Daylight poured through the brothel's high, dusty windows, turning the red curtains into blazing scarlet banners. The place looked different in the harsh morning light: faded velvet couches, rings of spilled wine on the tables, a half-dressed girl asleep with her head on a customer's shoulder. The air still carried last night's perfume, but now it mixed with the sharper smells of fresh bread, strong coffee, and the faint tang of river mud drifting in from the open doors.
Byung sat on a bench near the foot of the wide staircase, pretending to lace his boots while his eyes never left the main parlor. He had meant to sleep. Maui was still upstairs, sprawled across the bed like a green avalanche, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. Murkfang's fever had finally broken; the healer had left smiling. Safety, food, and soft sheets should have been enough to knock Byung flat for the rest of the day.
