As they stepped out of the inn and into the lively streets of Raqs Town, the midday sun cast golden beams over everything, giving the cobblestone roads a warm glow. Wind chimes tinkled gently from the balconies above, and colorful banners flapped lazily in the breeze—each one stamped with symbols of paws, feathers, tails, and musical notes.

  “Okay, this place is… insanely pretty,” Elena breathed, spinning slowly in a circle with her arms slightly raised. “Like someone painted a town using a carnival as reference.”

  Ember walked beside her, her hands stuffed in her coat pockets. “You spin like that in front of the wrong animal, and they’ll recruit you for another dance mob.”

  Elena grinned, bumping her shoulder against Ember’s. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind.”

  “I would,” Ember muttered. “You saw that lemur with the hips. You would’ve vanished in the crowd.”

  “Not my fault he had rhythm,” Elena teased, sticking her tongue out.

  They followed the sound of soft drums and the sweet plucking of string instruments until it led them into what looked like a bazaar—but not just for food or clothes. No, this one was alive with sound. Instruments of all kinds were being played, sold, or tested. A bear strummed a harp made of bones and vines. A monkey was tapping a set of coconuts that worked like bongo drums. And in the corner, a fox was turning wind into flute-melodies using nothing but a carved feather and breath.

  “Ohh—this is dangerous,” Elena whispered, eyes gleaming. “I might buy a dozen things I don’t know how to play.”

  “You already don’t know how to play the flute you own,” Ember reminded.

  “That’s a recorder. It doesn’t count.”

  Ember was about to reply when something caught her eye—a small tent at the edge of the square, shaded under a tree where wind chimes hung like leaves. Its sign read:

  “Trinkets, Charms & Lost Maps.”

  “Look at that,” Ember said, nudging her head in its direction. “That seems more your speed.”

  The quiet jingle of a wind chime echoed softly as Elena pushed open the worn wooden door to the map shop. The air inside was cool, thick with the scent of old parchment, dry ink, and something faintly floral. Ember followed closely behind, her eyes sweeping over the ceiling-high shelves lined with curled scrolls and dust-covered tomes.

  The shop was dimly lit, the only light coming from a single stained-glass window that cast a rainbow across the floor. In the far corner, atop a high wooden stool, sat a sleek black cat with a reading monocle perched over one eye. She flicked her tail lazily, but her eyes were sharp, golden, and clearly paying attention.

  Elena whispered, “This place is… enchanting.”

  Ember snorted softly, brushing a cobweb from her shoulder. “Or cursed.”

  The cat glanced up from the book it was reading, her voice smooth and precise. “Welcome. You’re free to browse. But mind the older scrolls—they bite.”

  Elena blinked. “They what?”

  “Figure of speech.” The cat set the book aside with delicate paws and leapt down, landing with quiet grace. “Now, what is it you two are looking for?”

  “We’re looking for a map,” Elena said, stepping forward. “One that shows the path to Glinthur Hollow.”

  The cat’s tail froze mid-flick. Her ears twitched once.

  “Glinthur Hollow?” she echoed, like the name itself held weight. “That’s not a name I’ve heard in a long time. Not many come asking for that.”

  “So it does exist?” Ember asked quickly, walking up beside Elena.

  The cat tilted her head, examining them. “Existence is a funny thing. Some say it lies beyond Veyren Valley—hard to miss, if you know where to look. Others swear it’s just a fable, told to keep curious children busy.”

  Ember frowned. “But it was real once?”

  “There are old books,” the cat replied, padding toward a back shelf and tapping a thick, dust-covered volume with a paw. “Ancient ones. Some mention a ‘hollow of echoes’ or a ‘glintering basin.’ But no map in here shows it. Not anymore.”

  Elena’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean anymore?”

  “The last map I saw that claimed to show the way was over a century old. Someone bought it, claimed they’d find it, and was never seen again. Others stopped printing it altogether. Some feared it. Said it was cursed, too.”

  That word again. Cursed. Elena glanced at Ember unconsciously.

  Ember noticed. “And what do you think? Is it real?”

  The cat licked her paw and smoothed her ear back. “I think every legend starts somewhere. But places like Glinthur Hollow… if they exist, they don’t want to be found easily.”

  “So there’s no map?” Elena asked, her voice quieter now.

  “Not in this shop. But you’ll want to look beyond paper trails,” the cat said, now returning to her stool. “Ask travelers. Dreamers. The mad. They remember things books forget.”

  Ember sighed, crossing her arms. “Great. The mad.”

  Elena thanked the cat and turned to leave, her eyes still scanning the walls, half-hoping some magical map would appear. “Thank you. That was… oddly helpful.”

  The cat chuckled. “You’re welcome. Be careful where your feet take you. And your heart.”

  As they stepped out of the shop and into the bright street again, Ember exhaled. “So… it might not exist.”

  “It might,” Elena said, her voice more hopeful than certain. “And even if it doesn’t… I want to see what lies beyond Veyren Valley anyway.”

  Ember looked at her sideways. “You sure you’re not cursed with eternal optimism?”

  Elena smirked. “Better than fire hands.”

  Ember didn’t deny it.

  They kept walking, the wind ruffling their hair as behind them, the black cat closed the shop door without ever leaving her seat.

  The golden sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm amber hue over the town of Raqs, where music danced through the air as easily as the feet of those swaying to it. The town square was alive again. Animals of all shapes and sizes gathered, from hippos that twirled like professionals to meerkats who spun on beat. The capybaras stole the show though—decked out in sunglasses, sideways caps, loose chain necklaces, and denim jackets that screamed “cool.” They nodded at passersby with that slow, chill confidence unique to their kind.

  Ember stood at a modest distance, leaning against a wooden pole under the shade of a draping vine, arms crossed. Her eyes casually scanned the moving bodies… until they caught sight of a particularly curvy gazelle doing a rhythm-heavy spin.

  Bad idea.

  Because suddenly—Elena was standing right in her line of sight, hands on hips, eyes squinted, brow raised in that way.

  Ember blinked. “What?”

  “What are you looking at?” Elena asked, stepping even closer, blocking any and all view of the dance floor.

  Ember’s mouth opened, then closed. She cleared her throat. “I was looking for you, obviously. I was scanning the crowd, and boom—there you were.”

  “Mhm.” Elena tilted her head, clearly not buying it.

  “I swear!” Ember held up her hands. “You know I don’t even like gazelles like that. I was checking if you were dancing somewhere in there.”

  Elena narrowed her eyes at her, then slowly settled down beside her. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, resting her head on Ember’s shoulder with a soft huff.

  “I know,” Ember replied smugly.

  A few beats passed before Elena shifted. “Do you wanna dance with me now?”

  Ember gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Hmm,” Elena mused, brushing a hand through her hair, “because if you don’t, I’m going to ask that big lion over there. He looks strong enough to twirl me twice.”

  Ember’s face twitched. “That lion… looks like Raj,” she muttered, recalling the noisy neighbors from Room 22 and their bunny companion. “And we know what happens when he dances.”

  Elena grinned wickedly. “Exactly. You better decide fast before I end up in a… noisy situation too.”

  “Okay okay—let’s dance!” Ember got up abruptly, brushing imaginary dust off her pants. “Sheesh, peer pressure.”

  “Works every time,” Elena giggled.

  The two stepped into the crowd, and it swallowed them whole. Capybaras greeted them with chilled-out waves. One leaned in, teeth sticking out in a lazy grin. “Yo, you two vibin’ tonight?”

  “We’re trying to,” Elena said, smiling.

  “Name’s Capy. All of us are Capy, actually. Makes things easier.”

  Elena snorted. “Nice to meet you, Capy.”

  The music picked up—something rhythmic with heavy drums and a melodic whistle that echoed through the square. Elena led, her hands reaching for Ember’s as they twirled together. Despite her grumbling, Ember smiled as the moment swallowed them up: warm air, dancing lights, the comfort of Elena’s hand in hers, and the soft buzz of joy pulsing in time with the music.

  As the sun finally tucked behind the hills and the music softened into a slow tune, they took a light stroll through the glowing paths of Raqs Town. Firefly-like lights flickered above, strung between buildings. The animals waved at them—bears, meerkats, and of course, the Capys, still chilling under a tree with drinks in paw.

  Back at the inn, the familiar bear greeted them in passing. “You two settling in well? Lookin’ glowy!”

  “Very,” Elena replied with a wink.

  Climbing the stairs to the third floor, they noticed something new.

  Fresh roses. Not just on the bed, but now subtly tucked around the room—on the windowsill, beside the sink, even a few petals floating in the tiny water bowl by the bed. The scent of roses was even stronger now, soft and romantic, wrapping around them as soon as they entered.

  “Wow…” Elena whispered, spinning around with a small laugh. “They really commit to the ‘honeymoon suite’ thing, huh?”

  Ember rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the slight smile. “This is overkill.”

  “You love it,” Elena teased, flopping onto the rose-covered bed dramatically. “Admit it.”

  “I’m just here so you don’t dance with Raj,” Ember muttered.

  “What was that?” Elena asked, propping herself on her elbows.

  “Nothing,” Ember replied quickly, going over to organize the bags they had left in a tidy pile.

  It was a strange peace—a dance-filled day, laughter with talking animals, and the subtle warmth of love returning after the tension they’d weathered. Their wounds hadn’t healed completely, but in the heart of Raqs Town, surrounded by music and roses, something inside them was beginning to.

  The door clicked shut behind them as they entered their room once again, the rose-scented air welcoming them with a familiar warmth. Outside, the last echoes of music drifted on the breeze. The soft glow of the lantern above their bed bathed the room in amber light, making the petals scattered across the sheets shimmer like they were glowing.

  Elena was already stretching her arms up, loosening the ties of her dancing outfit. “That was fun,” she said with a small smile. “My legs feel like jelly though.”

  “Yeah, you spun a lot,” Ember replied, kicking off her boots. “You didn’t even get dizzy?”

  “I’ve got a good center of gravity.” She grinned cheekily, and then—without hesitation—pulled her top over her head, standing there in her undergarments while she dug through her bag for her nightclothes.

  Ember caught the motion out of the corner of her eye—and froze.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Elena…” she muttered, turning toward the corner.

  “What?” Elena said innocently, pulling on a loose, soft shirt that reached mid-thigh. “We’ve changed in front of each other for months. Did you forget all those mornings in the tent?”

  Ember's face turned a little pink. “That was survival,” she mumbled.

  “This is still survival,” Elena said with a wink. “You survive me being irresistible.”

  Ember groaned softly and pulled off her outer layers, changing into a sleeveless top and loose cotton pants. She kept her movements casual, thinking maybe—maybe—Elena would be the flustered one for once. She even stretched a bit to let her muscles flex just a little more than usual.

  But when she looked up… Elena was watching.

  Unapologetically.

  Elena tilted her head, eyes scanning Ember’s form, pausing at the curve of her waist, the lines of her stomach, the way her collarbone caught the light. “...Wow.”

  Ember blinked. “You’re not even gonna look away?”

  Elena smirked. “Nope.”

  Now it was Ember’s turn to flush and turn away, picking up the bowl of fruit from the nightstand like it was a shield. “Wanna share these or what?”

  “Sure,” Elena said, plopping down onto the bed. “But I’m not apologizing for enjoying the view.”

  Ember handed her a grape without saying anything, trying not to smile too wide.

  Once the fruit was gone and their clothes had softened around them like blankets, they lay back in bed, the world slowly quieting around them. The window was cracked slightly open, letting in the night air laced with the faint scent of roses and distant music.

  Elena yawned and stretched—then, without warning, turned and climbed onto Ember, settling herself gently atop her. Ember's breath caught, her hands instinctively going to Elena's waist.

  “Elena—what are you doing?” she whispered, her voice tight.

  Elena leaned forward just a little, her hair falling to one side like a curtain, their faces now only inches apart.

  “I want to be close,” she said softly. “I know we’re always caught in something—curses, caves, danger… But in a place like this, where everyone is dancing and kissing and laughing, I don’t want to pretend I don’t feel what I feel.”

  Ember’s throat was dry. “What do you feel?”

  Elena looked her in the eye, searching for hesitation. “I feel like I want to be close to you. At least here. At least tonight. I don’t want to hide it.”

  Before Ember could respond, Elena leaned down and pressed her lips gently against hers.

  It was soft at first—brief. A brush. A test. Ember's eyes widened in surprise, her heart thudding so loud she was sure Elena could hear it.

  But Elena had already pulled back slightly, enough to whisper, “I want to be romantic here, Ember. Even if we can’t be everywhere else.”

  Ember looked up at her, trying to gather her thoughts—then her arms slowly slid around Elena’s back.

  “I’m not hiding either,” she said, her voice low.

  Elena smiled—really smiled—and kissed her again. This time, it was longer. Slower. More certain. Her hands braced against Ember’s shoulders, her knees on either side of her. Ember responded now, her hands drifting to Elena’s hips, holding her steady, fingers brushing against the curve of her shirt.

  They kissed like time didn’t matter. Like the world outside their room didn’t exist.

  And when the kiss finally broke, Elena rested her forehead against Ember’s, her hands resting lightly on her chest.

  “You kiss like you mean it,” Ember whispered, eyes still half-lidded.

  “I do,” Elena said. “Do you?”

  Ember looked into her eyes. “With you? Always.”

  The roses around them swayed lightly in the breeze from the open window, the soft hum of night blanketing them in peace as they curled together beneath the sheets, holding each other close—not as warriors or travelers—but simply as two people in love, finding a quiet moment in a world that rarely offered any.

  And for now… that was enough.

  The lantern had been dimmed. The sheets had curled around their legs like quiet waves. The kisses had slowed, and their breath had found a rhythm—soft, steady, wrapped in each other.

  They were just about to drift off, the world calm around them… until—

  “Ahhh—Raj!”

  The walls weren’t exactly thin, but they weren’t thick enough either.

  Ember's eyes shot open. A groan of disbelief slipped out of her lips as she slapped the nearest pillow onto her face and yelled directly into it, the sound muffled but deeply frustrated.

  Elena blinked once. Then again. “...Was that—”

  “Yes,” Ember mumbled from under the pillow.

  “Don’t stop!—”

  Elena winced. “Oh wow. They’ve leveled up.”

  “Please stop talking,” Ember begged into the pillow. “Please stop existing, Raj.”

  Elena, ever the menace, rolled over and joined her under the pillow. She whispered, grinning, “You know, I get how a lion and a lion works. Or like… a Iorphian and a Iorphian…”

  Ember froze.

  “But… a lion and a bunny?” Elena lifted the pillow slightly, turning to face Ember with her voice lowered and teasing. “Like… how does that even work? She’s so small—”

  “Elena, no—” Ember hissed, pulling the pillow tighter.

  “I mean, do they just—climb things? Or is he just—” Elena made a vague lifting gesture with her hands, like lifting a spoonful of soup.

  “Elena!” Ember threw the pillow off her head, her cheeks visibly red in the lantern’s soft glow. “I am not talking about bunny logistics right now!”

  Elena burst into laughter, eyes twinkling. She rolled onto her stomach and lazily traced a small circle on Ember’s back with one finger. “Well… we are probably going to be in… positions like that too someday. Don’t you wanna be prepared?”

  “I don’t want to think about it!” Ember said, covering her face with both hands now.

  “Why not?” Elena said, still in that quiet, mischievous voice. “Do you not want to think about us being romantic? Or… intimate?”

  Ember peeked out from between her fingers. Her lips parted. “Yes… I mean, no— I mean—yes but—!”

  “You're really bad at this,” Elena whispered with a giggle.

  “I know!” Ember cried, dragging the pillow back to her face. “I’ll think about it when the time comes.”

  Elena smiled, the kind of smile that softened the sharpest things in her. She scooted closer and gently laid her head on Ember’s chest, one leg curling around her, her fingers now just resting gently at her side. “Mmm… You’re warm,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “You smell nice. Like smoke and forest.”

  Ember blinked up at the ceiling, stiff as a board.

  “...I should’ve asked Maia when I had the chance,” Elena murmured sleepily, her voice already trailing off.

  “Asked her what?” Ember asked, terrified.

  Elena didn’t answer.

  She was already asleep, the faintest smile still on her lips as her breath slowed, her body relaxing against Ember like she belonged there.

  Ember lay still for a long while. The noises from Room 22 finally faded. The air turned peaceful again. But her heart kept beating too fast, and her mind wouldn’t stop echoing with thoughts of lions, bunnies, and Elena’s fingers tracing quiet circles on her skin.

  She closed her eyes eventually.

  And when she dreamed, it wasn’t of fire or battle.

  It was of slow dancing under lanterns.

  And Elena’s hand in hers.

  The morning light slid lazily through the slats of the window shutters, warm and golden, brushing across tangled sheets and scattered clothes. A breeze fluttered the curtain, filling the air with the soft scent of roses—newly planted outside by the inn’s thoughtful staff.

  Ember stirred first.

  Her lashes fluttered open, her body still pressed against warmth—soft and breathing, curled around her like a favorite blanket. It took her a second to realize that Elena was still wrapped around her, limbs tangled, her head resting just under Ember’s chin.

  Ember blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the soft light.

  And then she looked down.

  Elena's shirt had shifted in sleep, one side dipping open just enough to reveal a line of her bare chest. Ember's eyes widened. She looked away almost instantly, ears burning, and very gently—like trying not to wake a sleeping animal—she started to move out from under Elena.

  But just as she slipped out of bed—

  “Oh my g—again?”

  It was unmistakable.

  The thudding. The distant, muffled yelps. The rhythmic creaks of the bedframe upstairs.

  Room 22 was back at it.

  Ember stared at the ceiling with a deadpan expression and exhaled sharply through her nose. “That lion is unstoppable,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her towel and heading to the bathroom.

  She couldn’t help it though—her mind wandered. For a split second, she found herself imagining little lion-bunny babies. Small ears. Big paws. Sharp teeth. Long legs. And then—

  “Nope,” she said to herself out loud, shaking her head as she closed the bathroom door behind her. “Not my business.”

  After a warm shower that smelled faintly of lavender soap and steam, she stepped back out, drying her hair with a towel, and found Elena sitting at the edge of the bed. Her back was hunched slightly, one hand on her stomach, the other gripping the edge of the mattress. Her eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, and she didn’t look like she’d slept very well.

  “Elena?” Ember called softly.

  Elena didn’t answer right away. Just curled in a bit more, pressing the heel of her palm to her lower stomach.

  Ember was beside her in an instant. She knelt down in front of her and gently reached for her hands, pulling them into hers.

  “Hey,” she said, looking up into Elena’s face. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

  Elena gave her a tired smile. “Mmh… it’s the usual. Happens every month,” she said, voice light, but her eyes glistened faintly with discomfort. “Feels like someone’s pulling ropes inside my stomach and then trying to set them on fire.”

  Ember’s brows furrowed. “You should’ve told me last night. Or this morning. I would’ve done something.”

  Elena shrugged faintly. “Didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

  “You don’t ruin anything by being in pain, Elena,” Ember said firmly, brushing her thumbs across Elena’s knuckles. “You’re not alone in this. Okay?”

  Elena blinked at her for a moment, lips parting as if she wanted to say something… but instead, she leaned forward and let her forehead rest against Ember’s.

  “I don’t want to be alone if I’m resting,” she whispered. “That’s the worst part. Lying in bed by myself.”

  “Then I’m staying,” Ember said, kissing her softly on the forehead. “We’re not going anywhere today unless you want to. I’ll stay right here and bully the pain out of you.”

  Elena gave a quiet laugh, then winced slightly and pressed her face into Ember’s shoulder. “You’re too sweet sometimes.”

  “You’re just not used to people taking care of you,” Ember said, carefully guiding her back onto the bed. She lay down beside her, opening her arms without a word. Elena immediately curled into her, her head against Ember’s chest, arms wrapping around her torso like she belonged nowhere else.

  The warmth of Ember’s body seemed to help. And so did her slow, steady breathing.

  “Mm…” Elena hummed, nestling her nose into Ember’s shirt. “You smell like… soap. And rain. I like that.”

  Ember chuckled, softly running her fingers along Elena’s back. “Good. I’ll make sure to keep smelling like it just for you.”

  Elena sniffled a little, shifting now and then with discomfort, but never far from Ember’s touch. Ember kissed her temple, then her forehead, holding her tighter whenever she winced or twitched.

  The noises next door had finally stopped. The lion and bunny had gone quiet—maybe asleep, maybe just… satisfied.

  But in this room, in the tangle of blankets and shared breath, the world was slower. Softer.

  “You know,” Ember murmured after a while, “I could still sneak out and bring you some food. Something warm and sweet. I’ll only be gone a minute.”

  Elena shook her head. “No… I want to stay here. Right here.”

  “Okay,” Ember said. “Here we stay.”

  They stayed like that as the morning passed. Wrapped in each other, wrapped in quiet.

  And for a little while longer, the world outside Raqs Town could wait.

  The morning light drifted lazily through the curtains, warm and golden. Ember had been up for a while, though she hadn't moved much—Elena was still curled against her, eyes closed, her breathing slow and uneven. Her head rested just below Ember's chin, and one of her arms was stretched across her waist.

  Ember’s hand absentmindedly rubbed soft, gentle circles along Elena’s fingers, trailing up and down her forearm in comforting motions. But every time her hand passed that one place, it hesitated.

  The scar.

  A pale, thin line that ran diagonally across Elena’s arm. It had healed, mostly. The skin had knitted back, but the memory of it hadn’t. It stood out faintly, catching the light whenever her sleeve slid back.

  Ember kept looking at it. Her fingertips hovered over it without touching.

  Elena noticed. Even through the haze of pain dulling her senses, she noticed. But she didn’t say anything—not right away. Instead, she shifted a little closer, pressing her cheek against Ember’s chest and letting out a tired sigh.

  “…What do you want to do today, Fire?” she asked softly, her voice a bit hoarse from sleep and discomfort.

  Ember didn’t reply.

  Her golden eyes were staring past her again—focusing somewhere else. Somewhere behind the walls. Elena followed her gaze for a second, then furrowed her brows and poked her gently.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Thinking about them.”

  Ember blinked. “What? No—why would I—”

  Elena narrowed her eyes. “You’re thinking about the lion and the bunny. Again.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’re sad ‘cause you won’t see the gazelles today.”

  Ember sat up a little, her mouth half-open in protest. “I don’t even care about the gazelles!”

  Elena tilted her head. “Oh really?”

  “I wasn’t even looking at them like that! They were just dancing! Nicely! That’s it!”

  “You weren’t looking for me in the crowd. I know that.”

  Ember’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You’re impossible.”

  “And you’re bad at lying,” Elena said with a satisfied little smile.

  They bickered as Elena slowly sat up with a groan. Ember immediately steadied her, supporting her weight gently.

  “You’re in pain,” Ember said, more serious now.

  “It’s the usual,” Elena muttered, holding her stomach.

  Ember rubbed her back with quiet patience. “Do you want to rest a bit longer? I’ll go bring food up here.”

  “No,” Elena said quickly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  That softened Ember instantly. She nodded, shifting to sit properly on the bed beside her.

  They ended up laying back down—Elena on top of her again, her cheek against Ember’s chest, listening to her heartbeat like it was the only sound that calmed her nerves.

  Her fingers curled gently into the fabric of Ember’s shirt.

  A minute passed. Then two.

  “You were staring at it again, weren’t you?” Elena murmured.

  Ember blinked. “Staring at what?”

  “My arm,” she said. “The scar.”

  Ember was quiet.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” Elena interrupted softly. “It’s not like it’s not there.”

  Ember looked away, guilty. “I just… I hate that it happened.”

  Elena didn’t respond at first, just pressed her face in deeper and whispered, “It’s part of me now.”

  Ember kissed the top of her head and rested her chin there, closing her eyes.

  Then, as the moment began to settle, Elena stirred again.

  “…Do you not want to see the gazelles because you think they’re prettier than me?”

  Ember groaned. “Oh my stars. Not this again—”

  “They had really nice legs,” Elena went on, clearly trying not to laugh.

  “I was not looking at their legs!”

  “Are you sure? Because you weren’t looking at me.”

  “I didn’t even know where you were!”

  “I was behind the big capybara in sunglasses. Obviously.”

  Ember rolled her eyes, but her lips curved upward.

  They bickered for a while, hand in hand, until the pain in Elena’s stomach dimmed just enough to let her smile again, and the sound of her soft humming filled the quiet room.

  There was a knock at the door.

  A muffled voice followed right after. “Room service!”

  Elena groaned from where she was lying, still nestled against Ember’s chest, her hand over her stomach. Ember glanced down at her.

  “You stay,” she murmured. “I’ll get it.”

  With that, Ember gently shifted out from under Elena, padded across the wooden floor, and opened the door.

  It was one of the donkeys again—another one from the reception desk, this one a bit shorter, with big ears and a warm smile that seemed permanently fixed on his face. He had a tray balanced on one hoof, carrying a covered plate and a steaming cup that smelled faintly of mint and herbs.

  “Good morning!” he said cheerfully. “Hope you two slept well—though, judging by the sounds last night—” he wiggled his eyebrows, “—someone went a bit hard, huh?”

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then—

  Smack!

  Ember didn’t hold back. Her palm met his cheek with just enough sting to make a satisfying sound, and she gave him a flat stare.

  The donkey blinked.

  Then burst out laughing, holding the tray steady with expert grace. “Okay, okay, I deserved that one.”

  “You really did,” Ember muttered.

  “I’m just joking!” he grinned, unbothered, his ears wiggling. “You two are a sweet couple. You got that ‘just fell in love’ shine, you know? And hey, if anyone’s giving Raj and his bunny a run for their money, I’d bet on you two.”

  Ember groaned. “Stars above, please don’t bring them up again.”

  The donkey winked, handed her the tray. “Mint tea for the stomach and a light breakfast. Heard one of you wasn’t feeling too well. On the house.”

  That softened Ember a little. She took it. “…Thanks.”

  “No hard feelings about the slap?”

  “I’d do it again.”

  “Fair,” he nodded, already backing away. “Enjoy your day, lovers!”

  He trotted off down the hall humming some ridiculous tune, clearly unfazed.

  Ember shut the door with a sigh and turned back around.

  Elena was smirking from the bed. “Went a bit hard, huh?”

  “Do not start.”

  Elena snorted. “You hit him hard enough to scare the tea leaves back to the garden.”

  Ember brought the tray over, placing it on the side table and sitting back beside her. “Next time I’ll hit him twice. Once for you, once for me.”

  “You really are my knight.”

  Ember snorted softly. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw him down the hallway.”

  Elena laughed, then hissed and clutched her stomach again. The smell of mint reached her nose, and she inhaled deeply. “That actually smells nice.”

  Ember poured her a cup and handed it over. “Here. Drink slowly. Don’t tease me while you do it.”

  “No promises,” Elena whispered, taking a sip—then let out a low “mmm” of satisfaction, eyes closing for a moment. “Okay. Maybe I’ll behave for five minutes.”

  “That’ll be a record.”

  Elena grinned and leaned against her again, warm and close. Despite everything—wounds, weird noises, wandering donkeys—the morning felt… soft. Homey, in its own ridiculous way.

  And Ember didn’t mind that. Not one bit.