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“You would know,” she shot back with a grin.
He groaned, but the sound was more fond than annoyed. She shook her head, the charms at the tips jingling faintly—and when her gaze found him again, her expression softened.
“You’re no fun with your armor on,” she said. “I liked the rolled-up sleeves better.” Her grin went crooked as she tilted her head, horns shadowing her face in the dim light. “Your hair’s the same, though. Looks soft.”
A reflexive flicker of panic raced through him as she reached up, fingers hovering near the strands that fell across his forehead. She barely brushed them when his hand shot up, catching hers before she could push the hair aside.
He swallowed, trying to ignore the small warmth of her fingers and the quick thrum of her pulse. Her eyes flashed wide. He hadn’t meant to react so fast. He couldn’t let her see the scar beneath. Not that one. The wound held too many reminders—failures he couldn’t erase, memories he wasn’t ready to share. Not yet.
He dropped her hand, clenching his fist at his side even as he regretted losing its warmth. Her disappointment was brief but visible, and he hated the flicker of regret at having put it there.
She folded her arms, chin lifting with a brittle kind of confidence. “You’re jumpy for someone in armor.”
“And you’ve been a little unusual tonight,” he said carefully, “or maybe a little…tipsy?”
“I’m cidered. Very responsibly, I might add.”
He pressed his lips together to hide a grin. “I see. Your sneak attack makes a little more sense now.”
She shrugged, both hands gripping her pack’s strap, eyes drifting toward the musicians. The swagger dropped from her voice. “I only wanted to see you off-balance again,” she said softly. “You were really awkward at Pell’s.”
Why in the name of the gods would she possibly want to see him flustered? His brooding passed for stoic most of the time. He’d spent years learning to keep himself composed, and here she was pointing out the one time he’d failed. Truthfully, he’d struggled since he’d met her. He bit his tongue to keep from saying something catastrophically stupid.
The urge to curl up and end the conversation was so strong he had to clear his throat to speak again. “Thanks for the reminder.”
She studied him like she could puzzle out who he was if she looked long enough. “It was more honest than this whole, quiet soldier thing you do when you’re dressed like that.” She shrugged and looked away. “You might act like you’re more comfortable wearing this, but you don’t look it.”
He blinked. Closed his mouth. He should’ve bristled, maybe said something clever to deflect it. Instead, he shifted, suddenly aware of the armor pulling at his shoulders. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along? To be seen as something other than dark leather and steel? Here she was offering it, and he’d never had a stronger desire to run away.
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said quickly. She looked away, as if she’d seen something in his expression—some flicker of that old guardedness he hadn’t meant to show—but she didn’t press him. “I wanted to catch you a little less…prepared.”
“You didn’t bother me.” He didn’t know why it mattered so much that she believe him. He managed a wry smile. “And I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”
Her lips twitched, and he swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat. They stood there for a moment, the faint whine of the fiddle winding through the square like smoke. This was ridiculous. He had to say something more before the silence stretched too far.
“I kinda wish you weren’t so good at reading people—would make things easier on me.”
She grinned, bowing her horns so that the charms jingled.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He couldn’t tell if her cheeks looked redder from the cold or the company. No. He couldn’t start thinking like that. He had no business reading into things that weren’t there.
Still, for a heartbeat, it was too easy to pretend. She was simply a woman he’d met passing through. He wasn’t a man carrying shadows, only an easy smile.
Tavrin’s warning rushed back, an unwanted truth he knew he’d have to face: Step back now. Before she gets too close.
He should’ve told her then. Should’ve ruined it before it mattered more. But she was smiling, and for once, the world around him wasn’t something he needed to brace against. He hadn’t earned that. It was selfish, but he couldn’t do it yet. He just needed to find the right moment. There had to be one—a brief time where it might hurt less.
The deep toll of the evening bell rolled through the square. Wren flinched, glancing toward the Registry Tower. Around them, shopkeepers moved about, shutting down their stalls, closing windows, and loading carts to haul away for the next day. Musicians packed away their instruments. The town was preparing for an evening of rest.
Wren winced, her nose crinkling. “Ma’s going to make me pick herbs till my fingers fall off.”
“Then I guess you should be getting home.” His lips twitched, and he bit his cheek to bring them back under control. He had to stop smiling. She’d think he was cursed if he did it much more.
Before he could stop the words from slipping out, he said, “I’ll walk with you—if you’ll have me.”
It hung between them for a heartbeat, softer than he’d meant them to be. Stupid in the most basic way. He was walking right into a trap that he’d made all by himself. Somehow, he couldn’t stop moving toward it.
