Elara woke to the sound of foghorns from the Docklands and the city bells answering back. The air was damp, clinging to her hair, and her eyes burned like she hadn't slept at all.

She hadn't, not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Iris's smile at the bar, heard her laugh when Malachi poured her "the strongest thing in the house," felt the warmth of her shoulder against hers on the couch. Then the laughter curdled into whispers, the whispers into silence.

Her wards buzzed restless under her palms when she pressed the walls that morning. Normally their hum was a comfort. Today it grated, a reminder that the Tooth was still standing when Iris wasn't.

She tied her apron, shoved her hair back, and went through the motions. Tables righted, lanterns lit, cellar checked. Her body remembered the rhythm, even if her mind was two steps behind.

By the time she crossed the bar again, Malachi was already leaning on the counter, sleeves rolled, that same infuriating grin curling at his mouth. He looked rested. Smug, even.

"You look worse than the wards this morning," he said lightly, sliding a drink across the counter toward her. "And that's saying something."

Elara narrowed her eyes, but her hand curled around the glass anyway.

She lifted the glass, swallowing half in one go. The burn settled in her chest, steadying her enough to set it down without slamming it.

"Better," Malachi said softly. Not smug this time. Just watching her with that too-keen gaze, amber catching the morning light.

When she didn't answer, he came around the bar, close enough that the wards stirred at the brush of his presence. He reached up, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. Slow, deliberate, lingering just a fraction too long.

Her breath hitched before she could stop it.

"Elara—"

The Tooth's bell jangled, sharp in the hush.

She stepped back like she'd been burned, apron strings tight in her fists. Malachi's grin snapped back into place, devil-sharp, as the door swung open.

Casimir Duslen entered like the fog belonged to him, pale hair slicked neat, dark coat catching every flicker of lanternlight. He removed his gloves finger by finger, gaze sweeping the room before settling on her.

"Forgive the hour," he said smoothly, voice like wine poured slow. "I was told the Tooth might be available for private use—neutral parties, delicate matters." His smile edged toward something more personal. "I wondered if you would entertain such an arrangement."

Malachi leaned against the counter, arms folded, amber eyes glinting. "Depends on who's asking, doesn't it?"

Casimir didn't look at him. Not yet. His attention lingered on Elara, polite as a blade at her throat.

Elara straightened, brushing invisible dust from her apron before stepping forward. "The Tooth is a bar, not a council chamber. But if you're asking whether I have a room that can be kept private—then yes. For a price."

Casimir's smile deepened, faint lines forming at the corners of his mouth. "Practical. I admire that." His gaze lingered on her longer than it should have, like he was measuring the shape of her composure. There it was again—that same pressure she sometimes felt when Malachi drew too close. A thread humming under her skin, soft and dangerous.

She didn't flinch. "Neutral ground means no spilling blood on my floors. I don't care who sits in the room, or what name they wear."

"A fair condition," Casimir said smoothly. "And perhaps...inevitable. Ashgrave thrives on shadows, but even shadows prefer a place to meet." He slid his gloves into his pocket with deliberate grace. "If the Tooth is that place, then we should be...grateful to its keeper."

Behind her, Malachi gave a low chuckle, the sound curling sharp as smoke. "Keeper. Charming word for it. Almost as charming as walking in uninvited and asking favors like you already own the place."

Only then did Casimir glance at him. Not slow—measured. Two predators acknowledging each other without yet striking. His smile didn't falter. "The... bartender right? You play your role well."

"Better than most devils," Malachi said lightly, eyes flicking gold.

Casimir inclined his head, smooth as a bow. Malachi grinned wider, devil-sharp, amber flickering hot. Neither moved first.

Elara cut between them with a glare sharp enough to salt the earth. "And you," she snapped at Malachi, "know the rules in my bar."

The wards steadied at her back, thrumming in agreement. Malachi's grin softened—fractional, but there.

Casimir slipped a hand into his coat and drew out a coin, silvered edges catching the lanternlight. He set it on the bar with careful precision, the weight of it ringing in the quiet.

"Then consider this a reservation," he said, voice velvet over steel. "Discreet company, two nights hence. I trust the Tooth will be as neutral as its keeper promises."

His eyes lingered on her a beat longer than necessary before he turned, gloves already in his hand, the fog curling in to swallow him as he left.

For a long moment, silence stretched. Then Malachi's low chuckle filled the space, all smoke and teeth. "Neutral ground, hm? You've just invited wolves and vipers to supper, witch."

Elara tucked the coin into her apron, jaw tight. "Better they bite each other here than spill it in the streets."

The fog curled back in as the door shut behind Casimir, leaving the bar quiet again.

Malachi poured himself a finger of whiskey, leaning lazy against the counter as Elara moved to stack glasses. His grin curved slow, sharp. "Well," he drawled, "I'll give him this much—your diplomat's prettier than most bloodsuckers I've met. Not my type, but I can see the appeal. All smooth edges and polished shoes."

Elara snorted, dropping a rag over her shoulder. "You'd call a plague handsome if it walked in wearing silk."

He tipped his glass toward her, amber eyes glinting. "Maybe. But that one? He's dangerous. And dangerous is always appealing, and you know it wholly depends on the silk." He tipped his glass in her direction, amber eyes glinting. "Come now, love—don't tell me you didn't notice. He looked at you like he wanted to peel you out of that apron and draft you into his cabinet."

She rolled her eyes, scrubbing harder at a stubborn ring on the bar. "He looked at me like I own the room he wants to sit in. That's all."

Malachi's grin widened, wicked and amused. "Mm. Practical, as always." He sipped, watching her with the kind of attention that made her want to throw the rag at his head.

Her rag slapped the counter with more force than necessary. "You're insufferable."

"Mm," he hummed, wicked grin deepening. "And yet, here we are."

The wards hummed steady around them, the Tooth alive again in the lull. Preparations continued, coin stacked, bottles restocked, chairs straightened. The day pressed on, shadows lengthening. But Casimir's coin still glimmered on her mind's eye, and Malachi's grin refused to fade.