Chapter 7

The cold bit at my nose, a sharp, crisp sting that pulled me from the heavy, velvet depths of sleep. For a moment, I didn’t open my eyes. I just let the weight of him settle into my bones, the solid, unyielding warmth of his chest against my back, his arm a heavy bar of muscle across my waist. The air smelled of woodsmoke, pine needles, and the lingering, sweet scent of mulled wine and sweat. We hadn’t made it back to the city center; we hadn’t even made it to a hotel. We had simply collapsed into the nearest available haven, a secluded corner of the outdoor market’s administrative annex, a small, cluttered office that smelled of old paper and damp wool, where a single narrow cot had been pulled out for the night watchman. I turned in his hold, the movement slow, my joints popping softly in the quiet. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, amber glow of a single string of fairy lights draped haphazardly over a stack of crates, casting long, dancing shadows against the peeling white walls. Outside, the world was waking up. I could hear the distant, muffled sounds of vendors