Then his mouth trails up the curve of my neck, hot breath chasing heat across my skin. A shiver slips down my spine, and my breath catches before I can stop it.
But I push it down, because I know exactly what he’s doing—trying to keep me here, stop me from going, playing my weak spots against me like weapons.
“That fiery red hair against all that porcelain skin…” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. I can hear the grin in his voice, smug and unbothered, clearly enjoying himself. A beat, then, with zero shame: “You know you’re a walking wet dream.”
God, is he predictable.
“Classic.” I snort, rolling my eyes. “No wonder you’re still single.”
I give him a half-hearted shove, more playful than pointed. He just laughs, stumbles back on to the mattress, lacing his hands behind his head like it’s all part of his game.
“Still worth a try…” Grin locked in place.
I don’t even bother responding. Just turn back to the mirror, roll my eyes one last time, and tug on my top before grabbing my jacket from the hook by the door. It’s dusty, patched beyondcounting, hand-stitched across a torn shoulder, not pretty, but it’s warm, and mine.
Growing up in the Outerlands teaches you things. How to make do. How to fix what breaks, even if it’s you.
Lastly, I gather my thick red curls and twist them into a loose knot at the back of my head, quick and practised. Strands still slip free to frame my face, but it'll hold.
Behind me, Bren’s voice softens. “You know... I do worry about you. Going over the border so often.”
I pause, just for a second. It’s sweet, he means well. And yeah, part of me appreciates it. That someone cares enough to say it, that someone sees me. But that’s also the problem, isn’t it?
Exhaling, I glance at him in the mirror, and his eyes—those goddamn warm, safe eyes—are looking right through me. But that’s not what this is. That’s not what we are.
“Uh-uh. No. We don’t do this. We don’t have these kinds of conversations.” I reply, sliding my dagger into its sheath with a soft scrape.
His brow lifts, mouth parting like he’s about to push “But what if I?—”
Dragon sirens scream through the room, sharp and rising, a hollow wail that scrapes the spine and curdles the air. It rolls over the rooftops in waves, loud enough to wake the dead. Every window in Bren's room rattles with the promise of fire.
“Shit.” He's on his feet in seconds, already pulling on his pants.
“Northern Peaks?” I ask, frowning. “Again?”
He nods, jaw tight. “Second time this month.”
I glance at the window, unease coiling in my gut.
“Thank fuck I haven’t been Reassigned,” he mutters while shoving on a boot, “still on bucket duty. Just putting out flames, not holding off the damn dragons.”
This isn’t normal.
They used to stay beyond the peaks, but lately they’ve been drifting into Ashvale. Skimming the outskirts, causing just enough damage to rattle everyone. Like they’re testing something. Or aiming for specific spots.
I swallow hard. If the Citadel just extended its Veils just a few clicks east, maybe we’d stand a chance. But no, got to keep the Innerlands nice and cozy. While out here? We’re left to burn.
A cool breeze drifts in through the crack in Bren’s window. Shaking my head I check my watch,shit, almost forgot what I’m supposed to be doing today.
“Have fun playing hero,” I shout over my shoulder, grabbing my pack and shoving the frame open.
“You know you could use the door,” he calls over the wail.
“Yeah, I know,” I call back, slinging a leg over the sill. “But then people might know what we’re doing, and I’d rather keep this friends-with-benefits thing a secret.” I glance back and flash a smile. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold...”
He laughs, grabbing his boots “See you later? We can finish what you started?”
Bless him, that unshakable optimism. “Only if you haven’t been burnt to a crisp by the time I get back,” I yell over my shoulder, before dropping into the alley below.
