“What—no.” He coughed once, badly faked, and pressed a hand to his ribs like the motion had nearly killed him. “I’m not nearly well enough for such a hard, cold surface…” His voice dropped. “Though the offer to share this bed…”
The mountain air drifting through the half-open flap should’ve chilled the space, but her skin prickled with heat.
She licked her lips.
As if I’d allow myself that kind of distraction.
“The bedwillbe nice tonight.” The words dropped off her tongue.
Her eyes traced his frame from collarbone to hip, where the blanket pooled low and the linen clung just enough to hint at thestrengthreturning beneath it.
It wasa very nice frame. Same height as her. The fit would be…
Get it together.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the floor as much as I have,” she added with a small, satisfied nod.
The flap fell closed behind her, and she stepped straight into the late morning glare.
“She-demon,” came the muffled hiss from inside, followed by the quiet rustle of movement. “Don’t forget the damn dumplings!”
She snorted and nearly collided with Mira, rounding the narrow walkway just outside.
The path hugged the cliff face, barely wide enough for two to pass. Slatted planks groaned beneath their steps, and below them, the marketplace spread out in terraces—low roofs stitched together by ladders and bridges. The scent of ash, rice, and something spiced drifted up from the fires below.
Aimee adjusted her stride, falling in beside Mira without comment as they descended toward the lower level.
“It sounds like he’s growing on you,” Mira said, eyes forward.
Her tone was flat, but the quirk at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
“Like a wart,” Aimee muttered. “Or some kind of mountain fungus.”
She stepped onto the nearest ladder, fingers wrapping around the smooth wooden rungs, and slid down to the next level with practiced ease. The platform swayed slightly under her boots as Mira followed.
“If you say so,” came the amused reply behind her.
They dropped another level, the morning light drifting between the slats above. Around them, the hum of village life rose—sharp cracks of bamboo sparring staffs, the low grunt of exertion, and a rhythmic stomp of feet on packed dirt. Training drills, by the sound of it.
Mira reached into the fold of her robe and pressed a small pouch into Aimee’s hand as they reached the next platform. The drawstringwas knotted, but even through the cloth, the heft was unmistakable. Aimee loosened it just enough to peek inside.
She frowned.
Golden coins winked up at her, each one stamped with a bird mid-flight, wings flared, tail sweeping in flames.
She glanced up. “Why?”
Mira shrugged, but the line of her shoulders was too casual.
“This is more than we agreed to,” Aimee said, narrowing her eyes. “I promised to keep Kazuma from using Mana. That’s it.”
Mira chuckled, flicking a loose strand of red hair behind her shoulder. “I can barely believe you two only just met. You’re like twin tanuki under the same leaf.”
“Stop. I might vomit.” Still scowling, Aimee tucked the pouch into her belt.
“You and me both.” Mira ran a hand through her long, untamed hair. “But anyway.” Her eyes dropped to Aimee’s belt, then turned out toward the training yard. “Your work with the younglings hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
Aimee followed her gaze across the rope bridge and down to the practice terrace, where children moved in staggered lines, mimicking forms with intense concentration.
