The morning draped the frontier in gray mist, its tendrils curling around the tavern's weathered walls, softening the world beyond.
Lira stood at the bottom of the stairs, her cloak fastened high at the throat, its dark wool blending with the dawn's haze.
Her travel pack hung over one shoulder, light but sturdy, her twin daggers sheathed at her back, their hilts gleaming faintly.
Her boots, freshly oiled, shone with a rogue's readiness, her silver hair braided tight against the wind's tug.
She was every inch the infiltrator—lean, sharp, untamed—but her emerald eyes betrayed her, drifting toward the bar with a quiet pull.
Kio stood behind the counter, polishing a small leather case with a reverence that drew her like a lodestone.
His hands moved with steady care, the cloth gliding over the case's surface, his dark eyes focused but aware of her presence.
The tavern hummed with morning stillness, the hearth's embers casting a faint glow, the air rich with woodsmoke and polished oak.
He closed the case gently, then beckoned her with two fingers, his gesture soft but commanding.
Lira approached, her steps silent, her breath catching faintly as she stopped before him.
Kio slid the case toward her.
"For your hip pouch," he said, his voice low, steady.
She opened it, her fingers brushing the worn leather. Inside, nestled on soft black velvet, lay two bells—small enough to hide in a palm, delicately forged, nearly weightless.
Their matte silver surfaces bore faint engravings, not ornamental but functional, etched with a pattern that seemed to pulse under her gaze.
They weren't mere trinkets; they carried a purpose, crafted with care.
"If they ever ring," Kio said quietly, "I'll come."
Lira's eyes snapped up, sharp with defiance.
"I don't need saving," she said, her snark a reflex, her voice edged with pride.
"They're not for saving," he replied, his gaze unyielding, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"They're for when you want me."
Lira stared at him, her lips parting, words failing her.
Her fingers closed around one bell, lifting it, its warmth seeping into her palm, a subtle heat that wasn't from her touch alone.
"How do they work?" she asked, her voice softer, almost reverent.
"They'll know when it's not about danger," Kio said, his tone heavy with meaning. "When it's about need."
Lira didn't thank him. Instead, she leaned forward, her cloak brushing the bar, and pressed her lips to his—soft, dry, lingering, a kiss that spoke of trust, not hunger.
Her breath mingled with his, her hand steadying itself on the counter, the bell's warmth a quiet pulse against her thigh.
When she pulled back, her voice was smaller, raw. "I'll be back."
"I know," Kio said, his eyes warm, his smile faint but sure.
She tucked the bells into her hip pouch, the leather closing over them with a soft snap.
Turning, she walked to the door, her braid swaying, her cloak catching the mist as she stepped toward the threshold.
Just before the door closed behind her, she paused, glancing over her shoulder.
"You won't tell Rin, will you?" she asked, her smirk faint, a spark of her snark returning.
Kio's smile deepened, a quiet promise. "Not unless you want me to."
Lira vanished into the mist, her silhouette fading into the gray, the door clicking shut behind her.
The tavern fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the hearth.
Somewhere beneath her cloak, the bells rested against her thigh, their warmth a subtle echo of the bond she carried into the world beyond.