Two days came and went.

It wasn't like I expected him to wake up straight away, but I had hoped he would wake up sooner. All the food I brought him had gone neglected, and he remained in the basement – a clear sign that he did not wake, seeing as I decided against locking the door.

For the most part, I stuck to my routine as best I could. I did not doubt that some Sects hid among the inn's patrons – likely to keep me under surveillance while watching for Siridan in case he turned up at the inn.

They didn't get what they wanted. Everyone knew Zakuli's private nature; it wasn't suspicious or unordinary. Any attempts to snoop around where people shouldn't have been would have gotten shut down even without the Sects showing up when they did.

Despite my anxiety and worry, I somehow felt elated, too. A strange feeling of exhilaration fluttered in my breast during every waking moment – and though trapped by circumstances I may have been, I never felt as free in my whole new life before that.

Weird, right? I couldn't understand it myself. A normal person wouldn't have felt the way I did. An ordinary person would've thought they were mad. The part of my inner self that was determined to be Alysia felt that way. But odd as it was, it was nothing new to me.

...That didn't mean I liked it.

I worked to suppress it every step of the way. After all, even if there were things that were better about Jin, I didn't want to be Jin anymore, and the conflicting emotions inspired by the heart of my past self felt just as foreign to me as my new body did.

My curiosity begged me to try to discern the identities of any Sects masquerading as guests, but I wasn't going to let that happen. Neither it nor my paranoia was going to take over. I remained Alysia. I continued working at the inn as if nothing happened.

The mended tables arrived at the inn. The broken walls were properly sealed and repaired. Nothing changed. Nothing changed... —Except for the knowledge that the Sects were watching me – save for Siridan, who stayed unconscious in the basement.

I knocked on the door each time I visited him down there, just in case; every time, my knocks grew more gentle, anxious, and careful, wary of his waking and a possible outburst. After slowly opening the door and moving closer, I sat beside him on my knees and continued reading.

He moved a lot in his sleep – so much so that I couldn't help but fix his hair for him and keep him presentable. I dared not do much past tucking a few soft silver locks behind his ear every so often, and even that felt a bit dangerous, if not shameful.

But on one such occasion, when he turned, his tunic dragged and exposed his upper back. When I stole a glance at it – by pure coincidence, as it were – I spotted something worrying decorating his athletic physique.

A black mark. I couldn't tell if it was a scar, a faded tattoo, a particularly dark bruise, or something that I couldn't recognize even if I were to have a good look at it, but from what I could see, it didn't look good. I bit my lower lip in consternation and hesitated, considering whether to examine the mark more closely.

As the redness crawled up my cheeks to cover my entire face, I shook my head and immediately determined it was better to wait for Siridan to wake before attempting anything of that nature.

I would have felt like a total pervert if it were something mundane like an old scar, especially if I had to peel layers off him to see it! Yet there laid the problem; Siridan didn't wake up, and in the meantime, my mind raced with far too many thoughts and questions without answers to remain rational.

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Before my impulsivity could convince me to stick my hands under his shirt, I sprung up to my feet and stormed out of the room.

I have to think of something! My silent self-reprimanding began again as I made my way back up to the inn. I mean… Something must be able to wake him up without upsetting him, right?

I soon found myself with my forehead pressed against the bar top and my hair in my hands. I already tried getting him fresh food – and the smell of a good meal delivered right to me was my favorite way to wake up, but...

Mmm...

I hummed with discontent, upset at Siridan's persistent slumber. I really didn't feel up to trying the same strategy again out of desperation for options, but one vexing thought came to my mind that made me reconsider the notion. If this worked, I was going to be so, so goddamned peeved.

And so I entered the kitchen, where Zakuli was already preparing a few drinks and meals. The scent of newly baked bread was sweetly maddening in there, and the fact that the aroma that carried from the kitchen down into the basement did nothing to stir Siridan was driving me up the wall.

"Um. Excuse me, sir?" I moved closer to Zakuli, then leaned in, peering from his side – and politely interrupted him, briefly drawing his attention from a pan with an omelet he was preparing for one of the guests. "I was wondering… —I know Siridan has his 'usual' order, but what exactly is it?"

Zakuli turned to face me and raised his eyebrow so high with an expression so irritated that you'd think I asked him to write me into his will. "What's it to you, hmm? None of your business unless he's here again." He briefly looked over my shoulder and through the door to see if that was the case.

I anxiously raised my hand and began to twirl a finger through my hair. "I suppose I was a bit curious since Siridan always refuses to let me take his orders." My gaze trailed toward the omelet in the pan. "It's just… You're the best chef I know, and I never had the chance to try it or the drink he gets with it together."

He didn't seem to buy my story – not entirely, at least – but the smirk under his beard told me he managed to come up with an entire theory for my underlying intentions. "Oh, I see what's going on here. Trying to get closer to the scoundrel, are we!? Ha!" His head lifted as he let out a confident guffaw.

With a shake of his head, Zakuli turned his attention back to his cooking. "I'll warn ya, stupider girls have tried to do the same. You have a good head on your shoulders, so don't let his looks get to you." he seemed rather cheerful despite his words, and his warning sounded lighthearted.

My face lit up with the realization of the implication of Zakuli's words, just as it had in the basement. "What? No!! You're not listening to me, I just want to try the–"

"Oh, I heard you, alright." The old innkeeper gave my back a distracted, firm pat, forcing my upper body to bend forward as he ushered me out of the kitchen. Even in his advanced age, he was strong enough to forget how much weaker I was. "If you pay for it, I'll make it. Wait outside and be patient."

Soon, I found myself holding a platter with a large, hearty plate of rice covered in a meat-rich sauce. Along with it stood a large mug full of a clear alcoholic drink that gave off a powerful citrus-like aroma. Zakuli may have had the wrong idea about my intentions, but I knew he gave me what I asked for from the scent alone.

I darted toward the basement before Zakuli could finish the other orders and began to ask me uncomfortable questions. Even if he rejected Siridan's behavior and looked down upon the murders he committed, it was clear that he still had a soft spot for the swordsman.

With another gentle knock, I entered the basement and set the platter beside my 'patient' and the stacks of useless books scattered around the mattress he rested upon. The food's scent filled the air, but not without being drowned out by the pungent alcohol.

Right as I began rearranging the utensils on the platter, a lazy groan came from where Siridan rested. "I'm sorry, old man. Didn't mean t'pass out on the–" He began speaking groggily, and his words gradually faded into an awkward silence as he took in his surroundings.

Siridan's eyes went wide with confusion and horror as he scanned the unfamiliar room he found himself in. He grasped for his sword, and I flinched.

"Hi–" I quickly said in a panic, frozen in place. "You..! Passed out! I've been trying to take care of you, but you wouldn't wake up for days, so I–"

Alright. I probably should've anticipated him drawing his blade on me again.

At least the alcohol worked..?