It was the fourth day since Talos nearly died to the Last Gasp. The day, in theory, that his toxicity count would drop enough to safely endure a healing potion.

  And not a moment too soon. The tremors were starting.

  His hands were shaking with micro-spasms. His body temperature was running high—a dry fever-heat that wasn't from sickness, but from withdrawal. It was manageable. Just barely.

  Nomi stirred against him. In her sleep, she sought warmth, pressing as much of her skin as possible against his side.

  “...Hey.”

  “Mm. Morning.”

  She said into his chest, her voice thick with sleep. One of her ears twitched, brushing against his jaw.

  Talos clenched his hand into a tight fist under the bedsheets to stop the trembling.

  “Agon?” she asked softly.

  “Yeah.”

  It was a half-lie. One he hoped his heart wouldn’t betray. But of course it did, and Nomi tensed, shaking off the sleep and staring up at him.

  “Hey... hey. Don’t do that,” she hummed, shifting her weight on top of him, trying to pin him down. “Don’t shut me out—”

  It was too much. The heat, the weight, the internal vibration of his nerves.

  He pushed her off.

  It wasn't gentle. Nomi hit the mattress with a soft gasp, rolling onto her side. Talos scrambled to the edge of the bed and got to his feet, putting distance between them.

  Nomi sat up slowly. She didn't yell. She looked up at him, her green eyes flashing with hurt before she forced a small, brittle smile onto her face.

  “Right.” She hummed a quiet, painful note, averting her eyes. “I... sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed that hard.”

  A flash of regret flooded Talos’s chest, sharp as a knife. He stopped halfway to the door. He turned back, his fist clenched at his side to hide the spasm.

  He unclenched it.

  He couldn't help it. The fingers twitched violently, vibrating with a rhythm he couldn't control.

  “Withdrawals.”

  She was all too familiar with it. When they first met, she had almost totally recovered from her own dependency, but to this day she wouldn’t touch anything stronger than a suppressant. She knew the look. She knew the draw.

  “Three days,” Talos rasped, trying to steady his voice.

  “Usually it doesn’t hit you this hard so soon.”

  “...Usually I don’t take Last Gasp.”

  Nomi paused. The hurt vanished, replaced by concern. She shifted across the bed, reaching a hand out cautiously. When he didn't pull away, she took his wrist.

  Her touch was clinical now. She checked the veins in his forearm, feeling the erratic pulse, the trembling, and the cold, clammy sweat slicking his skin.

  “Headache?”

  “Yeah.”

  “...I… fucking hate that you started taking this shit, Tal.”

  Her voice was low and trembling with anger.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Talos almost snapped. The defense rose in his throat—arguments about necessity, about how he had no choice, about how he was the only one keeping them alive.

  But he stopped. He looked at her and realized Nomi wasn’t mad at him. She was mad for him.

  He bit his tongue and let the tension seep out of his shoulders. He suppressed the reflex to ruin the only good thing he had right now—or at least, the only thing that wasn't exclusively painful.

  “God, I’m tired.”

  He muttered softly.

  Nomi’s eyes shifted from anger to concern, and then to a mirror of his own exhaustion.

  “Me too.”

  “I don’t know how we survive this if I’m not healing.”

  “I don’t either.”

  He felt her tug gently at his arm. He didn't resist. He sank down onto the edge of the bed next to her, the mattress dipping under his weight. Her fingers shifted to entwine with his, and they leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, propping each other up.

  “...I want to quit.”

  The words felt heavy in the room. Nomi didn't flinch. She paused, considering it, and then nodded.

  “Rinerva will hate that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wish we could ask Agon.”

  “...Yeah.”

  Nomi was tired—bone-deep exhausted, just like he was. She raised a hand, rubbing her eye with her palm. She was acting strong, trying to keep it together for him, but he knew they were both at their breaking point.

  Still, they had both survived worse. And in those darkest moments, they had been alone.

  Talos rose. He didn't let go of her hand. He pulled her up with him.

  “...Let's get moving.”

  Nomi nodded.

  The routine took over. They washed the sleep and sweat from their skin. They pulled on their leathers and checked their weapons. It was a silent ritual, trapping the hurt behind layers of habit. He couldn’t break now. He had made a promise to Agon. And in the dark of his own mind, he made a promise to himself.

  Before the sun had even properly risen to be smothered by the clouds, they made their way down the stairs. As always, they were the first two ready. Even when they didn’t sleep together, it was a trait they both shared. Both had a bad habit of staying up too late drinking, then waking up before the world had a chance to set up whatever traps it had planned for the day.

  “You look good with long hair.”

  Nomi hummed, pulling a strip of dried jerky from one of their supply packs and tossing it to him. She grabbed some for herself and sat across from him at the empty table.

  Talos brushed a strand of black hair out of his eyes.

  “...I have no idea how you fight like this. It gets in the way.”

  “I don’t have mine long for fighting. I have it long for seducing broody orphans.”

  Talos raised an eyebrow, chewing the tough meat.

  “And how often does that come up?”

  “Lately? Pretty often.”

  A mischievous smirk played across her lips.

  “So,” he started, chewing slowly, “are you admitting you’re keeping it long for me?”

  “Is it working?”

  She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, looking at him through her lashes. He felt an involuntary heat prickle at his cheeks under her scrutiny.

  “...Your ass works better.”

  Her eyes sparked with amusement, and a sharp, surprised laugh escaped her lips.

  “How crass,” she teased, stretching her arms out and sprawling across the table like a satisfied cat. “But noted.”

  They worked away at the tough jerky in silence for a moment while the sun slowly crept up into the sky, fighting the eternal gloom of the clouds.

  “We haven’t trained in a while.”

  Talos paused, swallowing.

  “...You mad at me, Foxy? Or just feeling sadistic this morning?”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not that one-sided.”

  Her eyes shifted to his hands. They were resting on the table, still trembling with faint, rhythmic spasms. This wasn’t just for fun. It was two fold. She wanted to make sure he was actually able to fight without getting himself killed, and keep them both distracted. If only for a moment.

  Talos followed her gaze. He sighed, tossing the rest of the tough jerky in his mouth.

  “Alright. Is it dawn? The gloom makes it hard to tell.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  She rose, wandering over to her small collection of weapons near the door. Unlike Talos, she didn’t have a talent for losing hers every other day.

  He grabbed his shortsword. She decided on a rapier—light, fast, and unforgiving. They pushed out the back door into the narrow alleyway behind the inn.

  The air was cold, smelling of rain and rot. They squared up.

  “You know what?”

  Talos turned his eyes from his sword to stare at the Fox, waiting for this groundbreaking revelation. Nomi hesitated, her expression softening for just a fraction of a second.

  “Mm. Nevermind. I’ll tell you later.”

  She hummed.

  Then, without a count, she lunged.