Page 77 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Selis exhales through her nose, something amused and resigned in the sound. "Damn,” she muses, glancing between me and Aria. “Now I get it. Why you’re breaking your own damn rules for this one.”

My jaw clenches. "Shut up."

She grins. "Hit a nerve again, didn't I?"

I reach for a scrap of cloth and shove it between her teeth before she can get another word out. Her eyes glint with something between irritation and amusement, but she doesn’t fight it.

Aria steps closer, eyeing Selis with a lingering wariness, her lip curling slightly. “How long will that hold her?” she asks.

“Tied like this? A while.” I give one last tug on the rope, ensuring the knots won’t give. “Not our problem anymore.” I rise, dusting my hands off, and turn to Aria. “We need to move. Now.”

She nods, exhaling. “Yeah.”

But before I can turn, she catches my wrist.

I look down at her, expecting hesitation, maybe regret—but all I see is resolve.

“Youreallydon’t feel bad about this?” she asks, tilting her head toward Selis.

I smirk, brushing a thumb over the scrape on her cheek, a remnant from the scuffle. “Doyou?”

She hesitates—then grins. “No.”

“Good.” I lace my fingers with hers, squeezing once before pulling her toward the door.

We don’t look back.

***

The tension in my shoulders lessens a fraction as we slip out of the inn, though I can’t quite shake the prickling sense that everyone in town is watching us. The bounty on Aria’s head weighs on my mind like a constant drumbeat:Hurry, hurry, hurry.

We don’t have time to linger, not if we want to keep half the population from trying to claim her.

I shoot a glance at Aria, her hood pulled low to hide her face. Her lips press into a thin line whenever we pass a stranger. I can practically see her self-consciousness. Every time I think of her bolting, the knot in my gut pulls tighter.

Not again, Mouse,I vow silently.I won’t let you run off alone.

The market square is busy at this hour—carts and stalls laden with turnips, salted fish, and rough-woven textiles. A few merchants eye us as potential customers, but mostly folks are shouting their wares, trying to catch the attention of passersby.

My gaze snaps to a stout man loading crates onto the back of a wagon. A sign on the side readsHumboldt & Co., Fine Ceramics.

I nudge Aria. “Wait here,” I murmur, not waiting for her protest before I stride forward.

The merchant sizes me up the moment I approach, eyes flicking from the sword at my side to Aria’s hooded figure lingering just behind me. He doesn’t like what he sees—I can tell from the way his fingers twitch near the edge of his belt, as if debating whether he should reach for a weapon or call for a guard.

I don’t blame him. I look like trouble. Iamtrouble.

But when I mention coin—more than fair pay for a ride out of this town—and a little extra protection along the road, his expression shifts. Greed flickers in his eyes, overtaking caution, and I know I’ve got him.

“Mercenary work?” he asks, voice gruff with suspicion. “You one of those sellswords, then?”

“Something like that,” I reply evenly. “Not looking for a fight, just a ride. My…companion and I need to get out of town.”

His eyes cut toward Aria again, still shadowed beneath the hood of her cloak. He can’t see her face, but something about the way she stands—tense and poised, a little too still—seems to set him on edge.

“You two in some kind of trouble?” he asks, tone casual but pointed.

I force a smirk, leaning a little closer, enough that he catches the steel beneath the amusement in my tone. “Not the kind that concerns you.”

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