The sun hadn't yet broken the horizon, but the faint paling of the sky said it was close. The kind of hour where only the desperate or the dangerous were still awake. Lucanis didn't feel tired. His blood still ran hot with the rush of violence, with the satisfaction of watching silence settle like a shroud over a very messy secret.
The others hadn't needed details - just the weight of his stare and Viago's quiet menace. A few choice words. A few promises. A few veiled threats. It had been enough. They didn't need to know why Lucanis and Viago had gotten involved, didn't need to know who they were protecting. That part had remained unspoken, and it would stay that way.
But it worked in their favour, didn't it? A handful of Crows now owed them.
He could see the light burning in the little window before they reached the door. Viago didn't say anything as they stepped up to it, and Lucanis pushed it open. Inside, Cade and Starling stiffened like they'd been caught mid-crime. She was perched at the table, a mug of tea in front of her, shirt loose on her shoulders. Her back would still be sore. She looked better. Not good. But better.
Both she and Cade stared at the open door, then past it. As if expecting a dozen more Crows to follow them in. As if expecting shackles and sentencing. Lucanis's jaw clenched. So fucking untrusting. After all they'd done. After everything. After bloodshed and silenced threats and whispered warnings.
What more did they have to do?
"It's done," he said, voice low. Final. "No one breathes a word of this again."
She didn't speak, no grateful little smile. She just looked at him with those quiet, unreadable eyes.
It was nearly morning. The world felt muted, still, waiting to see if they could hold the centre together.
Lucanis stepped forward and held out his hand. "Come."
She hesitated and looked at Cade. Lucanis almost growled. But then-then-she took his hand. Slipped her fingers into his without a word. And something in him eased. Good girl.
He led her out, Viago behind them. The early dawn kissed the streets with gold and grey. It was quiet. They didn't speak as they made their way back to the estate. But she didn't let go of his hand. The quiet didn't bother Lucanis. Not tonight. Not after blood and secrets, after witnessing that look in her eyes again, like she was waiting for the axe to fall. But she hadn't let go of his hand, and that was something.
The estate was still, the halls silent. No one questioned their return at that hour, no servant awake to see them dared glance too long. They headed straight to his rooms. Their rooms now, if the way Viago moved through them was anything to go by. And if Lucanis had his way, Starling's soon enough.
The sitting room had been cleaned - fast and efficiently, as always. The broken glass was gone. The crossbow bolt, too. But the shattered window remained, boarded for now. A wound in the wall that matched the one on her back.
They passed through it and into the bedroom. The space was dim, familiar, lived-in in a way that felt like safety, or close enough to it.
"Shirt off," Viago said, already moving toward the water basin.
She hesitated, a flicker of her usual mistrust. But then she obeyed, slowly pulling Cade's shirt over her head. She held it to her chest, still not entirely unguarded even with both of them. Not yet.
Lucanis watched quietly as Viago inspected the wound. No redness, no oozing. Good. But Viago still cleaned it again, carefully and precisely. Lucanis fetched a fresh cloth and pressed it into Viago's hand without a word.
He crossed to the wardrobe, pulled out a clean shirt - his shirt - and brought it to her.
"Put this on," he said. She wasn't getting into his bed in another man's clothes.
She gave him a look. But not one of defiance at least. Not tonight. She was too tired for that, and maybe too sore. She pulled his tunic on - too big, the hem brushing her thighs, the sleeves swallowing her hands - and he felt that same bone-deep satisfaction curl in his gut. Better.
Viago drew the curtains, dimming the light even more. Lucanis began to strip. Shirt, gloves, boots. Viago followed, methodical. They didn't need to speak, didn't need to choreograph it. They ushered her gently into the bed, Lucanis lifting the covers, Viago adjusting the pillows behind her. She moved like her limbs were heavy. Pain and exhaustion warring.
They slid in on either side of her, warm bodies bracketing hers. She didn't resist and didn't retreat. Lucanis drew the blanket up to her waist, then shifted to press closer. One arm beneath her neck. His other hand found her hip, solid and grounding. She let out the softest breath. One that might've been relief.
"Go to sleep, Starling," Lucanis murmured. His voice low, rough. "It's been a long night."
She didn't answer, just let her eyes drift shut. Lucanis watched her for a moment. Counted her breaths. Felt the fine tremble still lingering in her limbs. Then he looked over her head at Viago. Viago met his gaze, dark eyes unreadable in the low light.
They didn't speak. They knew tomorrow, the game would begin again. But for tonight, they had her, and she had them.
--
The light was different when Viago stirred, warmer, softer, the kind that spoke of midday sun filtered through heavy curtains. Dim, but unmistakably day. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light. The first thing he registered was warmth - blankets, body heat, the quiet comfort of shared space. Then the steady rhythm of breathing beside him.
Starling. Still asleep. She looked… peaceful. Truly peaceful. No furrow between her brows. No half-smile to deflect attention, no sharp glint of mischief weaponised into distraction. Just her, loose-limbed and sprawled halfway across the bed. On her stomach, thankfully. She hadn't rolled onto her back in her sleep. That would have made things worse.
The sight of her like that - unguarded, safe - stirred something in his chest. Something deep and ancient and possessive.
His gaze shifted, drawn by the movement he hadn't noticed. Lucanis was already awake. Of course he was. Viago's lips twitched faintly. The man was a nuisance when it came to sleep, never truly off guard. He lay on his side, facing her, one arm curled across her back. His hand had slipped beneath the oversized shirt she wore and now rested on the small of her back. Bare skin to bare skin.
Lucanis met his gaze, eyes dark and alert. Not tense. Just...watchful.
Viago leaned onto his elbow, taking in the sight of her again. Hair tousled, lashes resting against her cheeks, lips parted in soft, even breaths. She looked younger like this.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. The quiet was fragile and sacred. But it wouldn't last. They still had to talk, there were things she needed to hear. And things she needed to believe.
Lucanis's hand shifted slightly, just a subtle movement, comfort, maybe, or reassurance.
Viago watched the gesture and felt that strange flare of something again. Not quite jealousy, not quite relief. Something tangled and intimate. When she woke, they'd talk. They'd make her understand this wasn't temporary. That it wasn't just protection until her usefulness ended.
And if she tried to bolt, well, they'd be ready for that too.
She stirred, slow and stiff, a sharp little hiss slipping from her lips as the movement pulled at the wound on her back. Viago didn't move, just watched. Her eyes blinked open, bleary and confused for a heartbeat. Like she'd forgotten where she was, forgotten who she was lying between.
Then he saw her clock the light bleeding through the drawn curtains. Saw the calculations flicker behind her gaze - what time is it, what day is it, what have I missed - and all the weight that always followed her settle right back onto her shoulders.
"No," Viago said gently. "You're not going to the Hall today."
Her gaze slid toward him, guarded but still soft from sleep.
"You're injured. You can't train. You can't take contracts. And if you try to bolt, I'll sedate you."
She gave him a flat look at that, but there was no real fight in it. Maybe she knew he meant it. Or maybe she was just too tired to argue.
She nodded. Thank the Maker for small mercies.
Viago exhaled and reached up, brushing a bit of hair away from her face where it had stuck to her cheek. "Jacek and Vasha are dead," he said, voice low, steady. "With Elihu missing… those three are taking the fall."
He felt Lucanis shift behind her, silent as a shadow, but listening.
"We've already informed Caterina," Viago added. "It's done."
Starling looked at him for a long moment. There was a sort of quiet, hollow exhaustion. Then she let out a breath, just a whisper of sound. "Thank you."
He nodded once, and then lay back down beside her, his hand still resting gently on her hip.
"Are you ready to believe it yet?" He asked quietly.
Her brow furrowed slightly. "Believe what?"
"That we're keeping you." His voice didn't waver. "We're in this. You better be in it too. No more lies. No more half-truths. No more of your charming little deflections."
She didn't respond. Not right away. But she didn't argue or throw up her usual smoke and mirrors, didn't play coy, didn't shift the topic with some irreverent joke or flippant smile.
Progress.
Then - of course - he caught it: the glint in her eyes, the spark of mischief that was never quite buried beneath her layers of silence.
"But they are charming, right?" She murmured, lips tugging into a wry half-smile.
Viago gave her a flat, withering look before groaning and flopping onto his back like a man wounded.
"Let's start with your real name," he said, staring at the ceiling. "You know ours."
"Starling is my real name."
He turned his head to glance at her, sceptical. Lucanis was watching her too, unreadable but sharp-eyed.
Starling's expression didn't flinch. "Truly," she said. "My father named me." She hesitated then, just for a breath. Like something inside her debated the worth of what came next. But she pushed through it. "He said it was because starlings survived together, but they could fly anywhere. That there was freedom in them. That I should be free."
Then, more quietly, with a bitter edge threading through the wistfulness -
"Ironic, really. Given how things turned out."
Viago didn't speak. He watched her, and resisted the urge to tease or pry. The way her voice had shifted, just a little softer, like she hadn't meant it to. There was no artifice in it, no agenda that he could he tell. Just memory. And in it, something fragile. Fondness... longing, and loss.
She'd given them something. Not a joke or a dodge. A truth. He didn't say anything. Just reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
If that was the first brick of trust laid, he'd take it. They'd build from there.