Elara had not slept... again

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Iris—leaning on the bar, head tilted, grin curling sharp as smoke. The echo wouldn't leave. It lingered in her chest, hollowing her out until she woke with a start to the wards thrumming too loud.

The flat above the Tooth felt stifling. She dragged herself downstairs before dawn had even broken properly.

The bar was half-dark, lamps turned low, shadows draped in corners like forgotten coats. The wards prickled as she passed, humming thin and restless beneath her palm.

"Thought I'd find you down here."

Malachi was behind the bar, sleeves rolled, glass already in his hand. He leaned like he owned the place—which, in practice, he almost did—but his eyes burned a little brighter than usual, sharp with the kind of awareness that made her skin prickle.

"You're haunting your own bar now?" she muttered, reaching for a rag she didn't need.

His grin curved slow, infuriating. "Only because you're already haunting it. Makes the place crowded."

Elara scowled faintly and set herself to scrubbing the counter. It was already spotless, but the movement gave her hands something to do. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"I don't need it." His voice was casual, but softer when he added, "You do."

Her jaw tightened. She didn't look at him. "Then stop keeping me awake."

Malachi chuckled low in his throat, sliding closer along the bar. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she felt it. Like a flame's heat brushing skin before it burned. "You keep yourself awake, love."

Her pulse stumbled. She hated that he could make her heartbeat answer to him with so little effort. "I don't have time for this."

"For me, you mean?" His grin sharpened. "Pity. I'd make the time for you."

Elara shot him a glare sharp enough to cut, but he only met it with lazy amusement. The wards thrummed again, low and uneasy, as if they too were listening.

Before she could snap back, the door latch rattled.

The bell chimed, and Jonah stumbled in, arms loaded with crates. His voice cracked too brightly against the hush: "Morning!"

Elara dropped the rag. Malachi straightened with a sigh that carried the faintest growl beneath it.

"Busy morning out there," Jonah rushed on, cheeks pink. "Whole city's buzzing. Watch dragged in Iris's pimp first thing."

Elara's stomach dropped. Malachi's eyes flared faintly, predatory.

Jonah swallowed, lowering his voice like he was feeding them a secret. "They say he's the one. Guess he couldn't keep his hands off her, even in the street."

Elara's throat went tight. She gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening. Malachi leaned back on his stool, grin curving slow and dangerous.

"Well," he drawled, "seems the wolves aren't the only ones circling."

The door swung shut on Jonah's retreat, leaving the bar hollow with quiet. The wards hummed faintly, then settled, like the building itself exhaled.

Elara stayed rooted behind the counter, one hand pressed flat to the wood where Jonah's crate had been. The words he'd left behind clung like smoke: They say he's the one.

Her throat burned with it. She hated how brittle she felt — hated more that Malachi could see it.

"You're holding your breath," he said softly.

She looked up. He was already there, closer than she'd noticed, leaning on the bar like he'd been waiting for her to crack. The grin was gone, his eyes steady and uncomfortably warm.

"I'm fine." The words snapped out sharp, too quick.

"Liar." His voice carried no mockery this time. He reached across the bar, fingers brushing hers until the rag slipped loose. His hand lingered, warm, steady. "You're carrying her ghost like it belongs to you."

Elara froze. For a heartbeat, she let it happen — the heat of his skin, the tether humming taut between them. Her pulse tripped hard, traitorously loud in her ears.

Malachi's thumb moved once, slow, a circle drawn on her knuckles. "Better," he murmured. "You don't have to do it alone."

Something in her chest ached, sharp enough to make her want to flinch. Instead she leaned forward the smallest inch. Enough that the air between them shifted, thickened.

His gaze locked on hers. Gold flared behind the amber, heat catching like kindling. "There," he said, almost reverent. "That's you."

Her breath hitched. She should have pulled back, should have cut it before it could go further. But she didn't. She let his hand slide fully over hers, palm to palm, fingers curling until her own answered, weak but undeniable.

The wards thrummed low, not warning this time—approval, almost.

For the first time since Iris's laughter vanished into fog, Elara let herself be still. Just still. Her hand in his, her grief eased by warmth she didn't want but couldn't reject.

Malachi leaned a fraction closer, close enough that his words brushed her skin when he spoke, "See? You're stronger when you stop pretending I'm not here."

She let out a shaky laugh, quiet and raw. "You'll ruin me."

His grin curved, sharp and soft at once. "Or save you. Though that would depend on the night, and whether you asked to be, love."

Elara's pulse stumbled. The tether hummed between them like a string drawn too tight, threatening to sing. She didn't answer. Couldn't. But she didn't pull her hand away.

Malachi noticed. Of course he did. His grin curved, lazy and knowing, but the heat in his eyes gave him away. "Ah," he murmured, thumb brushing across her knuckles again. "There's my clever girl—learning the power of silence."

Her mouth opened, ready to snap at him, but the words stuck when he shifted closer. Not enough to breach the fragile line between them, but enough that she felt the warmth of his body, the steady pull of his presence wrapping around her like smoke.

He tilted his head, studying her face as if memorizing every angle of her restraint. "Careful, love. If you don't shove me off, I'll take it as permission."

Her breath caught. She should have—she knew she should have. But still she stood there, hand caught in his, eyes locked on his, unmoving.

The smirk softened, though the hunger behind it did not. He leaned in, close enough that his words ghosted against her ear. "I'll only push as far as you let me."

The wards stirred at the edges of the room, their hum low and strange, like a chord struck in agreement.

Elara shut her eyes for a heartbeat too long, fighting the urge to lean into him. When she opened them again, Malachi had straightened, but his hand lingered on hers a beat longer before slipping away.

"I'll start the fire," he said lightly, tone back to its careless drawl, though his gaze lingered sharp as ever. "And you, love—you'll try not to burn."

She gripped the counter, breathing steadying by inches, knowing she already smelled of smoke.

By nightfall, the Tooth felt wrong.

Not empty, not quite. But thinner than it should have been. The usual press of voices had dwindled to a trickle—two dock clerks nursing ale, an old man asleep against the wall, a pair of dice clattering halfheartedly in the corner.

Elara moved through the bar like a shadow, setting mugs down on wood that seemed to echo too loudly. Even the wards hummed quieter, subdued as the patrons were.

Malachi leaned against the backbar, polishing the same glass for the third time. His amber eyes caught the lamplight, restless, but he said nothing. Neither did she.

The bell over the door broke the hush.

A girl slipped inside, her shawl damp from fog, the faint blue shimmer of Lantern Walk still clinging to her hair. She looked younger than Iris, younger than Elara wanted anyone to be in this city. Her fingers twisted around a string of beads as she approached the counter.

"Elara," she said softly, as if the bar itself demanded reverence.

Elara straightened. "You shouldn't be out alone."

"I won't stay." The girl glanced around the quiet room, then leaned in, voice low. "We're holding a memorial. Tonight, after the last bell. At the Walk. For Iris."

Elara's chest tightened.

"She'd want you to know," the girl added, eyes bright with something that looked too much like defiance for someone so small. "And she'd want you there."

The wards stirred faintly, catching the weight of her words.

Elara swallowed, hand tightening on the rag she'd been holding. "Thank you," she said, her voice rougher than she meant it to be.

The girl nodded once, sharp and solemn, before slipping back into the fog.

The door shut. The silence returned.

Malachi set the glass down, grin nowhere in sight. "Looks like your night just found its teeth, love."

Elara stood very still, rag clenched in her hand, the wards humming faintly at the door like a heartbeat too quick.