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Atlas pushed open the tavern door with his shoulder, letting the weight of it swing inward on iron hinges that complained loudly enough to earn him a few glances. The place was warm in a way that pressed against his skin immediately, the kind of warmth built from bodies packed too close together, from open hearths and spilled ale and laughter that had nowhere else to go. The tavern was carved from dark wood and birch beams, old and sturdy, the kind of place that had survived three rebuilds and a riot or two without ever bothering to change its name. Lanternlight hung low from the rafters, casting a dim amber glow that softened sharp edges and made everyone look a little kinder than they probably deserved.
A bard sat near the far wall, fingers dancing across the strings of a lute that had seen better years, the melody lively but rough around the edges, like it had been learned on the road and never cleaned up after. Conversation filled the space between notes, overlapping and colliding, elves laughing too loudly, humans arguing over maps spread across sticky tables, fae perched half-sideways on stools as if gravity was a suggestion rather than a rule. Off-duty Sunborn officers blended in poorly despite their attempts, their posture too straight, their armor replaced with cloaks that still carried the weight of rank.
Atlas stepped inside and paused just long enough to take it all in.
Then he saw them.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, ignoring the dull flare of pain that twisted along his side as his ribs protested the movement. Of course they were here. Of course this was where they'd ended up. He should have known better than to hope for silence.
Ako was standing on a table near the center of the tavern, one boot planted confidently between overturned mugs, her tail flicking behind her as she tipped a pint back and drained it in one long pull. Around her, a group of broad-shouldered adventurers—men twice her size and already three drinks past sensible—were cheering and slamming their fists against the wood. She slammed the empty mug down hard enough to make the table shudder.
"Wooo!" Ako shouted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes bright and unfocused. "I told you! Now pay up, boys!"
Coins clinked as reluctant hands reached for purses, grumbling mixed with laughter as they tossed their losses onto the table. Ako laughed with them, already scooping up the gold with a grin that dared anyone to challenge her again.
Atlas looked away before she could spot him.
Garruk was easier to ignore only because he wasn't moving. The giant-blood sat slumped in the far corner, his massive frame pressed awkwardly against the wall, chin tucked to his chest as he slept. Empty barrels lay on their sides near his feet, cracked staves and damp rings on the floor marking where they'd once stood full. Even asleep, Garruk looked like he could wake up swinging if someone breathed wrong near him.
At the opposite end of the tavern, Seris stood with her back half-turned, arm extended as she lined up a dart. She released it smoothly, the dart slicing through the air before splitting the shaft of another already lodged in the board. A collective groan rose from the elven soldiers she was playing against.
She turned, laughing, and held out her palm. "Good game, my man."
The soldier sighed and dropped a small leather pouch into her hand. She weighed it, pleased, then glanced up.
Her eyes found Atlas instantly.
Her grin spread like she'd just won something better than gold.
"Atlas! Hey!"
"Shit," Atlas muttered to himself, already moving toward the bar before she could cross the room.
He took a seat, ignoring the way the wooden stool dug into his side, and rested his forearms against the counter. The bartender, an older elf with scarred hands and a knowing look, didn't bother asking questions. He poured a short glass of amber liquid and slid it across the bar.
Atlas took a sip, letting the burn settle his nerves.
Seris slid onto the stool beside him anyway.
"You healed," she said, leaning closer to inspect him like she expected stitches to unravel on sight.
"Yep," Atlas replied flatly, taking another sip. "Sure did."
"How long were you out?" she asked. "Does it still hurt? Did the healers say—"
"I'm fine."
She frowned slightly. "You don't sound fine."
"I said I'm fine."
"You're holding your side."
"I'm sitting."
She sighed, clearly unconvinced. "I saw you collapse on Bithorn's back. That's not nothing."
Atlas set his glass down with a quiet clink and finally looked at her. "I'm just here for a drink, okay? Not conversation."
Seris blinked, then lifted her hands in surrender. "Alright. Fair enough."
She paused, then added, "Still. We're a team now. We should probably know if one of us is about to fall over."
Atlas let out a short, humorless breath. "You think we're getting sent on another mission after that shit? You're optimistic."
She smiled. "Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I know." She ordered herself a drink anyway, taking a small sip before glancing sideways at him again. "So. Did you see Lorian on the way here?"
Atlas's jaw tightened. "Yeah. He was outside. He left."
Her gaze drifted toward the doorway, her expression softening. "I hope he's okay. He must be feeling guilty."
Atlas studied her face for a moment, the warm lanternlight catching on her bronze skin and silver hair, highlighting the concern she didn't bother hiding. "I don't get you," he muttered.
She looked back at him. "What do you mean?"
"You seem worried," he said, shrugging. "He's an adult. He'll live."
"I know," she said quietly. "I just feel bad. Ako went off on him when you were in the hospital."
"As the kid should," Atlas replied.
Seris laughed and reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "You're heartless."
"Yeah," he said. "I guess."
She tilted her head, resting her cheek in her palm as she studied him. "But I don't think you're totally heartless."
He signaled for a refill. "What makes you say that?"
Her voice softened. "Why else would you have saved me? You have a heart. Don't get me wrong it's a very small black heart," she teased, then grew serious. "But it's there. I don't think you're a bad leader either."
Atlas froze, the memory of Vorenna's voice and the faint sound of breathing outside the door of the hospital flickering through his mind. "You were listening."
Seris nodded unapologetically. "Yep."
He scoffed. "Figures."
"I don't think the contract was a mistake," she continued. "And I don't think you are either. You just don't want to be."
She gestured toward the room. "Look at her."
Ako was laughing uncontrollably, locked in an arm-wrestling match with a man who looked like he could bench-press a horse. She slammed his hand into the table and threw her arms up triumphantly.
"She believes in you," Seris said. "I don't know why, exactly, but I can see it."
Atlas clicked his tongue. "Kid's got bad role models."
As if summoned, Ako sniffed, turned, and spotted him.
Her eyes lit up.
"Sir Atlas!"
She launched herself across the room.
Atlas barely had time to brace before she collided with him, arms wrapping around his torso as she laughed and cried at the same time. He caught her face with one hand, holding her at arm's length as she tried to squeeze tighter.
"You're alive!" she blurted. "I was so worried!"
"Easy," he said gruffly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her grin was watery and wide.
For just a moment, Atlas's mouth twitched.
A faint half-smile appeared.
And it stayed.