The bedroom was quiet.
Not the empty kind of quiet—
the safe kind.
Soft lamplight washed the room in gold, shadows stretching lazily across the stone walls.
The curtains fluttered faintly from an open window, letting in the cool night air and the distant sounds of the city finally settling down.
Aiden sat on the edge of the bed, shirt discarded, shoulders relaxed for the first time since the battle.
Lysandra stood in front of him, expression focused and serious in that way that always made him behave… at least a little.
A small basin of warm water sat beside her, cloths neatly folded, salves lined up like soldiers.
She dabbed the cloth against his side.
Aiden hissed. "—Ah!"
"Stop moving," Lysandra said immediately, not even looking up.
"I wasn't moving," He protested.
She pressed the cloth again.
Harder.
"Ack—Ly!" Aiden flinched. "Be a little gentle, would you?"
Lysandra's ears twitched.
Her lips pressed into a thin pout.
