Jack rushed to her side, collapsing onto his knees as he gathered her into his arms. Her body was still, her skin hot to his touch, and for a horrifying moment, he thought he had lost her. His trembling fingers brushed the tangled strands of hair from her face, revealing her pale features, serene but hauntingly fragile.

  “Kleo,” he whispered, his voice breaking. His hands cradled her head, his thumb brushing against her cheek. The chaos around him faded into the background—the demon’s charred remains, the flickering light of the room. None of it mattered. She mattered. That was all.

  Then, a faint stir. Her chest rose in a shallow breath, and her lashes fluttered open. Her gaze found his, her lips curving into a faint, tired smile. She raised a hand to his face, her touch warm against his clammy skin. That simple gesture, so gentle and deliberate, sent a wave of emotion crashing over him, more profound than any power he’d felt during the fight.

  “Jack,” she whispered, her voice soft and frail.

  Tears welled in his eyes, spilling freely as he laughed, his relief pouring out in waves. He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. Jack held her close, tears falling onto her skin as he whispered, “Kleo—We need to talk.”

  Kleo let out a soft, breathy laugh, and the sound was music to his ears, a balm for his frayed soul.

  Morghadus was ended, and they had done it together. They were a team, and Jack knew that whatever came next, they would face it together. He knew they always would.

  After a few minutes, Kleo was feeling steadier, and Jack helped her to her feet. Her robe and clothes were torn to shreds, held in place by threads. With a grimace, she stepped out of the robe, naked and battered.

  Jack’s eyes scanned her for serious injuries. Beyond the bruises blooming along her right side, the only other injury was her left leg, swollen above the knee—a souvenir from the demon’s strike.

  “How do I look?” she asked, bracing for the worst.

  Jack tilted his head, pretending to appraise her like a painting. “Hmm. Not great…but I’d still do you.”

  She punched him hard in the arm.

  “Owww!” Jack yelped, clutching his arm in mock agony. “That’s going to leave a mark.”

  He sighed. “You’re alive; that’s all that matters— but you need to put something on.”

  Here,” he said, untying his robe, “take mine.”

  Kleo recoiled in mock horror. “Uh, no thanks.”

  Jack laughed and began bouncing excitedly as if a dam had broken.

  “Did you see me?!”

  He mimed throwing the sphere of energy, adding exaggerated sound effects.

  “I just let it all flow, and then—whoosh! A massive ball of blinding light!” He flung his arms wide, imitating an explosion. “Aaaaahhh! And everything went…” He paused, searching for the right word. “…white! Everything was so white!”

  Kleo giggled, charmed by his enthusiasm.

  “I saw you vomit,” she teased. “You’re still wearing most of it.”

  She wrinkled her nose and grimaced.

  Jack glanced down at his ruined clothes, sticky and stained beyond saving.

  He sighed. “Yeah, okay…not my finest moment.”

  “You did good, Jack,” she said. Her expression softened, and she leaned in as if to kiss his cheek but stopped short, her nose wrinkling again.

  “But first, we really need to find you a bath.”

  Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “You were amazing too. I don’t even know where to start. Staring down a demon? That’s badass.”

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  “Thanks. His breath, though--nasty.” She leaned closer, feigning concern. “Do I smell like him?”

  Jack leaned in, sniffing hesitantly. He immediately recoiled, covering his face. Good gods.

  He shook his head emphatically. “Not at all.”

  They laughed, their tension easing as they held each other’s gaze. Then, hand in hand, they navigated the wreckage, stepping over the debris and carnage.

  Their eyes fell on the prone forms of Bart and Tholomew, lying face-down amid the chaos. Jack crouched, rolling Bart onto his back.

  Bart groaned, his eyelids fluttering open.

  Turning to Tholomew, Jack repeated the process, earning a similar groggy response. Both brothers were alive, their breathing shallow but steady.

  Bart sat up, his bleary eyes landing on Kleo. She stood naked amid the destruction, and Jack immediately stepped in front of her, doing his best to shield her from Bart’s lingering gaze.

  “What happened?” Bart asked, his voice rough with exhaustion. His eyes flicked to Jack for answers but kept darting around him toward Kleo.

  Rising onto her tiptoes, Kleo peeked over Jack’s shoulder, her tone casual.

  “We summoned a demon,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “It wasn’t thrilled about being here, so we put it down.”

  Bart’s jaw slackened as his gaze shifted to the demon’s charred remains. “Is…is that what smells so bad?” Then, squinting at Jack, he added, “And what’s all over you?”

  Jack looked down at himself and, thinking quickly, replied, “Oh, just a bit of demon… smega. Comes with the territory.” He puffed out his chest, shooting Kleo a pointed look that dared her to contradict him.

  Bart raised an eyebrow. “Looks more like lamb stew.”

  Jack deflated. “Well…there’s some of that too.” He half-heartedly attempted to brush off the larger chunks clinging to his tunic.

  Bart’s gaze swept the room again, pausing at the carnage before returning to Jack.

  “Where’s Antonio?”

  Jack hesitated, his expression darkening as he glanced at the bloodied remnants scattered across the floor.

  “Oh,” Bart whispered, his tone heavy with understanding. He lowered his head, muttering a quiet prayer.

  “May he rest in peace,” Tholomew added, his voice solemn as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He gestured toward Kleo.

  “Let me see if I can find something more appropriate for Miss Kleo to wear. I’m sure we’ve got something in storage.”

  He shuffled off, wincing with each step.

  Bart, his gaze fixed on Antonio’s remains, muttered under his breath, “More like pieces.”

  Jack and Kleo exchanged a glance, their expressions deadpan.

  “Too soon?” Bart asked, hesitating.

  In unison, Jack and Kleo replied, “Too soon.”

  They all sat in the cottage, the brothers occupying the worn chairs in the front room. Jack and Kleo had changed into their spare shirts and pants, though their limited wardrobe was a growing concern. They’d packed two clean robes of the Cult of Morghadus in their bags, knowing they might need them in the future. Despite scrubbing themselves thoroughly, a faint lingering stench of battle clung to them, reminding them of the night’s events.

  “What are we going to do with that stinking corpse?” Bart asked, wrinkling his nose.

  Jack and Tholomew exchanged a glance. “Goat pit,” they said in unison.

  Bart grinned. “Works for me.”

  Jack leaned back, stretching his legs.

  “So, what’s the plan? Will you guys keep the Cult of Morghadus alive or rebrand into something less… demonic?”

  Tholomew folded his arms, considering. “We’re done with demons. But honestly? We might have to move on. We can care for the animals and the place for now, but we won’t last long without income.”

  Bart nodded. “Yeah, it’s a shame. But hey—goat’s back on the menu.” His grin returned; this time, it was infectious as the room filled with laughter. Even Kleo, still bruised and aching, couldn’t help but smile.

  “But seriously,” Bart continued, “Thol’s right. We’re too far from major trade routes to make a living selling goods, and I’m not much help with the physical stuff. The only things I’m good at are cooking and… sometimes cleaning.”

  Kleo leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. “You’re an excellent cook, Bart. I bet people would come here just for your food.”

  Bart’s face lit up. “Thanks. Hearing that makes me happy. Cooking’s what I live for, you know?”

  Tholomew’s expression darkened, and he stared down at his hands. “Antonio kept this place running, for better or worse. Goddess, protect him.”

  They all nodded solemnly, though Bart broke the silence with a rueful chuckle. “He was a bit of a prat, though.”

  Tholomew smirked. “Yeah. I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, but I don’t like lying either.”

  Jack stretched his arms behind his head.

  “We’re not going to figure it all out tonight. Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow while we clean up?”

  “Sounds good,” Tholomew said. “But… pardon the request. We were hoping we could sleep here tonight. These chairs are fine—the thought of going back there…” He gestured toward the abbey, his voice trailing off.

  Kleo nodded. “Totally get it. We’ve got extra blankets. Jack will bring them out.”

  Jack shot her a tired look but got up, fetching the blankets and handing them to the brothers. “Night, guys.”

  “Good night,” Bart and Tholomew chorused, settling into their chairs.

  Jack returned to the back room, where Kleo was already in bed, her head resting on the pillow. Her bruised side was visible in the dim light, and Jack winced, knowing she’d be sore for days.

  “Kleo,” he said, sliding under the covers. “I was serious earlier when I said we needed to talk. Today was… batshit insane. Are there going to be a lot more days like this?”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion.

  Jack stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. “Okay. Uh… thanks for clarifying.”

  Her only response was a soft snore. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, as always, would be another adventure.