Steam roiled inside the Hollow's bath hall—an honest hall, not a cramped cubby: vaulted stone ceiling arched high enough for echoes, three brass braziers ringing a sunken pool the length of a wagon bed, and shelves stacked with folded linen. In brighter days the whole squad had taken turns in this room—half the men scrubbing each other's mail in one corner, good-natured jeers ricocheting off the rafters. Tonight the benches stood empty save for a single lantern and Evan's discarded boots.
'I feel like I understand why Sura came here looking for memories.'
He eased down the steps into water already stirred to clouds by cedar chips. Heat rose to his calves, his knees, the ache in his back; he let it swallow him to the shoulders. A contented grunt escaped. The pool was wide enough to stretch his arms without striking stone, and deep enough to sink to the chin. He raked fingers through hair matted by dust, then braced elbows on the rim, closing his eyes. Warm ripples lapped hollowed channels in the flagstones, carrying away the grit of traps reset and bowstrings waxed.
When he finished, he hauled himself out, water sluicing off scarred muscle. He wrapped a linen sheet around his waist and, before quitting the hall, tipped the waiting kettles into the pool so the level stayed high—a gesture of courtesy for the next bather.
Sura was already there at the arch, barefoot, braid undone so copper waves spilt down a fresh linen shift. She raised a brow in thanks, eyes gleaming through the vapour. Without a word she took his place, her reflection flaring gold in the lantern's glass as she stepped into the pool. Evan departed, allowing distance—rules of modesty drawn long before either of them joined the Disavowed.
Back in the bunk room he doused the main lantern, leaving only a stubby candle to sketch amber bands across timbers. He towelled dry, donned loose trousers, and lay atop his cot. Steam still draped his lungs, coaxing eyelids heavy.
Footsteps padded the corridor… slow, uncertain, bare against stone.
"Must be Sura…"
He expected the silhouette to retire to her room but heard only her quickened breathing as it moved towards his doorway. Evan's eyes snapped open in alert.
"Something's wrong"
As the person entered his room, Evan could make out her silhouette. It was indeed Sura.
In candle glow she seemed wrought of dusk and light: white sleepwear clinging damply from her shoulders to her hips, keeping her thick legs exposed which shone in a rose golden hue where droplets clung under the flickering candlelight. Despite the enticing appearance it did look comfortable, something one would wear to sleep.
Feeling Evan's piercing gaze, Sura paused beside his bunk, hands clasped, eyes flickering with something that looked very much like nerves.
Evan rose to an elbow. "Everything all right?"
"I… don't want to sleep alone tonight," she admitted, voice small amid the rafters meant for many voices. "The shadows in that my room… a boot scuff, a creak… keeps sounding like a blade drawn." She swallowed. "May I sleep with you today?"
His heart kicked once, hard. Trap? Invitation? Yet the tremor in her fingers felt painfully true. But Evan wouldn't turn her away because he didn't completely trust her.
He shifted over, blanket lifted. "If you don't mind me, it's yours."
A breath of relief. Evan didn't refuse her.
She slipped onto the mattress, careful not to touch it at first. The cot dipped; the wood groaned softly. Evan settled again, leaving polite inches. Though polite hardly described the current. Her warmth radiated like banked coals, rosemary soap and clean linen weaving into the musk of pine pitch still lingering on his skin.
Long moments flowed past.
Evan waited for a while. For an attack, a surprise… anything. Despite being seemingly relaxed on the surface, he was on high alert underneath. Sura's every breath and every little movement didn't go unnoticed by him. The signet, in his ready, any moment to gain full advantage.
But there was nothing.
'If you aren't going to make a move, then don't blame me for making the first move.'
Making a resolute decision in his mind. Evan half-turned, letting his arm fall on her waist. Sura shivered at the first touch. The hand slowly slipped down like a slithering snake towards her back, drawing creases along the way. The sleepwear got slightly lifted up exposing her thick thighs under the blanket.
With a sudden jerk, Evan pulled Sura towards him, closing in the few inches that were there between them, her breaths pushing against his chest.
"Kya," Sura let out a cry in surprise from the unexpected jolt.
She glared at Evan. If Gaze could kill, then Evan would have surely died. The gaze was as if screaming, 'What the hell are you doing?'
Evan smiled. "Sorry, the bed is much narrower than I initially expected it to be. If we both want to fit in, we have to get a little closer. Hope you don't mind."
Sura's accusatory gaze didn't leave even after Evan explained himself. Evan knew he was bullshitting. Sura knew that too but refused to point it out. Instead, she just stared at him with an accusatory gaze.
Evan having no other excuses under his belt arms tighter around Sura's waist, his gaze steady responding to Sura's gaze with apt confidence. He knew that if he backed down here he would lose the momentum that he had gained. There was a reason why Sura didn't outright slap him and storm off despite his transgression. He needed to know more, he needed to find out her boundaries.
'You should have expected such to happen,' Evan's gaze conveyed what he thought with a smug smirk on his face.
But Sura still refused to dissuade him or make any complaints. The status quo continued as Evan and Sura continued their staring contest even in the darkness of the night. Not a flicker of sleepiness in either of their eyes.