The interior of the Three-Crowns Waystation felt like a living, breathing creature, fueled by the hum of a hundred different lives crossing paths for a single hour of respite. Mina, the cinnamon-furred Felisian, was a whirlwind of motion and sound, her tail lashing with an infectious energy that seemed to push back the lingering gloom of the road.

  "You simply must find us when you reach the Capital, Eren!" Mina chirped, her emerald eyes darting between us as she leaned over the wooden table. "I work at a place called The Claw. It’s not just some dusty corner shop; it’s a sanctuary. We sell the finest silks, enchanted tunics, and a lot of... well, cool stuff." She gave a slow, deliberate wink at the word "cool," her whiskers twitching with a secret knowledge. "The kind of things that a girl in a statuesque body like yours, Taylor, would find very... accommodating."

  I gave a small, smoky chuckle, my amber eyes following the movement of her ears. The idea of a shop dedicated to "cool" things in a city of white marble sounded like exactly the kind of distraction we needed. "We’ll look for it, Mina. I think we’re all due for a change of pace."

  Lunch arrived in a flurry of steam and sweetness. A stack of thick, fluffy pancakes dripping with dark maple syrup and topped with a dollop of churned butter was placed in the center of our booth. The smell was intoxicating, sweet, warm, and utterly normal. We dug in, the tension of the goblin attack slowly dissolving into the sticky bliss of the meal.

  While the others focused on the food, I found myself drifting, my gaze wandering to the large glass window that overlooked the sprawling wagon park outside. The afternoon sun was high, glinting off the polished brass of merchant caravans and the weathered wood of peasant carts.

  Then, I saw it.

  A sleek, black carriage, unmarked and windowless, was parked near the edge of the forest line, distanced from the more boisterous merchant wagons. The door was slightly ajar, and I watched as a figure inside struggled to pull it shut. It was a fleeting image, but my eyes, sharpened by the focus of a hunter, caught a specific detail. A limb reached for the interior handle, not a hand, but a bandaged, blunt stub.

  The figure fumbled, the door swinging back open before finally catching with a heavy, metallic thud.

  My heart gave a cold, rhythmic thrum against my ribs. Earl Thaddeus? I couldn't be sure, but the memory of the massacre at the mansion and the missing captive from Thorne’s cage flashed in my mind like a warning light. If the Earl was on the Appia road, he wasn't running away; he was heading exactly where we were going.

  "Alan?" I whispered, turning back to the table.

  But Alan was already gone. He had finished his portion with clinical speed and slipped out the side door. I watched him through the window, moving with a quiet, methodical gait toward the rows of merchant wagons. He wasn't looking for trouble; he was looking for a specific scent. He moved from wagon to wagon, pausing to speak with anyone who looked like a traveling apothecary or a dealer in rare botanical specimens. His need for the "miracle herbs" was becoming a silent, driving equation in his mind.

  I turned my attention back to the booth, where Barnaby was happily devouring a sausage, his whimsy fully restored.

  "Barnaby," I said, leaning back and letting the statuesque lines of my body settle into the leather bench. "I have to ask. Why the cheese? Of all the things to trade in a war zone, weapons, grain, gold, you always chose wheels of fermented milk. Why do you like transporting it so much?"

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Barnaby stopped mid-chew, his expression softening into something uncharacteristically sheepish. He put his fork down and sighed, a cloud of blue pipe smoke lingering around his head.

  "You want the truth, Taylor? When I was an orphan... back in that grey place I told you about... I was so hungry I’d forget my own name. I used to go around the back alleys of the bakeries and the noble houses, finding mousetraps. I’d steal the cheese right out of the claws. It was the only thing that tasted like luxury to a kid with nothing. I just... I really like cheese. I think it’s the greatest commodity in the world. It’s life, concentrated and aged. People will always be hungry for it."

  We all nodded in unison, a silent, respectful acknowledgement of the simple trauma that fueled his greed. It made him human. It made him one of us.

  Mina stood up a few minutes later, her employers, a pair of stout, well-dressed merchants, calling for her from the hitching posts. She gave Eren one last, bone-crushing hug and waved to the rest of us, her green tunic a bright flash of color as she skipped toward a gilded carriage. "See you at The Claw!" she shouted, her tail waving a final goodbye.

  We watched them leave, the dust from their wheels settling into the cobbles. The mood in our booth shifted, becoming lighter, more intimate. Joshua was in a noticeably better mood; the repair of his shield and the warmth of the meal had brought the light back to his golden-brown eyes. He sat opposite me, his massive shoulders relaxed, his hands resting on the table.

  I felt a sudden, playful surge of confidence. I was becoming more comfortable in this body, this statuesque, latex-skinned vessel that seemed to command the space around it. I shifted my position under the table, my long, black-clad legs stretching out.

  I found his shin with the toe of my tactical boot. I didn't stop there. I traced the line of his leg upward, the friction of the material a slow, sensual tease. Joshua’s breath hitched. I watched his face, the way his eyes widened, the way his jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his "Bastion" composure. A small, suppressed smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, his cheeks turning a delicious shade of pink. He looked so cute when he was flustered, a giant of a man reduced to a stuttering heartbeat by a simple touch.

  "Hey ho, Tay-Tay," Eren’s voice cut through my focus, dripping with a mischievous, "whisker-witch" glee. "Where did you learn all those moves? I certainly didn't teach you that in the first week."

  I looked at her, my amber eyes flashing with a challenge. "Maybe I'm a fast learner, Eren."

  Eren didn't reply with words. Instead, she leaned back, her cat ears swiveling with a wicked intent. I felt it a second later, a strange, localized pressure against my chest. Her telekinetic hands, invisible to everyone else in the crowded hall, had found their mark.

  I gasped, my back arching instinctively as the invisible fingers began a rough, rhythmic massage against the soft, sensitive weight of my breasts. I could feel the latex of my suit dimple and move under the pressure, the physics manifesting in a sensory overload that made my toes curl in my boots.

  "Eren, stop," I hissed, my voice dropping into a jagged, breathless rasp as I tried to swipe at the empty air. But they were telekinetic; there was nothing to grab.

  I struggled to keep my moans quiet, the public nature of the dining hall making the sensation a thousand times more intense. I was a statuesque goddess being played like an instrument by a girl with a smirk and a tail. I looked at Joshua, who was watching me with a mix of confusion and mounting heat, clearly realizing that the "teasing" had just escalated into something he couldn't see.

  "I surrender!" I finally gasped, leaning forward and resting my forehead on the cool wood of the table. "I surrender, Eren! Stop it!"

  Eren retracted the pressure, her tail flicking with a smug, triumphant rhythm. "Eh, you started it with Joshua. I was just helping you 'calibrate' your new feelings."

  I sat back up, my face flushed a deep, genuine crimson, my breath coming in short, erratic bursts. I looked at my friends, at the grinning Eren, the flustered Joshua, and even the returning Alan, who was watching us with a faint, curious tilt of his head.

  I felt a wave of genuine, friendship-fueled laughter bubble up in my chest. I was getting more comfy with this body, the moans, the blushes, the weight of it all. Its not that much of a cage anymore.

  "You're all terrible," I said, a wide, genuine smile breaking across my face.