Kai sat cross-legged on the old rug in Kleo's room, fingers absently tracing lines of energy through the worn floorboards. The quiet hum of ambient magic whispered against his skin, dulled by the faded wards still etched into the corners of the walls. The bed beside him was neatly made. Untouched.
Kleo hadn't come home the night before.
Her absence wasn't completely out of character, she was a thief by profession and opportunist by nature, but it was unusual. Especially after the pacts they'd made. Firra, the Wyvern Grotto, and her soul being tethered to him.
Kai had found her mother sprawled in the hallway when he arrived, passed out with a bottle still in hand, reeking of old regret and sour wine. Not that he expected help from her. Kleo's words made it seem like she hadn't offered anything at all in years.
Still, worry tugged at him. An unfamiliar, completely unwanted thing.
