I lift my gaze as Sylvian steps out from behind his screen, his broad frame wrapped in earthy tones that somehow suit him perfectly, the fabric fitted across his chest and shoulders. His long black hair is still slightly damp, curling faintly at the ends, and his green eyes find mine almost immediately, softening in a way that makes my stomach twist.
Ashton follows, and of course he looks like he was made for a place like this. The clothes fit him like they were tailored for him alone, darker in color, sleek and effortless. His long blond hair falls just slightly into his face, his sharp features highlighted by the warm light, and when his gaze slides to me, his mouth curves in that familiar, wicked smile.
Oberon emerges next, and the room seems to shift with him. The clothing does nothing to soften him, only emphasizes the strength of his build, the hard lines of muscle beneath the fabric. His short, dark hair is still damp too, his blue eyes flicking overme briefly before he looks away, jaw tightening like he doesn’t quite know what to do with what he sees.
Cassius is last. He moves slower, still recovering, but there’s something composed about him even now. The pale tones of his clothing echo his white-blond hair, leaving his pale blue eyes all the more vivid against the softness. His gaze lands on me, sharp and observant, like he’s taking in every detail at once, but there’s something quieter beneath it. Something warmer.
None of us speak. We just… look. Take each other in, as if seeing one another like this is something new. Something different.
“Much better,” a smooth voice breaks in.
I turn to see Lord Ferngull watching us, his expression pleased, as if we’ve somehow met his expectations.
“If you’ll follow me,” he continues, gesturing toward the doorway.
We move as a group, instinctively staying close as we follow him out of the room. The warmth lingers, but so does the quiet tension beneath it, the awareness that no matter how comfortable this place appears… we’re still in the labyrinth.
And not everything here is what it seems.
The next room opens before us, and I can’t help but feel like we’re stepping deeper into something we don’t fully understand. Firelight dances across the room, warm and reliable, illuminating the plush chairs and long couch gathered around the hearth. A table is already laid out, filled with food that looks impossibly rich after days of survival. Bread still warm from the oven, fruit glistening, steaming dishes that smell of spice and comfort. Wine poured and waiting.
Hunger flares hard at the scent, despite the caution still knotted low in my stomach. It feels unreal. Too easy and definitely too perfect.
Lord Ferngull gestures gracefully toward the seating. “Please,” he says, his voice smooth. “Make yourselves comfortable. You must be exhausted.”
I just stand there, caught between the pull of warmth, food, and rest… and the quiet voice in the back of my mind reminding me where we are.The labyrinth doesn’t give without taking.
Still… I step forward.
Lord Ferngull describes the dishes on the table, his voice smooth, laced with an undertone of humor that feels just a little too practiced. Oberon eyes him warily but sits, his hand settling near the hilt of his sword.
None of us have given up our weapons. We weren’t fools, and Oberon was making sure the lord was aware of our armed status.
Sylvian and Ashton sit next, their movements controlled, tension still threading through their posture. Cassius lowers himself more carefully, pain evident in his face as he does so. I sit last, my dagger resting with a familiar weight against my hip. Somehow, I’d gotten more than accustomed to the weapon. It’s become a part of me.
When did that happen?
The food sits untouched for a long moment, the scent of it thick in the air, warm and tempting. No one reaches for it. Oberon doesn’t even look at it.
“You first,” he says, voice low, direct.
Lord Ferngull’s smile deepens, as if he expected nothing less. Without hesitation, he reaches for a piece of bread, tears it cleanly, and eats. He takes a piece of everything on the table, sets in one his plate, and eats a little of everything, his expression amused. Then, he takes a sip of wine. Calm. Unbothered.
We watch. Wait. Nothing happens.
Then Ashton exhales softly. “Well. That’s reassuring enough for me.”
That’s all it takes.
We move almost at once, the restraint breaking. Hands reach for bread, fruit, onions, potatoes, treats, anything within reach. Even though I notice a lack of meat, I’m not about to be ungrateful. All of it piles high onto our plates.
Sylvian swallows a bite, then inclines his head politely. “Your home is… impressive,” he says, his voice sincere. “And your staff is remarkably efficient.”
“They’ve kept you alive this long,” Ashton adds, flashing an easy smile. “That alone deserves praise.”
Lord Ferngull dips his head slightly, clearly pleased. “I will pass along your compliments.”
His gaze lingers on us a moment longer than necessary before he speaks again, curiosity sharpening his expression. “And you?” he asks, folding his hands loosely in his lap. “What brings you into the labyrinth?”
