Agon watched from the corner as Rinerva concluded the report. Talos and Nomi had arrived at the inn before the rest of them; by the time Agon returned, Rinerva was already grilling them for as much information as she possibly could. Lillik had mentioned they were starting to grow closer again, but whatever happened out there must’ve shaken them badly.

  The Fox was clinging to the lad, but he wasn’t just a passenger anymore; he was holding her, too.

  But even in the warmth of the inn, Talos’s hands shook slightly, and Nomi refused to take her suppressants, citing a need for heightened senses. They were holding on by a thread. They were being hunted like animals. That overmutated thing wasn’t an accident, and neither was the fact that the Matriarch had singled them out. Now, Talos was sleeping upstairs while Nomi lingered in the inn.

  It was toying with them, trying to break them.

  Agon grimaced as he crushed the heavy tankard between his fingers, the metal groaning under the pressure. The sound drew the attention of Nomi, who was sitting nearby sharpening her knife.

  “...Something on your mind, old man?”

  “What makes you say that, Fox?”

  “Probably the—”

  Agon’s grip tightened until the metal groaned. With a sudden surge of frustration, he crushed the tankard flat, ale spilling over his knuckles. He didn't blink.

  “Probably the tankard you just crushed,” she finishes with a cheeky smile.

  “Aye. I’ll admit, I’m a little stressed.”

  An amused expression pulled at her lips. Her eyes fixed on his, head tilting to the side.

  “I’ve been on the sidelines of this whole request,” Agon grumbled, wiping his hand on a rag. “The thing hunting us... it has no interest in me. It’s making me watch while it hunts you and the lad.”

  Nomi paused, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

  “Jealous we're getting all the glory?”

  “Concerned.”

  Nomi’s ears dipped for a moment, betraying her own worry, but she tossed the thought aside with a shrug.

  “Ah, well. We’re tough, old man.”

  “Both of you were unconscious, seemingly without even a fight.”

  “...Yeah.”

  Agon studied her face, looking past the bravado.

  “How are you holding up, Fox?”

  “I’ve… been worse.”

  She hummed, eyes darkening despite her reassuring grin.

  “You and the lad finally made up?”

  Nomi beamed. It was a real smile this time.

  “We’re getting there.”

  Agon chuckled. The Fox’s ears flattened at the volume of it, her smaller frame vibrating slightly from the bass in his chest.

  “How’d you win him back?”

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  “Tits.”

  She puffed out her chest playfully. Agon snorted, swatting lazily at the Fox, who drifted out of range with effortless grace.

  “Mm. Well, I got a bit lucky,” Nomi admitted, the humor fading slightly. “A lot’s been happening and… when I got enthralled… I didn’t… wake up. Not on my own. Whatever put me in that let me go.”

  She paused, her eyes growing distant for a moment.

  “It scared the shit out of Tal.”

  “You didn’t cheat it out of him, Fox. He already felt that way about you. That fear just forced him to admit it.”

  “...Thanks.”

  “Course. I’m glad you two are done fighting.”

  “Well. We’re definitely not done fighting. But he’s letting me spend time with him while my clothes are still on. So that’s nice.”

  She teased him again, but her expression was lighter. She wasn't quite so desperate to make her friends laugh anymore; she was just… having fun.

  Nomi’s attention snapped to the door, her ears angling sharply toward the wood.

  “Someone's coming. A carriage, one driver. Heartbeat seems steady.”

  Agon rose, pulling the heavy axe off his back as he walked toward the inn's entrance. There were never any new patrons; no one willingly came to Zylichor. Agon pushed open the heavy oak door. In the fading light of the setting sun, a man with milky black eyes and a hood pulled low over his head watched him warily.

  “Strigoi told me this was to ‘pay the tithe’.” The man spoke, but the words were brittle with nerves, especially as Agon drew closer.

  “Aye. Let’s see it.”

  Agon stepped to the cart. He lifted a heavy canvas tarp—and froze.

  “Hm.”

  It was plundered.

  He lifted an intricate helmet from the back of the cart, the steel carved with the stories of his kin, long dead now. The silver inlays caused a plume of anger to rise deep in his gut. Armor was deeply personal to his people; it was their skin, their history. Agon remembered forging his first set. For it to be plundered like this, stripped from a corpse and hoarded in a noble’s attic… it was an insult that made his blood boil.

  “...I’ll bring it inside.”

  He didn't thank the driver. He simply grabbed the heavy bundles, his muscles straining as he hauled the weight of the dead into the inn.

  Nomi was leaning against the doorframe, eyes widening when she saw the massive plates of armor he was carrying.

  “They kept it? Are they trying to start another damn war?”

  She hissed the words, shifting quickly to help him clear space on the table.

  “Hoarding bastards.”

  Once the steel was scattered across the massive wood table, Agon stood staring down at it. It was a king’s ransom in protection, but it tasted like ash. The Fox stood across from him, her ears pinned back against her head, staring down at the war crime.

  “On the Lady of the Mist, Agon… we didn’t know about—”

  “It’s alright, Fox. I don’t blame you for this.”

  His voice was deep and angry, but measured. He ran a rough hand over a breastplate that bore the marks of a fatal blow—one that had killed a brother in arms years ago.

  “It’s fortunate it was returned to me. A tragedy their souls were dismembered, but… we need the armaments.”

  He hummed, a sound so low and resonant it seemed to shake the foundations of the inn.

  “I will give your steels new glories, brothers.”

  Nomi’s ears swiveled up, tracking the sound of footsteps before settling back into a neutral posture as Rinerva entered the chamber.

  “Strigoi delivered the armor,” Rinerva noted, her eyes turning immediately to the Giant. “It doesn’t appear to be a full set. But it should offer a substantial improvement.”

  “...Aye. It will.”

  Agon wasn’t about to debate the ethical implications of the armor. Not with Rinerva. She saw resources; he saw graves.

  Rinerva walked over to inspect the pile of steel. She reached down to run her gloved fingers over one of the breastplates, tracing the beautiful silver lettering inlaid in the dark metal.

  “...It’s beautiful.”

  “Aye.”

  He hadn’t expected that response from her. She nodded quietly to herself, satisfied with the tithe, then turned and left the chamber to return to her own scheming, leaving the Fox and the Giant alone in the wake of the dead.

  “Hey, old man?”

  Agon’s eyes shifted down to her.

  “I don’t know your customs well. Only enough to fight them. Even so… If I were to die, and you used my wargear, it would be an honor.”

  The ancient warrior paused, looking down at her. To him, she was nothing more than a child, yet her eyes were solemn, ancient things. She was far too young to be speaking words like that.

  “...Thank you, Fox.”

  She gave a little smile, then nodded and headed for the stairs.

  “Gonna go bother Tal. Find me if you need me.”