Nana had passed away several nights ago, and the once cosy home felt chillingly hollow. Savta had long suffered from a heart problem, but you wouldn’t have known from interacting with the wily old woman.

Luna sat still at the breakfast table. Her food lay untouched, cold for the past few hours. She had tried to drown herself in busywork, to take the edge off her mind. It didn’t help that everything she touched reminded her of Nana, causing unbidden tears to roll down her cheeks.

For the past minute, someone had persistently knocked at the door despite multiple attempts to ignore it. The clinic was closed and there were no scheduled deliveries for the day. After the fourth knock, she thundered down towards the front entrance prepared to give this persistent wastrel an earful.

‘Does this person have no shame? You better be on the verge of death!’ She yanked open the door to find Exill, half turned away as if to leave. He was startled and with a few false starts, finally spoke.

“…I heard the news, I’m so sorry Luna.”

Biting her lower lip, she flung herself at him and Exill felt her delicate body wracked by sobs. The Witchdoctor had sprinted here after asking the mercenary to repeat the news, abandoning Envy, and their goods back at the Guild. He now cradled Luna in his strong arms as he shuffled awkwardly through the once familiar entryway and nudged the door closed.

“Have you been eating?”

Exill inspected her at arm’s length once she calmed down, noticing she had lost weight. They climbed up the stairs to the living room, where he noticed her breakfast lay untouched. A small lump in his throat formed when he saw Savta’s favourite armchair, her knee blanket folded neatly on one side. Luna followed his tear-filled gaze and wept silently, holding his hand.

“How did she die?”

“While she slept... four nights ago...” she hesitated before continuing, “You know I fought with Nana till the end over you. Our last conversation, she was so adamant, and I was so angry!” Her face was sallow and tormented with guilt. His heart echoed her pain.

To think he was the cause of all this, his friend’s pain was like a serrated edge brushing against his conscience.

“Do you need help with the clinic?... wait no, forget-”

“Yes, don’t go, please stay.” Her gentle sapphire eyes were pleading as she clutched at his tunic.

Exill paused, wracked by guilt over the wedge he had driven between Luna and Savta during their final days, yet reluctant to leave the grieving maiden alone. He wasn’t entirely sure what the right thing to do was.

“Alright, but first let’s get a meal in you.”

Donning an apron in the kitchen, he equipped [Chef] as one of his active jobs and reheated the breakfast sausages. While he was there, he made a fluffy omelette, just the way she liked it. Bringing the warmed plate to the table, he accompanied her as she ate, distracting her with stories of the patients he had treated.

They stayed in the clinic till evening, first treating a woman who had accidentally scalded a hand with hot oil, and a mercenary suffering from light puncture wounds. Before he knew it, it had begun to grow dark outside. Exill wiped his hand with the dish towel as they finished cleaning up their dinner plates.

“I should head back.” He looked out the window into the darkening skies.

“Could you… stay the night?”

He hesitated, unwilling to meet her tearful gaze. As much as he enjoyed their reunion, it pained him to return here. Their familiar routine was a painful reminder of how much he missed this warm place.

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Awaiting him back at the Sundry Inn was a malicious Vampire and mold-ridden room. The time he had spent waiting for emergency summons from across the city had been agonizingly bland and tedious.

However, he had a duty to uphold, and a hungry demon to feed.

“Not tonight. I promise to return tomorrow, I’ll make you lunch again.”

“Is it because of that slave?” she asked, a small pout forming on her lips.

“No, I came here in a hurry, I was supposed to be waiting on call for other clinics. I shouldn’t have stayed here so long.”

Reluctantly standing up, he gathered the equipment leaning by the doorway. Looking over his shoulder one last time, he quickly left, leaving Luna standing on the porch.

The brief flicker of warmth in the elf maiden's heart was swiftly extinguished at the sight of his receding figure. She closed the door softly, once again alone in this cold and empty home.

Exill rushed to the Inn.

“Innkeeper! Were there any messages while I was away?” he asked, out of breath.

The Innkeeper looked away from the skies for a moment in recollection, a tendril of smoke lazily rising from his pipe. “Half an hour ago, foot something, Milo’s clinic,” he eventually replied.

Exill swore and hurried over to Milo’s clinic in the eastern marketplace, some distance away from Ham’s Smithy. The plaster in between the timber frames of the building had been painted a light shade of blue, making it easy to recognise from a distance. He knocked once before allowing himself in, and was greeted by the Healer, a sour expression on his perpetually scowling face.

“You’re late.”

The elf healer was a short man with a dark widow’s peak tied in a ponytail. Milo was a renowned cynic among healer circles and was a serial complainer who was prone to sending profanity laced letters to everyone who remotely wronged him, perceived or otherwise. Exill didn’t comment as he followed the owner of the establishment into the treatment room.

There, he was introduced to a blacksmith who sat pale faced from the pain in his foot. The man had drunkenly dropped a hammer on his boot and Milo the healer suspected it was broken. Exill examined the swollen foot, but after flexing the digits a few times, his experienced gaze told him nothing was broken.

“I’ll need to remove the toenail that is embedded in your flesh, but I don’t believe you have broken any bones. Please return if the swelling doesn’t subside in two days.”

He relieved the Blacksmith from pain by channelling mana through the paralyzing enchantment of the scalpel and removed the toenail, suturing up the gash that remained. After the patient had been discharged, he reluctantly lingered, understanding what he was about to propose would likely incense the healer – as usual.

“I’m sorry I was late Milo. I need you to forward emergencies to Savta’s clinic for a few days.”

“Are you suggesting I refer my patients to a competitor? Are you mad?” Milo’s face reddened in anger.

“Just for a while, you know Savta passed away and they’re short on hands.”

“Exill, I like you and admire your work, but this is too much! Let me know when you are no longer associated with that place.” Milo guided him to the entrance and shut the door firmly, leaving Exill wandering back to the Inn, thoroughly exhausted.

‘I doubt Perg, or the other healers would respond much differently. I should tell them I’m on a short break instead.’ He thought glumly.

Helping Luna out for just a couple of days until she was back on her feet had suddenly become a logistical nightmare. Not to mention it would put pressure on his debt repayment plan.

Mind laden with uncertainties about bills, he homed back to the Inn and opened the room door; startling Envy who had been waiting all afternoon, evening, and night. Anger flared in her amber-red eyes as she glared at him from where she sat cross-legged on the bed.

“Where have you been all day?”

Exill ignored her and collapsed on the mattress, dead tired and with too many worries in his mind. He rolled up one sleeve of his tunic with great effort, partially dozing off.

‘Does he expect me to lie down and suckle on his arm?’ she was both offended and touched that he would try to feed her while barely conscious. One look and it was evident he had a rough day.

Envy reluctantly removed his boots to make him more comfortable then settled on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. She wrapped her soft lips around the underside of his forearm and her crimson hair cascaded down, brushing against his skin.

“Mm, that tickles”

He smiled, half asleep. Exill turned to his side while pulling the still feeding Envy into him, spooning her from behind. Meanwhile, the flustered Vampire was still latched to the arm, frozen in shock by the sudden embrace and worried the sheets were about to be bloodied.

The Witchdoctor had once berated her and said, “Even bedbugs don’t leave a mess like this.” when she accidentally spilt a few drops of his blood on the bed. As a meticulous creature of hygiene, there was no greater insult, and it was a humiliating experience she was eager not to repeat.

Held tightly in his arms, she fed in uncomfortable silence, unable to move lest she disturbed his sleep.