The hall was small, its low beams thick with years of smoke and spilled ale. Supper smelled of garlic stew and roasted fowl, the kind of meal that clung to the air and made the wooden tables shine faintly with oil. Chloe, Landon, and I sat at one of them near the back, eating quietly while the other patrons spoke in hushed tones about curfews, doors bolted tight, and the vampires that sometimes stalked past the village edge.
It was the sort of place that made sound seem heavier—each spoon scrape echoing faintly under the beams. Landon looked perfectly at ease, leaning back a little in his chair, his smile catching the glow of the lantern light. He had the kind of face that drew attention without trying—easy, confident, and annoyingly perfect, the sort that made people forget themselves for a moment.
Naturally, the serving girls noticed.
One of them—pretty, young, and far too interested—was so caught up staring at him that she spilled a ladle of stew right onto the counter. The innkeeper's voice cut through the hall like a whip.
"Lina! You mind your hands, girl! You spill again, it's your wages I'll dock, not mine!"
The poor girl flushed deep red, grabbed a cloth, and mumbled an apology. Landon laughed—lightly, good-naturedly—and that only made it worse. The girl's smile, shy and helpless, flickered right back.
Across from me, Chloe stiffened.
She didn't say anything, but I could practically feel the temperature drop beside me. Her jaw tensed, her spoon froze mid-air, and her eyes flicked toward the serving girl with the kind of restrained fury that would've scared a lesser woman.
I hid my grin behind my cup.
Of course Chloe was irritated. She'd been fluttering around Landon since the day we met him—our fellow slayer from the Guild, the golden, wheat-blonde swordsman every woman in the region seemed eager to faint over. What she didn't realize was that men like Landon didn't need to chase admiration; they bathed in it. It followed them everywhere, thick as perfume.
Let him have his audience.
The less he noticed me, the better.
Still, I couldn't help watching how easily he handled attention—how that laugh of his disarmed even the stern innkeeper. Confidence rolled off him in waves, polished, effortless. And yet, when he turned to us again, he acted as if nothing had happened.
"So," he said, breaking a piece of bread, "who's taking watch tonight?"
"The last shift was mine," I said. "Chloe and I switched at dawn."
"I'll do it," Chloe blurted before he could open his mouth.
Her tone was a little too quick, too eager. I didn't miss the way her eyes darted to Landon, waiting for him to say something—maybe offer to keep her company under the stars, the way heroes do in stories.
He just nodded pleasantly. "Good of you. I was going to, but if you're volunteering, all the better."
The look on Chloe's face was priceless.
For a heartbeat, she sat frozen—her smile faltering, her hand tightening on her cup. I almost felt bad for her. Almost.
She muttered something polite, but her voice was tight. "Right. Well then. I'll be outside once everyone's asleep."
Landon raised his drink. "May your eyes stay sharp."
I nearly snorted into my stew.
When we finished, the hall was thinning out. The villagers were in a hurry to shut themselves away before full dark. Outside, the last streaks of light melted behind the hills, and the sound of bolts and bars locking echoed faintly across the street.
The vampires came here to feed on a few unlucky souls, or so they said. I hadn't seen one yet, but the fear of them was enough to turn every sunset into a warning.
We left the hall, climbed the narrow stairs to our rented room, and waited in the dark until the voices below faded. Through the window, the streets lay silent—doors shut, windows covered, not a candle burning anywhere.
Chloe strapped on her daggers. "I'll take the roof, like you did last night."
"Fine by me," I said.
Her eyes flicked to Landon. "You'll stay with her then?"
He smiled faintly. "We'll manage."
I could practically hear her teeth grind.
She climbed out through the small window, her boots making no sound on the sill. Before she slipped away, she turned back to me, her face half-shadowed, and gave me that warning look only another woman could understand. The one that said Don't you dare.
I smiled sweetly and waved.
She shut the window without a word.
Silence filled the room again, thick and warm. The single lantern on the bedside table threw long, quiet shadows across the walls. Landon lay back on his bed, arms behind his head, a grin tugging at his lips.
"She's… intense," he said.
"She's devoted," I replied, sitting cross-legged on my bed. "To you, mostly."
He laughed softly. "To me? Don't start."
"Please. Every woman in this place looks at you like you hung the moon."
"That's hardly my fault."
I rolled my eyes. "No, just your face's fault."
He turned toward me then, resting on one elbow. The movement was casual, practiced—the sort that had probably worked on countless tavern girls. "And you? You seem immune."
"I'm not a tavern girl."
"Didn't say you were."
He said it quietly, like a challenge. His gaze lingered longer than I liked, studying me the way a swordsman studies an opponent's stance. I could feel the weight of it, testing, patient.
"Whatever charm works on others," I said, "it doesn't work on me."
"I'll take that as a challenge."
I snorted. "You can take it however you want, Landon."
For a while, we sat like that, the silence between us thick but oddly charged. Outside, a dog barked once and fell quiet. Somewhere far off, a door creaked, then shut.
He tried again, gentler this time—asking whether I missed the Academy, if I ever thought about the others we'd trained with, whether I believed the Guild would ever post us somewhere that didn't smell like fear and garlic. The questions were harmless, but I could hear the rhythm in them: the practiced warmth, the careful pauses. He was trying to charm me again, testing my patience.
I gave short answers.
After a while, his smile dimmed. "You really don't like me much, do you?"
"I don't dislike you," I said. "I just know your type."
He raised a brow. "My type?"
"The kind that believes every woman's a story waiting for you to write your name in it."
He laughed again, but there was a flicker of something else behind it—surprise, maybe. "That's sharper than I expected."
"Get used to it."
I stood, stretching my arms, pretending not to notice the way his eyes followed me. "I'm sleeping now," I said. "If you're that desperate for conversation, the window's right there. Go talk to Chloe."
He sat up a little. "Chloe isn't—"
"Your girl?" I finished for him. "She thinks she is."
"She's not."
"Tell her that."
He sighed, raking a hand through his perfect, unfair hair. "Ava, there's nothing between us. I promise you that."
I gave him a look. "You men love that word. Promise. Means nothing when your mouth's that pretty."
His grin came back, slow and dangerous. "You think my mouth's pretty?"
"Good night, Landon."
I blew out the lantern and turned away.
He laughed quietly, the sound soft enough to almost be kind. Then he shifted under the blanket, the creak of the bed settling into silence.
I closed my eyes, smiling to myself in the dark. Not because I liked him. Gods, no. But because I'd won. For tonight, at least.
He could keep his charm.
I slept soundly knowing I'd given him nothing—and frustrated every trick that had ever worked on every other girl before me.
Let Chloe dream of him all she wanted. Let the serving girls swoon.
Me? I had better things to conquer than a handsome face.
And so the night fell still, and I drifted into sleep while the world outside held its breath—waiting for whatever darkness hunted next.