The bathhouse was louder than Taryn expected.
The warm spill of lantern light bled from the doorway, washing the packed street in a soft golden mist. Steam drifted lazily from the open doors, clinging to the air like a mist, bringing with it the sharp smell of soap, oils, and something faintly floral. Voices spilled out with the warmth — laughter, low and relaxed, mixing with the splash of water and the scrape of stools being pulled across tile.
Taryn squinted at the doorway like it was a trap.
"This place smells like soap and bad decisions," she muttered.
"Yeah?" Kah'el drawled, voice flat. "You're half way there."
Taryn ignored him. She shifted her weight restlessly, arms crossing over her chest as she stared harder at the entrance. The laughter grated against her instincts — too loud, too open. It wasn't the kind of noise that belonged to people guarding their backs.
"I'll pass," she said flatly, already turning away. "I'm not—"
