Lucy lay on her back atop a lumpy mattress, staring at the ceiling beams. One of them had a crack shaped vaguely like a bird. Or a sword. Or possibly a poorly drawn map. She decided not to think too hard about it.
Her wrist still ached faintly where the man had grabbed her. She flexed her fingers, grounding herself in the knowledge that she hadn’t been alone when it mattered.
She rolled onto her side and pressed it against the mattress, annoyed that the sensation hadn’t vanished with the danger and annoyed that she’d frozen for half a second before the Baroness appeared like a wrathful ghost armed with a purse.
Lucy wasn’t used to being rescued.
Footsteps creaked softly outside the door.
“Lucy?” the Baroness whispered, as if afraid of waking the entire building. “Are you awake?”
Lucy hesitated. Then, “Unfortunately.”
The door opened just enough for the Baroness to slip inside. She looked smaller without her posture sharpened for battle—hair loosened, sleeves rolled down. She held her handbag clutched to her chest like a shield.
“I wished to ensure you were truly unharmed,” she said stiffly.
Lucy propped herself up on one elbow. “You saved me with loose change.”
The Baroness winced. “I lost three buttons.”
“I will carve their names into history.”
That earned a small, shaky laugh.
They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither quite knowing what to do with the silence.
“You did not scream,” the Baroness said quietly.
Lucy blinked. “I… what?”
“When the man grabbed you,” she continued. “You didn’t scream. You assessed. You prepared to act.”
Lucy hadn’t realized that was what she’d been doing.
“I don’t like feeling helpless,” she said finally. “I usually talk my way out of things. Or make myself a problem.”
The Baroness nodded slowly. “So do I.”
That surprised her.
“I am not brave,” the Baroness added. “But I am… tired of being afraid.”
Lucy swallowed, something warm and strange settling in her chest.
“Well,” she said lightly, “for what it’s worth, you were terrifying.”
The Baroness straightened a fraction. “Good.”
She hesitated at the door. “Sleep well, Lucy.”
Lucy watched her leave, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
She lay back down, hands folded on her stomach, listening to the muffled sounds of the inn.
Basil’s quiet footsteps pacing. Sylva’s steady breathing somewhere nearby. A world that did not pause just because she was overwhelmed.
For the first time since leaving the palace, Lucy felt something shift.
