Steam curled up from the tub as I slipped in, sinking as low as possible into its depths. It was a small comfort amid the storm of confusion in my head that had lingered for days on end since I'd awoken in the almost too-clean house with Charon propped at the end of my bed, and I didn’t ache half as much as I expected any more. From the water, I reached to my shoulder and touched the thin lines where the Viper bit me. I half expected two holes rather than the gouged strips. The Viper didn’t get a good hold, I reasoned. If it had been deeper, a better latch, then the Viper’s venom would have killed me in minutes, but instead, I’d lived, sore and tender, and too tired to do much else than rest. I was lucky, all things considered. Surviving a Viper was unheard of, and if its poison had found its way into my system, my blood would have coagulated. The tissue around the bite would start dissolving. It would happen before its fangs ever left my flesh, or so I’d heard too many times. I shivered at the thought.

Taking the soap from the ledge, I turned it over in my hands. The light fragrance of citrus and sage was as smooth as silk. I breathed in the soothing aroma as I brought the bar across my skin. I had to stop thinking about things I’d endured in the last year. It made me miserable to relive the nightmares. Besides, the part that mattered was that I survived. Regardless of what happened, I faced it without fear, and I was alive. With a sigh, I rinsed the soap from my skin. The physical signs of damage would disappear, but the worst wounds were the ones no one could see. Things like that didn’t heal as fast. Or at all. I gulped down the lump forming in my throat. What hurt more than the wounds from fists, swords, and fires, was that I was alone. No one would come for me, because no one knew where I'd gone or how to find me. A pained cry squeezed my chest. No, I wouldn’t allow it out. I wouldn’t dignify the self-pity a moment longer. They were my friends, I had to believe they would look for me. They'd find me, or maybe when I was healed enough, I would find them. I had to believe that. I sucked in a breath and lowered my hair into the water. The heat surged around my face, prickling away the urge to cry. I didn’t want to be a memory, a ghost that haunted them because they didn’t know I was still alive. It wasn’t fair. They already had two graves to dig, they didn’t need to dig an extra one for me.

Sitting up, I scrubbed the shampoo into my scalp and down my long silvery hair. I lowered my hands to the water, the soap dispelling in thick ringlets. The lather drifted away from my fingers and faded as it rode the little waves to the sides of the tub. Reality was slow to sink in as I watched the soap dissipate. I wasn’t going back to the outpost. There was no returning to play soldier. I’d seen too much. I wouldn’t die for a city that tossed me aside like unwanted trash. And I wouldn’t become another corpse for the Razen. I tossed my head back into the water and rinsed out the shampoo. I wasn’t going to be a victim of circumstance any longer. There was no point in running any more than there was in looking for a fight. I was safe, and for the most part, clean, and for the first time in a long while, I felt at peace. Sure, I didn’t know what happened to my memories, and that was a problem, but I wasn’t in any hurry to find out.

The water oscillated back and forth, lapping up the sides of the tub. I splashed my face and listened as someone walked the hallway outside my room. There was something said, and then a short quipping response. It seemed Callan and Charon were up and moving early. My back and shoulders tensed as they went quiet. I wanted to trust them. They seemed honest enough, but then again, I’d trusted Milo. I shut my eyes and took a long, slow breath. They weren't like Milo. They answered my questions when I asked and respected me when I didn't want to know something. After everything Milo hadn't told me until he couldn't keep it a secret a moment longer, could I trust that Callan and Charon were telling me everything? Was I even in the position to think I could decide that? It wasn't as if I could fight them off and run away if they had some nefarious plan for me. I didn't think they did, but it seemed there were a lot of things I didn't know about the company I kept. Of course, this was different. Callan was gentle, and he moved slowly. When he talked to me, though brief as it was, there wasn't any sort of demand in his voice. Charon, on the other hand, was demanding. And annoying. He seemed more interested in getting under my skin than being helpful to anyone. Pulling the drain to the tub, I climbed out and wrapped one of the colorful towels around my chest like a dress. I dried my hair, shaking out the water with a second towel, wondering how many secrets had lived between me and Milo for years. How many times had Milo slung a backpack over his shoulder and gone off to whatever job he’d found, knowing I blindly trusted him? How many secrets were Callan and Charon already hiding from me? I lowered the towel, my eyebrows furrowing. That was a strange thing to think. They'd been honest from the moment I was awake enough to sit up.

I dropped the towel on the floor and stared at my reflection. It was too dull. I turned away, picked up the fresh clothes, and, without thinking twice, I pulled them on. I looked down at myself and groaned. They were huge. The deep red shirt came halfway to my knees and hung from me like a sack. The gray pants weren’t even proper pants. They were pajamas. I looked like a child playing pretend in their parents’ clothes. I sniffed the shirt, then wrinkled my nose at my reflection. Of course, they smelled earthy rich, and a bit like cinnamon. Almost everything smelled like that, especially Callan. I adjusted the shoulders to sit a little straighter. It was a wonder that they could keep a house pristine but not provide clothes that fit. I decided to ignore the obvious fact that they hadn’t planned on housing and dressing someone of my size, or female. There was no reason for them to keep a stock of clothes meant for women in a house belonging to two full-sized men. Still, they were both good-looking men. It wasn’t unreasonable to think they knew at least one or two women they could borrow clothes from. Then again, that would mean explaining how I ended up with them in the first place. Saying Charon kidnapped me from everyone I knew in a cabin in the middle of the night wouldn’t go over well. I rolled up the sleeves and searched the vanity drawers until I found a brush. At least there was a brush. It was probably easier to come by than clothes. I raked out the tangles in my hair as I listened to them in the hall. I didn’t know what they were still talking about, but it didn’t seem important. If it had been, they wouldn't have been outside my door again. Before I'd finished with my hair, their voices grew distant and they went downstairs.

At least I had another hour or so of peace before they'd come and offer me breakfast to ensure I ate something. I looked down at my destroyed clothes and with my toes, shoved them around the corner of the sink, hoping they'd disappear and take their foul smell with them. No such luck, though. I turned back to the mirror and gathered my hair into sections. The ruined clothes reeked of grime and gore. The sooner I was done with my hair, the better. Then I'd be able to get away from the stench of death for a while. I gagged dramatically. If I could put that scent out of my mind, the day would improve tenfold. I twisted the parted sections of hair into a braid. It was messy, but I was terrible at braiding. Then, without warning, my bedroom door flew open. I snapped around to see Charon already at the threshold of the bathroom. I sighed, unimpressed by his sudden appearance, and tipped my head back, looking up at him. He was much taller than Milo, easily closer to seven feet than six. Charon's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched tight as he loomed in the doorway. His nostrils flared as his lips pressed into a tight line. Staring up at him, waiting for an explanation, I blinked in innocent confusion. He propped his arm against the door frame and covered his face, hissing out a breath to restore his composure.

“I don’t care if you go outside. I don’t care if you roll around in the filthiest part of the stables,” his jaw clenched harder as he strained to keep his voice calm, “but do not leave footprints all over my floor.”

“Are you serious?” My shoulders sank as I dropped my half-plaited hair.

“Do I look like I’m not?” He was almost trembling as his slate-blue eyes glared at me.

“I was on the porch,” I said, dismissing him as I turned back to the mirror.

He stepped into the bathroom, set a hand on the sink in front of me, and wound around to stare at me as if I had insulted him. Growling through clenched teeth as if it were a threat, he replied, “I don’t care.”

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“Get out of my way,” I reached up, covered his face with my palm, and pushed him back. It didn’t do much good, though. He took my wrist and pulled it down, forcing me around to face him. He eyed my oversized outfit and tilted his head to the side. The anger lingering in his eyes eased into mild annoyance. My face scrunched as I reeled back. "What do you want?"

“I know it's difficult right now, but I would appreciate it if you could remember that I keep things neat and orderly. This isn’t a barn,” he was low and quiet as he spoke, “and if it were, I’d leave the filth outside.”

“Dirt really bothers you, doesn’t it?” I stared up at him, eyes narrowed as I searched for his reaction. I knew I was right, though. From the moment we met, he was proper and pressed, and put together in a way that didn’t match Alin. He’d cleaned himself up before we headed to Sussen. It annoyed me at the time with how he concerned himself with his appearance. He was quick to wipe off his hands after touching anything during the short time we spent together. Even when he cut through the hoards between alleyways, he’d taken the time to clean the blood from his sword. Though he used the back of a dead man, it was still a deliberate move.

Charon smirked. “Glad to see you’re all cleaned up, love.”

“Callan told you not to call me that.”

“He doesn’t speak for you.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but then snapped it shut. I turned with a jerk and my eyebrows pressed in. The smirk on his face turned into a grin and he released my wrist. He stepped back to the doorway with a chuckle, leaned to one side, and pressed his toes to the other. His arms folded over his chest, and he tipped his head up. I picked up the brush and then set it back down. Under any other circumstance, if Milo had told someone not to call me something, that was it. They wouldn’t ask how I felt about it. They would do as he said and not call me that again. It hadn’t occurred to me even once I had a say in the matter.

“Was that how it was with your little boyfriend? You let him make all the decisions?” Charon asked, staring up at the corner of the door frame as if he wasn’t keeping an eye on me.

“He was just trying to protect me.” Those hollow words held almost no conviction.

“Is that what was happening?” Charon rolled his head to give me a tired look. He didn’t believe me any more than I believed myself. Charon chuckled and turned back to stare at the corner. He hummed; there was something more he wanted to say. Twisting my hair around into a braid, I waited for the inevitable when he said what was on his mind. He glanced over at me, eyes tracking up and down as he thought about the words on the tip of his tongue. That same look he had on the first night crossed his face; a wide smile pulled at his lips. I paused as I reached the bottom of my hair. He was waiting for me to look at him, to give him my attention. I denied him that much as I twisted a band I'd found in the drawer around the tail of my braid. That, as it turned out, was not enough to dissuade him from asking his question, anyway. “So, was the sex good?”

My attention jumped from the band in my fingers to Charon’s reflection in the mirror. My eyes rounded into saucers and my cheeks were an instant shade of rose red. “What?”

“Was the sex good?” he repeated.

I gaped. Charon lifted an eyebrow, expecting an answer. I coughed in disbelief and placed my hand on the counter, leaning on my arm in the stagger of disbelief. “I’m not telling you that.”

A viperous grin curled his lips. “So, you did fuck him.”

“I’m not talking to you about this, Charon!” I shoved off the counter and then turned to face him. As I looked down at his legs blocking my way, I huffed and stamped a foot in frustration. Not bothering to ask him to move or to shove him out of the way, I stepped over and headed for my bed.

“I’m disappointed.” It almost sounded like he was telling the truth. "We used to talk about these things all the time. Trade notes, all of that."

I huffed in disgust. I didn't believe that for a second. He was just being nosey. I crossed the room to the bed; I wasn't going to be his source of cheap entertainment. He lazily strolled across the room. He was in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. I imagined he cleaned up my footprints on the floor before he came to chastise me about it. He took his time and settled on the side of my bed next to me. I paid him no mind as I gathered my boots and reached under the pillow to retrieve my dagger. He raised a curious eyebrow at it and watched, intrigued, as I pulled on my boots and slipped the weapon down the side.

“Does Callan know you have that?” He gestured at the hilt sticking up from the side.

“I didn’t know I had to report to him.” I kept my attention on my laces.

Charon snorted. “Oh, please. You don’t report to anyone. I just thought he would find it interesting.”

“Why would he find it interesting?” I looked over. Lounging back, almost laying across my bed, Charon was too smug for his own good. I figured he knew that with the way he turned his attention to picking at a stray string on the blanket.

“Let’s just say,” he plucked at the thread, “Callan enjoys a good fight.”

“And if he knew about my dagger, he would want to fight me?” I scooted back on the bed and leaned on one arm.

Charon smirked. “Are you scared?”

“Of what?” My face scrunched with incredulity.

“Callan,” he said and gave a nod toward the door. “That’s why you have the dagger, isn’t it?”

“It’s not.” I glanced down at my boot, then back to Charon.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not scared of Callan.”

“No, but you’re afraid of losing to him,” Charon said with a coy grin and turned onto his side, propping his head in his hand.

“No, I’m not.”

“I think you are, love,” he purred.

“Why would I be afraid of losing a fight? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve lost fights? That was half of my training in the outpost.” I shrugged.

“I’m sure it was.” He grinned. For a moment, the softness behind his sharp features made him look almost ethereal. “But I don’t think you’re afraid of losing a fight. You’re afraid of losing to him. That could put you in a very precarious position beneath him. That would make you uncomfortable, and you’re scared of that. You're scared of what you remember, and even more of what you don't.”

I stared at Charon as hard as I could as he held my gaze, and yet somehow I felt trapped by him, like a mouse by a snake. He saw right through me, and I was anything but prepared to admit it. He would enjoy it too much. My chest went tight as I sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m not scared of him.”

He snorted and dropped his head, chuckling under his breath. He lifted his eyes with an amused grin once more. “No, you’re not. You’re curious.”

Shit. My face flushed, and I pursed my lips.

“I’m not blind, love.” Charon flipped his hair from his face. “He walked into the room, and you recognized him. I saw it on your face. You knew who he was because there was something about him you remembered. It was very entertaining. You were redder than you are right now. For a moment, I thought you were holding your breath. Or you were angry. I haven’t seen you that flush in a long time. Then it occurred to me why you looked like that, why you looked at Callan like that. You didn’t know who he was any more than you knew me, but you remembered something about him. You might have fucked that little prick, Milo, but you were thinking about Callan the entire time, weren’t you?” His lips turned up in a smug smirk.

My nose wrinkled as I squeezed my eyes shut. I turned over and threw my face into the bed. Charon laughed, and I wanted to scream. There was no use in denying it. We both knew he was right. I didn’t know who I was seeing in those lust-drunk visions, but that didn’t change the facts. I fell back, rolled over, and whimpered into the blankets. There was no point in trying to deny it, Charon would never let me live it down whether he knew he was right or not. It was far too entertaining to torture me, one uncomfortable moment after another. His fingers ran over my hair as he pulled the few loose strands back from my face and tucked them behind my hair as if he'd done it a million times before. He laid himself down, almost curling around me. His watchful gaze flitted over me as I tried to swallow down the extra-large helping of embarrassment. I ran my hands over my face, groaning about it. "Why can't you bother me about anything else?"

“Relax. It’s flattering. Besides,” he said as he carefully pulled the band from my hair, unwound the messy plait, and began re-braiding it, “what’s more important is that you remembered him. That’s a good sign, it means not everything is gone. There’s a chance when you fight him, you’ll remember how much you don’t need that dagger." He slowed, coming to the ends, wrapped the band around, then tossed the new, neater braid over my back. "And I’ll get to enjoy watching you kick his ass.”