"Nothing," he muttered, snatching the book up, knuckles white on the leather. The hunger faded—slow, stubborn—fangs retreating as he pressed a hand to his mouth, masking it. "Just tired."
"Tired," she echoed, dry, her gaze sharp. "Sure. Keep your secrets, then. But you're not weak, Kaelith—I'd know, I just flattened you." She smirked, faint, punching his arm—light, testing.
He nodded, slow, a smirk tugging back, faint but real. "Noted," he said, softer, the dirt still clinging to his knees. She'd won—again—and it stung, but not like Kazu's losses. That was shame, hiding. This was… something else.
Lirien turned, heading for the cottage, her voice tossing back. "Come on, I'm starving—your mum's got bread, right?"
"Yeah," he said, falling in step, the spellbook heavy under his arm. The suns climbed higher, their light prickling his skin, the ward humming faint. He'd failed Ember Veil—again—but it'd wait. For now, it was just him, her, and the day stretching slow.
Kaelith pushed the cottage door open, the hinges creaking low under Lirien's impatient shove. The warmth hit him—thick with hearth smoke and the yeasty tang of bread, embers popping soft in the fire. His tunic clung, dirt-streaked from her tackle outside, the spellbook heavy under his arm as he stepped in behind her. Lirien didn't slow—strode for the table, boots scuffing the worn floorboards, braid swinging loose from the morning's scrap. "Bread, bread, bread," she half-sang, smug grin still plastered from pinning him flat.
Veyra glanced up from the hearth, poker in hand, dark hair slipping free of its tie. Flames flared as she stirred, shadows dancing across her face—storm-gray eyes catching his, then Lirien's, a faint smile tugging. "You're a storm, girl," she said, voice warm but frayed, setting the poker down. "Kaelith, shut that door—don't let the heat out."
He nudged it closed with his foot, the thud soft, and dropped the spellbook onto a stool, leather thumping wood. "She's starving," he said, dry, brushing dirt off his hands. "Her fault."
"Winning's hungry work," Lirien fired back, rifling the bread basket. She snagged a rye loaf—crust dark, crisp from the feast leftovers—and tore it in half, tossing him the smaller chunk without a glance. "Catch, loser."
He caught it one-handed, bread warm, crumbs flaking onto his tunic. "Generous," he muttered, sinking onto the stool beside the spellbook, wood creaking. The scent hit—earthy, caraway-sharp—and his stomach growled, loud enough Veyra quirked a brow.
"Starving so soon?" she asked, pulling a fresh loaf from the embers with a cloth, steam curling up as she set it on the table. "Talren's not here to fight you for it—he's off again."
Kaelith's hand froze, bread halfway to his mouth, gut twisting slow. "Off?" he echoed, light, eyes flicking to her hands—too steady, dusting flour off her apron.
"Checking traps," Veyra said, smooth, brushing a lock behind her ear. "Said noon, maybe." Her smile thinned, voice dropping. "Might stop by Mira's—she's close now, they say."
The air cracked—not loud, a subtle shift. Kaelith's bread hovered, crumbs sticking to his fingers, Talren's due soon from the moonlit hill slamming back. Close now. That half-something—his blood, not Veyra's—loomed, heavy as smoke. Her hands stilled, flour dusting the table, and her hum started—low, stumbling, the tune from nights Talren's boots didn't thud home.
Lirien swallowed hard, oblivious, kicking the table's leg with a thud. "More for us, then," she said, tearing another chunk, crumbs tumbling. "Your dad's missing out—Veyra's bread's the best."
Kaelith nodded, slow, biting in, crust cracking. The taste grounded him—solid—but his gums itched, stubborn, Lirien's pulse from the fight still thudding in his ears, her tackle too close. Kazu'd smothered hunger with junk—ramen, stale, shutting out the ache—but this was alive, sharp, tied to her heat pinning him down. He chewed slower, staring at the table's grain, shoving it deep, jaw tight.
His eyes drifted to the window—glass smudged, suns climbing—and caught a flicker. Something small, clutching a shape—cloth, maybe—darted past, gone before he blinked. His pulse spiked, faint, no wind to blame, a chill crawling his neck. He froze, bread half-raised, the itch in his gums flaring sharper. Just a shadow—village kid, stray cat—but it stuck, a wrongness he couldn't shake. Lirien's laugh snapped him back—loud, rough, her fist nudging his shoulder.
"You're slow today," she said, leaning close, crumbs on her chin. "Still mad I won?"
"Nah," he said, smirking faint, her warmth cutting the chill. "Plotting next time."
She grinned, punching his arm—light, sharp. "Better be good—I'm not going easy."
Veyra's hum faltered, her poker clinking against the hearth, shoulders tightening. "You're quiet," she said, soft, not turning. "Sore from her beating you?"
"Something like that," Kaelith said, forcing a smirk, tearing another bite. Lirien snorted, mouth full, and he let it slide—didn't want her digging, not with Veyra's eyes on the fire.
She turned then, gray gaze flicking to him—searching, heavy—before softening. "Eat up, both of you," she said, voice steadier, but her hands lingered on the poker, knuckles pale. The bread basket sat between them, half-empty, and Kaelith chewed on, the shadow's flicker fading slow, Mira's close now heavier than the loaf in his hand.
Lirien hopped off the table, brushing crumbs to the floor, boots loud. "More?" she asked, eyeing the fresh loaf, daring him to race for it.