Starling woke in the dark. No candlelight. No early sun. Just the quiet hush of a room meant for shadows and the slow, deep rhythm of sleep from either side of her.
Lucanis's arm lay heavy across her stomach. Viago's was slung across her ribs, his fingers resting against her side like they'd landed there by chance and stayed out of habit. Their bodies bracketed hers, heat radiating, breath slow and even. They were asleep.
Starling didn't move at first.
Her bones ached, not sharply, but in that dull, sweet way that came after too much. Her thighs chafed a little. Her back too, faint bruises forming where someone's mouth or hands had gripped her too tightly. It had been a lot. Too much, maybe.
They'd last had her less than a week ago. And yet tonight… tonight had been more. Dinner. Wine. Conversation. She wasn't sure why it felt different, but it did. She didn't like that she couldn't name it.
A send-off, maybe. That could explain the table, the wine, the way Lucanis had offered her the candied almonds like he knew she was partial to them.
Maybe this was the last time. Maybe it had been goodbye.
The thought sat oddly in her chest. Still, she moved. Not out of sentiment or longing or fear, just necessity.
She slid down, slow and gentle as a sigh, ducking under the arms slung around her carefully. She shifted until her back touched the edge of the mattress, and then in one fluid motion, slipped over the side and touched her bare feet to the floor.
Her dress lay where they'd left it, and she pulled it on without ceremony. Her hair, still slightly tangled from hours before, she left alone. It didn't matter. No one would be surprised to see a tired Crow in last night's clothes at the break of day.
She carried her boots until she was out the door, into the hallway, and then down the estate's side exit into the crisp Treviso morning.
The city was quiet. Not empty, but early. Vendors were beginning to stir. A few delivery carts passed by, hauling bread and fruit. The air still held the damp coolness of night, and her boots clapped softly as she walked, unhurried but not dawdling.
The Crow Hall wasn't far. She knew the route blindfolded. And the moment she reached the barracks, she'd head to the mess, drink her Tansy Tea, and scrub any remaining traces of indulgence from her skin.
The last thing anyone needed were permanent consequences. Especially from something that was supposed to be fleeting.
Still, she hadn't meant to stay that long. It wasn't the food. Or the wine. Or even the sex. She'd just been tired. Bone tired. And they'd worn her out more thoroughly than usual.
The walk back to the Crow Hall felt longer than it usually did.
Starling's limbs were heavy, her boots unlaced and flapping against the cobbles with every step. She kept her head down and moved with purpose, even if each step tugged at sore muscles. Her thighs still ached, still sticky, and she didn't want to think about what had dried against her skin.
By the time she reached the outer gates of the Crow Hall, her eyes were burning. Her body was begging for sleep. A few early risers were already in the courtyard, cleaning blades and tending gear. She offered no greeting and received none. Everyone knew what silence meant at this hour.
She made her way to the mess hall on near-silent feet, slipped through the side entrance, and made straight for the counter where the tea sat in its unloved tin. She took the time to boil water and steep it. Tansy Tea. Bitter, thick, sharp on the nose like something meant to clean wounds more than drink. And it always lingered. On her tongue, in her throat.
Still, she poured a cup. She didn't sit. Just braced one hip against the counter and drank slow, steady sips. Her stomach turned slightly, but she didn't stop. It was ritual. And protection.
She drained the cup, eyes half-closed, then set it down with a soft clink. There. All done.
The air was cooler in the hall than outside. She hugged her arms around herself as she moved down the hallway to the barracks, finally letting her shoulders slump.
Bed. Maker, yes, bed.
She passed one of the shared baths, empty at this hour, but didn't stop. She was too tired. She didn't even care anymore. She'd earned something better than lukewarm water and no soap.
Tomorrow, she promised herself. Or, later today, really. The bathhouse. Steam, scented oils, and hot water deep enough to sink into and disappear. One soft thing. Just one.
She reached her cot, pulled the curtain, and let herself drop into the thin mattress with a sigh that felt like collapse. Her dress stayed on. Her boots didn't make it off. And within moments, she was asleep.
--
Lucanis woke to the quiet hush of early morning, the kind of stillness that only existed before the city fully opened its eyes. His face was half-buried in the pillow, arm flung out across the bed, hand reaching instinctively for the warm body that should have been there.
It wasn't.
He cracked one eye open. The space between him and Viago was empty. He didn't even need to touch the sheet to know it had already gone cold.
Lucanis pushed himself up on one elbow, hair falling over his brow, and stared at the rumpled hollow where she should've been. No trace of her lingered. Not her scent. Not her heat. Nothing but a faint indentation in the mattress, like she'd never even been there.
"She's gone again," he muttered, voice still thick with sleep.
Viago stirred beside him, lifting his head and blinking toward the vacant space. "I'm surprised she can move with such stealth given… everything." He rolled onto his back with a faint grunt. "Honestly, she should have a limp at least."
Lucanis snorted. It was involuntary and sharp and tinged with reluctant amusement. But it didn't cut the edge of his irritation.
How the fuck did she do that?
He wasn't an easy man to sneak away from. Neither was Viago. Between them, they had nearly five decades of Crow experience. Training. Instinct. Reflexes. And yet Starling had slipped past them again. Fifth time. Fifth.
Lucanis ran a hand over his face and sat up fully, elbows on his knees. His body ached faintly, and not unpleasantly. He could still feel her, like the imprint of a dream.
Was she that good? Or was he losing his edge?
No. No, it wasn't that. He knew the rhythm of his own instincts too well. She hadn't evaded them because they'd gotten careless.
She'd done it because she knew how to vanish. How to make herself small and silent. How to leave without leaving a ripple. And that was worse.
Viago shifted again, folding his hands behind his head. "Maybe she thinks if she leaves first, it makes her untouchable."
Lucanis glanced at him, jaw ticking once. "She's not."
There was a pause. Then Viago, dry as ever, "No. She's not."
Lucanis looked toward the window. The light was grey. Soon the city would wake. Contracts, schedules, and orders. The illusion of structure.
And somewhere out there, she was walking through it like none of this had touched her. Like they hadn't spent half the night inside her. Like they hadn't filled her so completely that her body had gone limp between them.
Lucanis stood, cracking his neck as he did, and started pulling on his trousers. Viago, still half-sprawled on the bed, flung an arm over his eyes and sighed like a man ten years older than he was.
"Honestly," Viago muttered, "I'm starting to feel used."
Lucanis huffed out a low chuckle, dry as dust. "You are."
Viago's smirk curved beneath his arm. "It is rather impressive she managed to do this five times. Especially after last night. The resilience of youth."
Lucanis winced. That, he didn't need. Didn't matter, though. Not really. They were keeping her.
She could be nineteen or ninety - it changed nothing. She belonged to them now. Even if she didn't quite realise it yet.
"Get dressed," Lucanis said, reaching for his shirt.
Viago groaned and made no move to sit up. "I'm a little worn out, Lucanis."
Lucanis shot him a flat look. He'd seen Viago go days without sleep on a mission through Orlesian swamps. He could survive a night of good sex and a bruised ego.
Without ceremony, Lucanis grabbed the edge of the sheet and gave it a hard yank.
Viago rolled and hit the floor with a grunt and a thud but landed with the reflexes of the Crow he was, knees bent, body already balanced. His hair was a dishevelled halo, wisps falling over his cheekbones and into his narrowed eyes.
He was irritatingly pretty like that. Lucanis didn't comment on it.
"Breakfast," Lucanis said instead. "Then we track her down."
Viago raised an eyebrow as he straightened, unbothered by his abrupt ejection from bed. "Oh? Going to drag her back here by the ankle?"
"Maybe," Lucanis said, pulling on his boots. "She could save us the effort if she just came willingly."
Viago snorted, reaching for his own shirt. Lucanis's eyes narrowed as he considered the night before. She'd stayed longer. She'd eaten with them. Laughed even, more than once. Let her guard down. A little, but not enough.
Viago glanced over, thoughtful now. "You think she's running or resisting?"
Lucanis didn't hesitate. "Maybe both."
--
She gathered her things quickly - clean clothes, her brush, oils and soap, and a small wrapped packet of tansy tea for later. She made a mental note to drink another cup before the day was out. Maybe again tomorrow. Best to be cautious.
Daily, perhaps. Just until she was certain.
As she slung her satchel over her shoulder, Tenna leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, one brow lifted with that knowing glint in her eye.
"Where are you off to?" she asked, though the smirk said she already knew.
"Bathhouse."
Tenna let out a soft huff, clearly amused. "When are you going to tell us who your mystery lover is?"
Starling didn't miss a beat. "It's myself. I'm very good. Very flexible."
Tenna snorted, the sound warm and familiar. "Cade's not here. Can definitely rule out him." Then, thoughtfully, "Ridge?"
Starling gave her a look.
"What? He's pretty, you're pretty..."
Starling turned, giving her a deadpan look as she passed. "The stuff of ballads," she said dryly.
Tenna laughed as Starling slipped out the door.
The bathhouse wasn't far. The streets were warm already, sun high, but she stayed mostly in the shade, slipping through alleys and hugging the narrow side streets. The familiar rhythm of Treviso kept on around her - vendors calling out wares, carts trundling over uneven stone, someone shouting at someone else over a goat, or maybe a boat.
The bathhouse sat quietly near the Crow Hall, an old, curved building with thick wooden doors and ivy clinging to the sides.
The woman at the desk didn't ask questions. She knew Starling. Knew the look of a Crow who'd just come off a mission. No words were needed.
Inside, Starling slipped through the women's changing door. She peeled off her clothes with a wince, she was sure she'd find a mark or two in places she couldn't easily check. Her hair was loose, already starting to curl slightly from the humidity.
She wrapped herself in a towel and padded barefoot into the bathhouse proper.
The air was thick with steam, the scent of heated water and old stone wrapping around her like a blanket. The main pool sat in the centre, wide and warm, but she bypassed it - too open, too full of chatter. She preferred the smaller pools tucked against the outer walls. They were hotter, and the way the alcoves were built offered a measure of privacy.
She found one in the far corner, its surface unbroken, and draped her towel just beyond the reach of the mist.
Sliding in was almost an act of bravery. The heat bit at her skin where it was most tender but it was a good kind of sting. It reminded her she still had a body beneath the armour. That she could feel things that weren't fear or instinct.
She lowered herself until the water lapped at her collarbones, then sank down further until only her nose and eyes were above the surface. After a moment, she tipped her head back, resting it on the smooth stone lip of the pool, and closed her eyes.
The soreness in her muscles eased little by little, heat working deep. Her fingers floated beside her, loose and lazy in the water. Her thoughts slowed too. No missions. No lies. No veiled glances or unreadable expressions. Just silence and steam.
For a while, she let herself be nothing but tired. Not a Crow, not a girl stolen at ten, not a soft-hearted killer trying not to get attached. Just a body in water, bones humming low with ache, and the scent of stone and citrus oils in the air.
Bliss.