The tavern was silent now. The last echo of Janzo's footsteps had faded, and outside, the Outpost slumbered under a canopy of cold stars and shifting clouds. Talon hadn't moved from where she'd collapsed, cheek resting against the rough wood of the table, her hood half-fallen, exposing strands of her dark hair. Her breathing was steady, but shallow. The pain from the wound still echoed beneath her skin, though she masked it with every breath.
Above, in the shadowed rafters, Tony had remained awake longer than he meant to. Watching. Studying. Trying to piece together who ·or what ·she was.
But as the hour dragged deep into the belly of night, he gave up, pulling his thin blanket tighter and slipping into restless sleep. The tavern was locked tight now. All windows bolted. Doors sealed.
Janzo lingered a while longer.
He stood just outside the kitchen arch, drying his hands on an old cloth, eyes quietly fixed on the stranger passed out at his table. There was something about her that didn't sit like the others. It wasn't just the blade. Or the eyes. It was… the quiet weight she carried. The invisible war she seemed to be fighting even while asleep.
He sighed.
Moments later, he shuffled toward her and gently cleared his throat.
"Ahem·Miss… Talon, is it? I was, erm… I was wondering if I could offer you a place to sleep. You know, a proper one. Bed. Walls. Less·wooden table."
Talon didn't move at first. Then, she stirred.
Her eyes flicked open, weary and guarded. "I'm fine here," she muttered, adjusting her cloak around herself like armor.
Janzo hesitated, disappointment flashing across his face. He gave a small nod, turned, and began to retreat toward the hallway.
Behind him, a tired voice called out·half-yawn, half-honesty.
"Actually… I'm not fine."
Janzo stopped. Turned slowly. A flicker of surprise danced across his face.
She stood now, moving stiffly, the pain in her side sharp with every breath. Still, she followed him.
He led her to his modest quarters ·one small bed, cluttered shelves, and parchment scattered with half-brewed formulas and notes. Without a word, he gestured toward the bed.
Talon hesitated. Then sank onto the mattress with a low, involuntary sigh.
Janzo, ever the gentleman, grabbed a pillow and blanket and made for the only spare room ·the guest room. Or what once was.
It took him thirty minutes to clear out cobwebs and scrape away the thick layer of dust. Old barrels, rusted nails, and scrolls from a half-finished study had to be pushed aside. The air reeked of time and spilled ale.
Still, he made it work. And when he finally lay down, sleep claimed him instantly.
Morning crept slowly into the Outpost.
Light spilled through the cracks of the tavern windows. Talon stirred in the unfamiliar bed, her muscles aching from both sleep and yesterday's fight. She winced as she sat up·her arm flaring with fresh pain. Something was wrong. The skin beneath the bandage throbbed… and it was damp.
Blood. Dark. Almost… black.
She needed help.
Pushing herself upright, arm cradled tightly against her ribs, she made her way down the narrow hall toward Janzo's lab.
Inside, Janzo was already awake, scribbling into a book and muttering about molecular structures and decay compounds. He was in his element, a steaming cup of tea forgotten beside him.
The sound of footsteps made him pause.
He looked up·then froze.
Talon stood in the doorway, pale and barely standing. Her hand was pressed tightly to her side, fingers soaked in thick black blood that pulsed slowly through the wrappings.
"Oh gods," Janzo breathed, rushing over. "You didn't say it was infected·that's not normal bleeding. That's… something else."
She didn't answer. Only grit her teeth as he led her to the treatment table.
"You're incredibly stubborn, you know that?" he said, rummaging through drawers. "You should've said something sooner. This isn't just a cut·it's tainted. Maybe poisoned. Possibly…"
He stopped talking when she groaned.
"Right. Less talking. More healing."
He pulled out a small glass vial and uncorked it. A strong herbal scent filled the room.
"This is Lypkin salt. Ancient stuff. Rare. Not exactly recommended for daily use… but I think you'll find it helpful."
He applied it with gentle precision. The wound hissed and smoked slightly, and Talon flinched. But almost instantly, the color in her face began to return. Her breathing slowed.
"There," Janzo said, tying fresh bandages. "You'll feel better soon. But you need rest. Real rest."
He stepped back, wiping his hands on a cloth. "And not on tavern tables, alright?"
Talon looked at him with tired eyes. The pain was dull now. Bearable.
"…Thanks, Janzo," she murmured.
"Anytime," he replied, smiling faintly as he backed toward the door.
And somewhere inside her, for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel entirely alone.