate clink and met his stare head-on, expression calm, voice measured.
"And we're all Crows. We were all trained on how to work through the pain."
That part wasn't flippant. Just fact, delivered with the blunt edge of someone who had lived it, endured it, survived it. She wasn't wrong, but Lucanis didn't care about what pain she could survive. He cared about keeping her from it in the first place.
She went on, voice lighter again but her eyes still hard:
"And yes, I'm yours when it suits me. But don't act like it doesn't suit you too."
There it was. That sharp little twist of truth. Starling didn't flinch from it. She owned it and dared them to. Lucanis's mouth twitched, not in amusement. Something darker. Something that almost hurt. He stepped in fully now, into her space, forcing her to tilt her head just slightly to keep eye contact.
"It suits me," he said. "Of course it suits me." His voice was low, not angry, not rough - just true. "You think I wouldn't throw everything else away for the chance to wake up with you warm beside me instead of slipping off like a thief before dusk?"
She opened her mouth - but Viago was already moving in, sliding in at her side, dropping onto the bed beside her like he'd always belonged there.
"Tesora, we're not pretending it suits you more than us. We're just pretending it doesn't gut us a little every time you vanish."
His voice was light, but there was weight under it. Truth, lacquered in charm. Lucanis nodded once, slowly.
"I don't need you to be grateful," he said. "I don't need you to be soft." Then, after a beat, "But I do need you to stay."
"I do stay," she said.
Her voice was quieter now. Not defensive. Not flippant. Just trying, in that rare way she did - sincerity like glass balanced on the edge of her palm.
"I've stopped sneaking out in the middle of the night. And I spent most of the day at your house."
She glanced at him, then Viago, then down at her mug like it might help her hold the thread.
"It was time to come home. Rest. Get some proper sleep before I go back to the Hall tomorrow."
Lucanis exhaled slowly through his nose. It wasn't what he wanted, but it wasn't nothing. He could feel Viago's gaze flick between them, that usual glitter of mischief dialled down now into something more thoughtful.
Lucanis watched her. The way she wrapped her arms around her ribs, not guarding herself, but anchoring. Like even saying this much was its own quiet risk.
He nodded once. Just once. "All right."
The words came out low, deliberate. He meant them. It wasn't approval, but it wasn't a reprimand either. It was acceptance. A small concession in this endless war of closeness and space they seemed to wage every time they breathed in the same room.
Viago leaned back on one elbow beside her, smiling gently now, one hand coming up to play with the hem of her sleeve.
"See? You can be reasonable."
She made a face but didn't pull away. Lucanis sat down at the foot of her bed, elbows braced on his knees, still watching her like he was solving something with his eyes.
"Tomorrow," he said. "You go to the Hall. Tonight, you don't sleep alone."
Not a question or a demand, just a truth, spoken plain. She could argue. She usually did. But Lucanis was already reaching for the edge of the blanket, letting his hand rest there. Waiting. Letting her choose, but making it clear what he wanted. What they wanted. What they always wanted.
She laughed softly, the sound breathy and exasperated. "We can not all fit in my teeny tiny bed."
Viago, lounging like a cat on the edge of her mattress, grinned. "Not without being creative."
Lucanis didn't rise to the bait. His eyes stayed on her, still, unreadable, but holding that glint of something sharp underneath.
"Then we'll go back to the estate," he said evenly. "Get what you'll need for tomorrow, and bring your tea. You'll need it."
She groaned under her breath, dragging her hands down her face like she was already regretting every decision that had led her to this moment.
"So fucking presumptuous," she muttered.
But she stood. Lucanis leaned back, satisfied. No gloating. Just the quiet, inevitable victory of a man who never asked twice when he already knew the answer.
She moved through the room with that lovely, irritable efficiency, grabbing her satchel, stuffing it with clothes and whatever else she decided she might need. She pulled on her boots with a faint wince that didn't escape his notice. The wound still hurt. She wouldn't say it but he filed it away anyway. Then the tin of tea. She paused as she reached for it, eyeing him sidelong, like she was daring him to comment. He didn't. But his mouth twitched into a faint, self-satisfied smile that said everything.
She noticed. "What," she asked flatly.
He shrugged once, lazy. "Nothing."
Viago hummed as he stood, stretching with all the grace of someone entirely too pleased with how things had turned out. Lucanis rose too, crossing to the window first to check the rooftops. Clear. He offered a hand to help her out, even though she didn't need it. She ignored it. Still, she climbed out after him. Because she was coming back with them. Because she'd packed her tea.
Because she was staying.