The attendants led them through a narrow corridor of velvet and faint perfume until they reached a spare chamber tucked quietly off the main hall. Calling it a room felt generous; it was more like a perfumed observation cell, lush and intimate, designed for guests but also for watching them unravel. The walls were draped in velvet so thick it seemed to drink sound rather than echo it. The air shimmered faintly with murmured runes, low enough not to see directly but strong enough that the silence felt padded and warm. A wide divan dominated the center, its surface deep enough to swallow a person whole. The cushions sank beneath Nyxia's weight when she lowered herself, creaking softly as if they carried a thousand whispered memories. A basin of fragrant steam rested in the corner, lavender blending with metallic mineral, the air warm enough to kiss the skin. There were no windows, no clocks, only a lantern that pulsed in slow rhythm with the artificial heartbeat of the city beyond. The door clicked closed behind them, sealing the world away. Nyxia crossed her arms over her knees, trembling with the exhausted release that came after too many days clenched tight. Her robe clung damply to her ribs, the jut of her collarbone painted in low lantern glow, and her armor lay discarded across the floor, streaked with dried blood and warped where acid had eaten the plates. Perseus stood behind her for a moment, quietly watching her shoulders rise and fall, seeing the ache she refused to name.
The shower chamber waited down a short hall behind a sliding door carved with faded runes. Steam curled beneath it, shimmering in candlelight. Inside, Perseus found a cavernous stone-carved space warmed by scented lavender oil and volcanic salts. Water cascaded from brass nozzles overhead, gathering in a shallow glowing basin that cast light upward along the walls. Nyxia followed him in silence, already untying her robe with trembling hands. Perseus tested the water and murmured that it was hot, and Nyxia let the robe fall from her shoulders and stepped beneath the stream without waiting. Her breath caught as the heat washed over her, her pale hair flattening down her back, her bruises darkening against the glow. She didn't turn away or hide; she simply stood there, letting the water move over her like an unraveling she had finally allowed. Perseus swallowed, undressing with careful, unhurried movements—not shy, not bold, simply present—and when he stepped beneath the cascade beside her, the heat stole his breath. They stood shoulder to shoulder, just breathing, while the water curled around their collarbones and over every bruise left by the vines. Nyxia wrapped her arms loosely around herself, leaning into the warmth until her breath softened.
He reached for the dark sandalwood soap, lathering it slowly between his palms, choosing not to touch her until she nodded. When she did, he asked her to turn, and she turned slow and trusting. He washed her back first—gentle, careful, respectful—his hands moving like a healer's, never lingering where she stiffened, easing where her breath caught. Soap slid down her skin in quiet rivers, carrying the battlefield away in thin trails that spiraled toward the drain. She shivered once, not from cold. When he reached her arms, she lifted her head and met his eyes through the blur of steam, and she whispered that he was staring. He answered too quickly, almost stumbling, telling her she was beautiful. She blinked at him, stunned, water sliding down her throat like melted silver, and something fragile warmed beneath her breastbone. He leaned closer, his breath touching her lips, their foreheads brushing, a kiss hovering in the narrow space between almost and real. Nyxia stepped back first, and though it hurt him, he didn't show it. She said softly that they should finish cleaning up, and he nodded, the soreness in his chest refusing to fade. They finished in companionable quiet, the falling water doing most of the speaking.
When they returned to the room, the quiet felt softer, almost tender, shaped by something new between them. Perseus leaned over the basin, the water rippling beneath his fingertips as his reflection wavered—tired eyes and strong jaw blurred by movement. Nyxia lowered herself onto the divan while Loque curled protectively around her ankles, his spectral tail brushing her skin like a vow. His glow dimmed but stayed steady, the aftershock of battle humming beneath each breath. No one spoke at first; only the lantern pulsed slowly, and the soft hiss of vents filled the room with muted warmth. The city outside existed only faintly now, reduced to distant hums and mechanical sighs.
Nyxia finally broke the silence by asking if Boo would keep her word. Perseus, still facing the basin, said she would, though they would regret owing her. Nyxia let out a small bitter laugh and said favors from Boo always came with knives disguised as kindness. He turned toward her then, looking fully, the lines of his face deepened by worry and something older than exhaustion. He told her she did well. She replied that she had done nothing and that Boo had seen straight through her. Perseus stepped closer and told her she wasn't broken. She lifted her head slowly, eyes shining with a vulnerability she didn't hide fast enough, and she whispered that Ves had once been someone kind, someone loving, someone whole. He answered gently that the person she loved was gone. Nyxia closed her eyes, grief tightening her throat, and the flask he handed her helped warm the cold places inside her.
He sat beside her—not too close, but close enough she could feel his heat—and he spoke softly about Boo again, and she teased him about almost punching the goblin. He admitted he had considered it. She reminded him how Boo had touched his face and how he had lost his footing, and his ears flushed crimson, which made her laugh—truly laugh, weak but real. The silence that followed felt easier. Perseus said he hated seeing her in the vines, that he felt he had failed her again, but Nyxia rested her temple lightly against his shoulder and told him he hadn't failed her, that he had gotten her out, and that this was what counted. He wanted to say more but let the moment hold instead. She asked if he thought Ves was changing, and he said yes—and no—and that whatever remained was no longer the woman she had loved. The weight of it drew the room quieter.
She grew tired then, not just physically but entirely. Perseus draped a blanket around her shoulders with careful hands while Loque curled tighter around her legs, his head settling over her knee. Perseus sat beside them, hammer across his thighs, watching the door with the vigilance of a man who had lost too much to risk losing more. Nyxia's eyes finally closed, her breath settling into something soft. Perseus kept watch beside her until sleep eventually claimed him as well.