The door opens.
Another man steps through—shorter than Koshin, ash-white hair, gray eyes that sweep the room once before landing on us. He looks at Koshin crouched by the bed, looks at me flat on my back, and his mouth curves.
"Heartwarming," he says. "Really. I might weep."
"Renan." Koshin doesn't turn around. Doesn't stop looking at me. "She's awake."
"I can see that. Can she talk, or did you scare her mute?"
"I'm not mute." The words come out sharper than I intended. Good. Sharp is better than whatever the fuck just happened to my brain. "I'm trying to figure out whether I've been rescued or kidnapped."
"Can't it be both?" Renan crosses the room, leans against the wall with his arms folded. His posture is loose but his eyes are careful. "He broke into Coin's territory, killed their enforcer, collapsed half their lower wing, and carried you back through the tunnels. Whether that's rescue or kidnapping depends on your perspective."
"My perspective is that I don't know what's happening and everyone keeps speaking in incomplete sentences."
"Welcome to Discord." His grin sharpens. "We're all incomplete here."
Fantastic. I've been rescued-slash-kidnapped by a madman and his comedian. My life just keeps getting better.
Koshin is still crouched beside me. Still watching. His attention hasn't moved from my face and my skin is starting to prickle—this awareness of being seen that I don't know how to handle.
"You should eat something," he says.
"I should understand what's happening."
"You were hurt. I brought you somewhere safe. You're healing. The rest can wait."
"Safe." It tastes like a joke. "I'm in the private chambers of a god who just declared war on another House. That's not what safe means."
"What does safe mean to you?"
…
I…I don't have an answer.
I've never been safe, not really—safe is a word other people use, a fairytale I stopped believing in around the same time I learned that locked doors don't keep out the people who have keys.
"I don't know," I say finally. Honest. Exhausted. Pathetic.
His jaw loosens. The intensity shifts—not softer, just different. Focused instead of sharp.
"Then we'll figure it out." His hand moves toward my face and stops before it reaches me, hovering over my cheek, close enough that I feel the heat. "You're in my territory. In my rooms. No one touches you without my permission. No one enters without my knowledge. For as long as you're here, nothing hurts you."
I should argue. Point out that this is insane, that he's a god and I'm a debt payment and none of this follows any logic I understand. Explain that I don't trust promises, don't trust protection, don't trust anyone who says they'll keep me safe because safe isn't real and promises are just words people use before they hurt you.
But I'm tired. And his hand is still hovering. Not touching. Waiting.
My face tilts toward his palm. Just barely. Just enough that I feel the ghost of contact, the promise of warmth. My whole body wants to close the gap.
I stop myself. Barely.
"Why." Fuck.
"Because you don't lie." His voice drops lower, rough in a way that does things to my stomach. "Because when you're in the room, my head goes quiet. And my head is never quiet."
I don't know what that means. Don't understand why a god would care about honesty or quiet or any of the things that make me a liability instead of an asset. I've spent my whole life being told my mouth would get me killed. Now a god is telling me it's the reason he tore through an enemy House to get me.
The universe has a sick sense of humor.
