I went back to carving, trying to distract myself, but Hanna found a stool to sit on and it was so close to me that I almost cut myself with the carving knife. Her scent, mixed with the rain, was screaming at me, begging me to turn to her and admiteverything.But I couldn’t, so I focused onnotcutting my fingers into tiny pieces instead.
Ribbon made his way over to sit on her feet, settling in with slow movements, before his eyes drooped in what could only be described as pleasure—lucky bastard—as she started telling him a story about a talking broomstick that tried to overthrow her aunt’s kitchen. And me—the great, disciplined warrior that I was—sat there listening like a fool, realizing too late that I didn’t mind being trapped with her at all.
Chapter 11
Savla
Iwoke up later than usual the next morning—which was already suspicious. The rain hadscrubbed the city clean overnight, and sunlight was sneaking through the workshop window like it had something to prove. Ribbon was snoring from his dog bed against the wall, the smell of damp metal still hanging in the air.
I told myself I wasn’t waiting for the sound of the roof door creaking open again.
Even though it was the most obvious lie in the universe.
I hissed at my internal voice, wishing it could juststay silentfor once, but knowing that it never would. I’d just started sanding the edge of a new sculpture when the sound of gentle footsteps reached my ear. I pretended that it wasn’t pleasure that was filling me. Relief. An odd sense of satisfactionoverflowing my chest.
Then the door opened—soft but deliberate this time. And Hanna peeked in.
She was dry today and her hair was loose. Long, lustrous strands with a hint of red undertone that made me itch to touch it. There was a faint smile playing on her lips.
“Morning,” she said, like this was completely normal.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re back.”
As if you weren’t just rejoicing about that.
“Unfinished business.”
“With what?”
She pointed to me. “You still owe me the ending to the broomstick story. I told you I was going to start it and you were going to finish. Of the both of us,you’rethe artist, after all.”
I exhaled through my nose. “You made that up.”
She stepped closer, unbothered. “So? You made up that frog statue. It seems totally fair.”
Ribbon croaked approvingly. Traitor.Again.
Hanna grinned and went straight to his cushion, crouching to scratch his chin. “See? Ribbon agrees.”
My toad slouched in his position, closing his eyes and letting his tongue hang out in glee. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d fry his legs for dinner.
“You’re aware you don’t actuallyworkhere, right?” I asked, picking up a rag to wipe down the table.
“Sure,” she said, with a nod. “That’s why I brought breakfast.”
That stopped me. She held up a little box, the smell of something warm and sweet escaping through the cracks.
“Sweetrolls,” she said proudly. “From the market. I may have bought too many, and it’s terrible etiquette to eat alone.”
“Or,” I said slowly, “you could admit that you came here on purpose.”
Why the hell are you demanding the truth from her when you can barely admit it to yourself?
I hissed at my internal voice again, but she just tilted her head, a tiny smile spreading across her face. “Maybe I like the view,” she whispered, not looking away.
I told myself she meant the skyline, not me. But the bastard inside of me who loved being around her preened, wondering exactly whichpartshe enjoyed viewing.
Before I could muster a retort that would sufficiently stop further flirtatious banter with her, a heavy knock echoed from the rooftop door below—followed by Krusk’s unmistakable loud voice.
