"Aria."
The sudden voice in the dark room startled Aria, and she froze.
A second later, a lamp flared to life. Rayan stood beneath its soft glow, walking toward her. Aria glanced at the window—just slightly ajar—and could tell it was still deep in the night.
She hadn't meant to disturb him. Truthfully, she'd woken hours ago, unable to fall back asleep, curiosity tugging at her about what the world looked like in the middle of the night. But more urgently, she needed to use the restroom.
She would never admit that part of her was excited too. Everything out here was still so new.
Even so, she felt guilty. Rayan needed rest far more than she did. Aria lowered her head, avoiding his gaze.
But Rayan looked at her calmly in the lamplight.
His sleep had never been deep—not after years in battle—and even less so now, staying in an unfamiliar inn in a foreign empire, with danger nearby.
Definitely not because he was sharing a room with a girl for the first time.
Of course not.
So, the moment Aria had stepped down from the bed, he'd been alert. At first, he thought she was just going to get some water. But when he heard her footsteps going towards the door, he had to speak.
Now, Aria clutched her stomach slightly, signaling the real reason she'd gotten up. Rayan understood immediately. Without a word, he picked up the lamp and led the way to the door.
Aria hesitated. She felt guilty because of disturbing his rest. But then hurried to lightly hold his sleeve again.
They walked quietly through the inn's dim hallway. In the same front hall where they'd first received their keys, the innkeeper sat slumped in his chair, sipping from a mug.
He looked up as they passed, eyes lingering a bit too long on Aria.
But one sharp glance from Rayan was all it took to make the man flinch and quickly look away.
There was only one bathroom in the inn. Rayan opened the door, checked that it was empty, and gestured for Aria to go inside.
When she returned, he helped her draw water from the pot nearby so she could wash her hands. Aria dried them on the small handkerchief tucked into her dress and began to follow him back.
But something made her stop.
Just behind the innkeeper's chair, a loose paper lay on the floor. The man had fallen asleep, and the paper must have slipped from somewhere nearby.
Curious, Aria stepped over and picked it up. Her eyes widened.
"Rayan!" she called softly, smiling in surprise.
It was a sketch—an eerily accurate one—of Rayan's face.
She stared at it in wonder. These people could draw like this?
But the moment she heard her name again—this time more firmly—she snapped out of her thoughts.
Rayan, noticing she'd stopped, was already turning back toward her.
Startled, Aria quickly folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket. She hadn't meant to worry him again. Feeling guilty, she hurried over, took hold of his sleeve, and quietly followed him back to their room.
Meanwhile…
The moment they disappeared, another figure stepped into the hall.
The village guard had just ended his night shift at the gates and now stood over the innkeeper, Oliver, shaking him awake.
He held a copy of the very same sketch Aria had just seen—a black-and-white portrait of Rayan, stamped boldly in red at the top:
WANTED BY THE STATE
There was a bounty. A large one.
As soon as the soldiers had passed him the paper an hour ago, the guard had known exactly where to go. He'd waited until his replacement arrived, then rushed here.
New travelers always stayed at the inn.
"Oliver!" he shouted, splashing water onto the innkeeper's face.
Oliver swore and sat up, sputtering, annoyed.
Recognizing the guard, he could guess why he came here.
"The soldiers already came earlier," he snapped. "I told them—I didn't see anyone."
Of course, he hadn't bothered to actually look at the sketch. He was too tired, too drunk, and too eager to get the soldiers off his property. He didn't want anyone poking around and discovering his inn lacked proper papers.
But the guard wasn't backing down.
He shoved the painting in Oliver's face.
"Look again!" he insisted. "There's a reward. A big one."
That got Oliver's attention.
This time, he took a good look at the face on the paper. His eyes widened—and then gleamed.
He knew that man. He'd checked them in just last night.
"This man," he whispered. "He's here. In my inn."
Excitement surged through him.
"I'm going to be rich!" he cackled, the sound echoing through the hall.