I woke up to the distinct sound of someone rummaging through a bag, paired with the creak of floorboards that had clearly given up on life.

The air still smelled like stale bread and the kind of dust only found in cities that forgot how to dream.

Marty stood at the foot of the bed, half-dressed and fully uninterested, adjusting the strap of his bag like it owed him money.

"Morning," he said, voice flat enough to iron clothes.

I blinked at him, then yanked the blanket over my face. "No, it isn’t."

"Magic shop," he said, like that explained anything. "We’re going."

"You mean you’re going," I corrected from beneath the fabric. "I’m staying here. With my existential dread and this sad excuse for a pillow."

He paused. The kind of pause where you can hear someone debating whether arguing is worth the energy.

"Could be useful," he muttered. "You’d probably like it. Lot of overpriced dust."

"Tempting. Still no," I said, curling tighter into myself. "I’ve decided to die in bed today. Try again tomorrow."

Another pause.

Then the scraping of a chair leg as he moved toward the window.

He pulled the curtain back with the excitement of a tax collector. The room filled with that warm, annoying morning light that made my eyes itch on instinct.

He stared out.

And didn’t move.

Just... stood there.

No shift in his face. No comment. But something about how long he stared made me sit up, rubbing at one eye.

"You good?"

"Mmh."

"Is that a yes or the beginning of a full-blown existential crisis?"

He turned slightly toward me, face unreadable as always. "You can stay."

That wasn’t what I expected.

I narrowed my eyes. "Really?"

He nodded once, already reaching for the door. "Don’t break anything."

"You sure you’ll survive out there without my radiant personality?"

No response.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And suddenly, the silence wasn’t really silence.

I stared at the ceiling.

Then collapsed back onto the mattress with a dramatic sigh.

Weird.

Marty wasn’t the type to let people skip out. He wasn’t the type to insist either. But that… that had felt intentional. Or lazy. Or both. With him, it was always a coin flip.

Still, I wasn’t about to waste a free pass.

I turned on my side, pulled the blanket over my head, and buried my face in the lumpy pillow.

Whatever that was about could wait.

I had fake sleep to catch up on.

The inn’s quiet was an invitation to do absolutely nothing. The kind of peace only found in places forgotten by time, ambition, or whatever god had gotten bored and wandered off.

Lying there, I stared at the ceiling like I expected it to answer something.

It didn’t. Of course.

That’s when my brain, ever helpful, decided it was the perfect moment to open a few dusty drawers.

Remember? it whispered.

Unfortunately.

The memory showed up uninvited. Another inn. Another time. Another life.

We were exhausted, filthy, probably cursed — which was basically a Tuesday back then. Lye had argued with the innkeeper until she got us a single room. “It’ll have to do,” she said. The math, however, was cruel: seven people, two beds. And by some cosmic joke, I ended up between Karu and Sid.

Hell.

Karu slept with his arm draped over me like I was some glamorous body pillow — probably just to annoy me. He snored gently, which was somehow less irritating than I expected. Sid, on the other hand… just existed. Lying there with his back to me, motionless, like an armored statue that happened to breathe.

Lye even had the audacity to laugh before blowing out the candle.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. And not because of the two people next to me.

But because, in the middle of that mess, for one stupid moment…

I felt safe.

Idiot.

A tapping sound pulled me back.

Tac. Then again. Louder. Then once more.

I turned, eyes half-closed. “If that’s a bird, I hope it’s having a worse day than me.”

Another tac.

Definitely not a bird.

I sat up, hair a mess and thoughts worse. Morning light leaked in through the curtain, too bright for anyone with regrets.

I got up with the grace of an annoyed zombie and stomped over to the window, ready to curse out whatever dared disturb my almost-nap.

Another tac.

“Alright, I get it!”

I yanked the window open, fueled by sleep deprivation and pure spite—

And immediately got nailed in the forehead by a pebble no bigger than my thumb.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The sting pulsed, but before I could yell, a voice rang out below — sharp, amused, and way too pleased with itself.

“Hat!”

I squinted down.

There she was.

Junka. Grinning like she’d caught me sneaking cake before dinner.

“You’re lucky I like you, you stubborn idiot.”

I moved to shut the window, but she yelled again.

“Aren’t you coming down?”

I stepped back, rubbing my forehead, debating if it was worth answering or just pretending none of this ever happened.

“Ugh, damn it,” I muttered, sitting back on the bed.

But deep down?

Yeah.

I already knew this day wasn’t going to let me off easy.