We’re giggling about something, but I have no idea what.
The world blurs at the edges. My limbs are heavy. My brain is foggy. And for once, I don’t care. Because tonight—I wasn’t the Spiritborn. I was just Amara.
Then Lyra stops short.
I blink. Look up.
She’s staring at something. Someone.
Thane.
Torchlight flickers across his face. He stands in the shadows—arms crossed, eyes fixed on me, with that typical unreadable expression on his face.
I freeze.
Shit.
Ofcoursehe’s back. Right now. Right when I’m drunk off my ass.
Lyra hums low in her throat. “Well, well.” She releases my arm. “Look who decided to show up. Thought we’d lost you to politics and paperwork.”
Thane’s gaze flicks to her. “And look who decided to drink half the tavern dry.”
“It wasn’t half.” I snort.
“More like a third,” Lyra says cheerfully, patting my shoulder. Then, sharper, “She needed it.”
His eyes meet mine. “Did she?”
The way he says it—flat, deliberate—makes my stomach twist.
Lyra, traitor that she is, just smirks. “You can take it from here, right, Warlord?”
I whip toward her, nearly losing my balance in the process. Lyra places a steadying hand on my arm.
“What?! No. Absolutely not.”
She grins, smug as hell.
“Oh, absolutely yes.” Then leans in, voice low. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”
I glare. She winks. And then she slips into the shadows, humming like she just set something on fire.
The tavern fades behind us. The street is quiet. Laughter echoes in the distance. Someone’s boots crunch on gravel, slow and measured. Still, Thane doesn’t look away.
I shift on my heels, unsteady, squinting up at him. “You always lurk in the shadows waiting to catch people off guard, or is that just your charming way of saying hi?”
Thane exhales, stepping closer. The space between us shrinks, and suddenly, the night isn’t so cool anymore.
“You’re drunk.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “Very observant.”
“Not safe.”
“Please. I could still take down three warriors blindfolded,” I scoff.
Thane arches a brow. “Could you even stand on your own right now?”
