Page 63 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Perfect.

I don’t even think before I push off the counter and approach.

“Hunting’s good around here?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

One of them, a grizzled man with a scar tracing down his cheek, eyes me warily. “Depends what you’re looking for.”

“Rabbits,” I answer without hesitation. “Something easy to snare.”

His suspicion fades a little. “Forest east of town. Small game’s sparse, but if you set up early enough, you may catch something. Damn things are quick.”

I nod, absorbing the information. Aria’s been living off rabbits, but it’s been a while since she last fed. She’s got to be getting hungry.How long does she usually go before the hunger sets in too deep?The thought makes my stomach twist.

“Appreciate it,” I say, slipping a few extra coins onto the table before turning back to the counter.

By the time my food arrives, the thought of smuggling a damn rabbit into the inn has taken root in my mind. Though draining it into the oilskin pouch would do in a pinch, I've learned she prefers the blood from the source.Where the hell would I put it?Maybe in my pack, wrapped in cloth.

A chuckle almost slips from my lips at the absurdity of it.Me. A merc. Sneaking rabbits around like some desperate thief.

I shake my head and take a long drink, letting the warmth of the ale seep into my bones. The stew is rich, hearty, better than anything I’ve had in a long time. And as I sit there, listening to the low hum of voices around me, the soft crackle of the fire, something unfamiliar settles in my chest.

Contentment.

For the first time in a long, long time, I feelhappy.

And damn me, but it’s because of her.

Aria

Iwaketoemptiness.

The warmth is gone before my mind can fully surface from sleep, leaving only the ghost of it behind. A hollow ache flares in my chest before I even pry my eyes open, instinct searching for something—someone—who isn’t there. My fingers drift over the sheets, seeking out lingering heat, some proof that I didn’t imagine the way we fit together in the quiet dark. But the linens are cool. Too cool.

A knot forms in my stomach, twisting tight.Did she leave?

The thought grips me hard enough that I’m upright before I even know I’ve moved, breath uneven as I scan the dimly lit room. There’s no sign of her. No sword propped within reach. No heavy footfalls pacing near the door. Just stillness.

I swallow down the surge of panic, trying to steady my breathing.She wouldn’t just vanish, would she?

That’s when I notice a slip of paper on the little table by the window. My pulse slows, relief pulsing through me as I jump up to grab it:

Mouse,

Went downstairs for breakfast. Don’t wander off without me.

–R

“Mouse.” My cheeks flush.

She’s the only person who’s ever called me that, and against all reason, the nickname makes me smile. I fold the note and press it to my chest for a moment, exhaling a shaky breath.

Okay. She didn’t leave.

After quickly dressing—at least enough to not look like I’ve just tumbled out of bed—I slide downstairs. My senses stir at the mix of scents: old ale, burnt coffee, warm stew. The inn’s common room bustles with early morning travelers, their raucous chatter filling the air.

A quick scan finds Roan at a table near the back, legs stretched out, her sword leaning against her chair. There’s a tankard in front of her, and a nearly empty bowl of something that might pass for breakfast.

I’m about to step forward when I notice she’s not alone.

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