Kayden sighs like a martyr. "You keep refusing these water conservation opportunities, and I'm gonna start doubting your whole tree-hugger world-savior act."
I grab a pillow and swat him. "Asshole."
"Yours truly," he replies, grinning. "Now go. I want to see your ass swinging as you leave."
I roll my eyes, but I do put a little extra into my stride as I walk away. Because why not?
Back in my room, I peel away the bandage.
It hasn't hurt since I got back, and now all that's left is a faint, silvery line across my skin. A ghost of what happened.
I'm not sure if it was Eira's medicine, the healing pull of the forest, or the…otherkind of energy from last night. Probably a mix of all three.
Either way, I don't need the bandage anymore.
The shower is quick and efficient. Yet somehow, it gives me enough space to think. Which is dangerous. Because if I linger in that thinking too long, I'll start questioning everything—what I'm doing, what this means. To Kayden. To Asher. To me. And what happens after.
Right now… I'm not ready to ask those questions out loud.
Dressed in soft, flowy layers, I head downstairs, following the scent of sugar, spice, and something suspiciously bacon-like.
Kayden wasn't wrong—the kitchen looks like we're catering for a brunch wedding. The table is overflowing: waffles, scrambled and fried eggs, omelets, bacon, sausages, French toast, toast with every spread imaginable, three kinds of yogurt, two cereals, and, of course, pancakes.
"Okay, first of all, are we hosting a summit?" I ask, stepping in. "And second, good morning."
Asher doesn't look up from the stove. He flips a pancake with precise grace. "Good morning, Sage," he says over his shoulder, voice steady.
His back flexes under a fitted gray shirt as he moves. I'm momentarily mesmerized by that.
Then, I slide into a chair. "Do you need help?"
"No. But you can help yourself to coffee. I made drip, Moka pot, and a few others." A pause. "Choose what speaks to your soul."
I arch a brow. "You don't strike me as a coffee poet."
"There's a ritual to it," he replies, stacking the pancakes like a general preparing ammunition. "Respect the brew."
I pour myself a cup from the Moka pot, just as Kayden wanders in, shirtless and scruffy.
He stares at the spread. "Are you cooking for a battalion or entering a breakfast reality show?" Then adds, "I thought the kumbaya crew and your druid friend were coming tonight."
"They are," Asher says simply. "This is for us. Sit and eat."
Kayden frowns. "I'm good without the buffet."
Asher glances at me. "He doesn't know?"
I shake my head. "We… didn't get that far in conversation."
Asher's smile is slight, but unmistakably knowing. He turns back to Kayden and says, "Just try. Trust me."
Kayden mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely Gaelic and absolutely insubordinate. But he grabs a fork, stabs a piece of French toast, drags it through syrup, and bites.
His eyes widen.
"What the fuck," he mumbles, already reaching for eggs next. "Why does everything taste like… this?"
I sip my coffee. "It's my blood."
