Page 41 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

Garrett raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“I know it matters to the candlemaker’s daughter. You walked her home every night for a week after someone tried to grab her.” I recount it without thinking. “I’m certain the old veteran you check on in the lower quarter is glad for your company. The widow whose roof you fixed.”

I don’t know why I’ve been paying attention. Gods, I don’t fucking know why I’ve catalogued all the small kindnesses he shows.

His smile is soft and a little sad. “You’ve been watching me.”

It’s my fucking job.

We continue eating and drinking, watching the tavern life flow around us. The fiddle player switches to a slower tune, something melancholy that makes me think of Tiamat’s underbelly and all the things I left behind.

“You know what?” Garrett says, his voice thoughtful. “This is nice.”

“What is?”

“This. Sitting here with you.” He gestures vaguely with his mug.

Something warm unfolds in my chest. It is nice. “I wouldn’t mind spending another evening like this.”

“Yeah?” He grins, and there’s something playful in his expression. “You asking me on a date, Wolf?”

Heat floods my face. “This isn’t... I didn’t mean—“ I stop, realizing he’s teasing me.

He laughs. “Your face. Gods, if you could see your face right now.”

“You’re an ass.”

“True. But you like me anyway.”

I don’t deny it. Not when he’s looking at me like that, eyes bright with laughter and ale.

The evening wears on. We order more ale. It’s too much even for a half-Wolven and an elf, but neither of us seems to care. Garrett tells me stories about the Valorians and about his late brother’s terrible poetry that he used to recite at family dinners.

“He once wrote a fifty-line ode to a potato,” Garrett says, laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. The sound of his laughter makes me forget I’m supposed to be guarding him. I catch myself smiling at his stories. It almost makes me feel like a person.

Not an assassin or a weapon. Just... a person.

He wipes tears from his eyes. “Gods, I miss him.”

The laughter dies, replaced by something sadder.

I vaguely tell him about Shade and Kitty, my only real friends in the guild. About the time Shade got so drunk he tried to fight a statue and how Kitty can pick any lock in under thirty seconds. I tell him about the three of us huddled in the crypts, sharing stolen food. I even share with him about my life in the streets. The cold nights and empty stomach.

It’s something I’ve never revealed to anyone else other than Shepherd. But the ale has loosened my tongue, and Garrett listens without judgment, and the words just... come.

By the time we leave the Eagle’s Rest, the moon is high and the streets are mostly empty. Garrett is drunk enough that he needs to steady himself against the wall for a moment. I’m not drunk but I’m definitely more relaxed than I should be.

The night air is cold, clearing some of the haze from my head.

“I should get you back,” I say.

“I don’t wanna go back.” He says it like a petulant child and I have to bite back a smile. “Back is boring. Back is responsibility and having to find seven missing soldiers.”

“Back is where your bed is.”

“I could sleep here.” He gestures vaguely at the street. “Street looks comfortable.”

I shake my head. “You’re not sleeping in the street.”