Morning spilled through the narrow inn window like a lazy stream of gold. Dust motes danced in the light, and the sounds of a bustling street below filtered up vendors shouting, wheels turning, the occasional cry of gulls near the harbor.
Leo stirred first.
He blinked at the ceiling beams overhead, unfamiliar yet comforting. The softness of the mattress was a rare luxury, but his back still ached slightly from muscle memory from weeks of sleeping on earth and bark.
Across the room, Matthew groaned from his bed, draping an arm dramatically over his eyes.
"Do capitals always wake up this loud?" he muttered.
"You're loud," El replied dryly, already half-dressed and buckling her boots.
Matthew peeked through his fingers. "Do you even sleep?"
"I rest," she said. "Not the same thing."
