The rain started just after midnight, heavy and relentless, turning the Black Market streets into rivers of mud and refuse.
Kael and Lyra had been tracking one of Julian's merchants for hours, following him through the winding alleys until he finally disappeared into a brothel. They couldn't follow him there without drawing attention, which meant waiting.
"We need shelter," Lyra said, water dripping from her hair. "This rain isn't stopping anytime soon."
They found an inn two streets away, a run-down establishment called The Rusty Nail. The common room was crowded with people seeking refuge from the storm, and the air smelled of wet wool, cheap ale, and unwashed bodies.
The innkeeper, a squat woman with suspicious eyes, looked them up and down. "One room, two silver."
"Two rooms," Kael said.
"Got one room left. Take it or leave it."
Kael looked at Lyra, who shrugged. "We'll take it," she said.
The room was small, barely large enough for the single bed against the wall, a rickety chair, and a washbasin. Rain pounded against the shuttered window, and a leak in the corner created a steady drip-drip-drip into a bucket.
Kael stood in the doorway, suddenly very aware of how small the space was. "I'll sleep on the floor."
"Don't be ridiculous," Lyra said, wringing water from her hair. "The floor is disgusting, and you've been fighting all week. You need actual rest." She gestured at the bed. "It's big enough for two if we're not stupid about it."
"Lyra—"
"We're adults, Kael. We can share a bed without it meaning anything." She started removing her wet cloak, hanging it on a hook. "Besides, we've slept in the same room before. This is just... closer quarters."
She was right, logically. But logic didn't explain why Kael's heart was suddenly beating faster, why his mouth felt dry, why he was acutely aware of every movement she made.
Lyra pulled off her boots, then began unlacing her vest. The wet leather clung to her, making it difficult, and she muttered a curse as she struggled with the ties.
"Here," Kael said, moving to help before he could think better of it. "Let me."
She turned her back to him, holding her hair aside. Kael's fingers fumbled with the wet laces, his knuckles occasionally brushing against the thin shirt she wore underneath the vest. Each accidental touch sent a jolt through him.
"There," he said finally, stepping back as the vest came loose.
"Thanks," Lyra said, shrugging out of it. The shirt beneath was soaked through, clinging to her in ways that made Kael look away quickly.
"I should, uh, check the window," he said, moving to the shutters and pretending to examine them intently.
Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of wet clothes being removed. Don't turn around, he told himself firmly. Don't even think about it.
"You can look now," Lyra said, amusement clear in her voice. "I'm decent."
Kael turned to find her wrapped in a blanket from the bed, her wet clothes draped over the chair. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, still damp, and without her usual leather and weapons, she looked different. Softer. More vulnerable.
"Your turn," she said, nodding at him. "You're soaked too."
Kael removed his own vest and shirt, painfully aware of her eyes on him. He'd never been self-conscious about his body before—fighting with Soulrender had left him lean and muscled—but under Lyra's gaze, he felt suddenly exposed.
"The sword marks," Lyra said quietly, and he realized she was looking at the scars. Dozens of them, crisscrossing his chest and arms. Souvenirs from battles won and lost.
"Battle wounds," he said with a shrug.
"They're beautiful," Lyra said, then laughed at his expression. "I mean, they tell a story. Of survival. Of strength." She stepped closer, still wrapped in her blanket, and reached out to trace one of the scars with her finger. "This one?"
"Guard captain in the eastern quarter," Kael said, trying to ignore the electricity of her touch. "He was better than I expected."
"And this one?" Her finger moved to another scar, this one along his collarbone.
"One of the Crimson Blades. He got lucky."
"You have a lot of lucky enemies," Lyra murmured, her hand now resting flat against his chest, just over his heart. "I'm glad none of them were luckier."
Kael caught her hand in his, intending to move it away, but instead he just held it there. Her skin was warm, her pulse visible at her wrist.
"Lyra," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "We should sleep."
"Should we?" She looked up at him, her dark eyes reflecting the dim candlelight. "Or should we stop pretending there's nothing between us?"
"There's everything between us," Kael said. "The sword. The revenge. Julian. Ethan. All of it."
"That's not what I mean." She moved closer, the blanket slipping slightly from her shoulders. "I mean this. You and me. The way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. The way I can't stop thinking about you."
"This is complicated," Kael said, but he didn't step back.
"Everything is complicated," Lyra replied. "But this—" She rose on her toes, her free hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. "This is simple."
She kissed him.
Not like before, not brief or interrupted. This was real, deep, full of weeks of tension and unspoken wanting. Kael's arms went around her, pulling her closer, the blanket falling away forgotten.
She was warm and soft and alive in his arms, tasting of rain and something uniquely her. His hands tangled in her damp hair, holding her like she might disappear if he let go.
They broke apart finally, both breathing hard. Lyra's lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and Kael had never seen anything more beautiful.
"Still think we should just sleep?" she asked breathlessly.
Before Kael could answer, a loud crash came from the room next door, followed by shouting and the sound of furniture breaking. The whole building shook.
The moment shattered.
Kael grabbed Soulrender, instantly alert. Lyra dove for her knives, wrapping the blanket around herself with one hand.
More shouting. Running footsteps in the hallway outside.
"Bar fight," Lyra said after a moment, lowering her knives. "Just drunk idiots."
The tension in the room shifted, the passionate heat cooling into something more awkward. Lyra gathered the blanket tighter around herself, suddenly seeming to realize she was nearly naked.
"I should, um, get dressed," she said, not meeting his eyes.
"Right. Yeah." Kael turned away, giving her privacy.
They dressed in silence, the charged atmosphere from before dissipating like smoke. By the time they were both clothed again, the moment had passed, replaced by a strange, uncertain quiet.
"We should sleep," Kael said finally. "Long day tomorrow."
"Right. Sleep." Lyra climbed into the bed, staying close to the wall. "You coming?"
Kael hesitated, then joined her, lying on his back as far from her as the small bed allowed. There were maybe six inches between them, a gulf that felt both too wide and not wide enough.
"Kael," Lyra said after a long silence.
"Yeah?"
"I meant what I said. About us."
"I know."
"But?"
"But nothing. I just... I need time to figure out what that means. What I can offer you when half my memories are gone and I'm planning to kill my cousin and I have a demon sword bonded to my soul."
Lyra was quiet for a moment. Then she reached across the small distance between them, taking his hand. "You don't have to offer me anything. I'm not asking for promises or forevers. I'm just asking you not to shut me out."
Kael squeezed her hand. "I'll try."
"Good enough," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
They lay there in the darkness, hands clasped between them, listening to the rain and the distant sounds of the inn settling. Eventually, Lyra's breathing deepened into sleep.
Kael stayed awake longer, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the kiss, about what it meant, about how he was supposed to do this—be a weapon of vengeance and also be someone who could care about another person.
"She makes you weak," Soulrender whispered.
"She makes me stronger," Kael replied silently.
"Love is a liability."
"Maybe. But it's also a reason to survive."
The sword was quiet after that, leaving Kael alone with his thoughts and the warm weight of Lyra's hand in his.
Tomorrow, they'd continue hunting Julian's people. Tomorrow, they'd plan and scheme and fight.
But tonight, in this small, leaking room, with rain drumming overhead and Lyra's hand in his, Kael allowed himself to feel something other than rage.
Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
He fell asleep with that thought, and for once, his dreams weren't filled with blood and vengeance.
* * *
END OF CHAPTER 20