The next morning …

  Light filtered through the ripple-glass windows in slow, golden stripes. The room was cool—cooler than it should’ve been—and for a moment Ethan couldn’t remember why. Then he remembered the air stones: blue and yellow, faintly pulsing in the corner like a heartbeat. Simple magic, steady and practical. He hadn’t realized how much he missed temperature control until he had it again.

  Moose was already awake, stationed near the window like always. Buster sprawled on his back with all four legs in the air, snoring. Pixie had migrated during the night and now lay draped across Buster’s chest like a tiny, smug blanket. Amelia was curled at the foot of the bed, silver fur catching the light. Lyra’s bedroll was neatly folded. She was up, seated near the windowsill, quietly adjusting her ribbon.

  Ethan sat up, stretched once, and took a long breath. It smelled like clean stone, sleep-warm fur, and whatever soft herbal soap Mara used on the linens. His eyes caught the bathroom door.

  A grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. “I’m taking a shower,” he said to no one in particular.

  Buster cracked an eye. “Don’t use all the hot water. We just got here,” he said through the bond.

  “Dogs don’t shower,” Ethan said.

  “You don’t know our lives,” Pixie replied through the bond without moving.

  He grabbed clean clothes from the storage bag, tossed them on the bed, and ducked into the bathroom.

  It was just as he remembered it—small, clean, practical. The water runes flared to life the moment he brushed the edge of the copper dial, the air filling with rising steam. He stepped under the spray and let the heat pour over him.

  Ethan stood there longer than he meant to, palms flat against the tile. The heat cut through everything. Real, focused heat—like a luxury he’d forgotten how to want. In this world, he’d already started bracing for cold streams and tin basins. But this—steam, pressure, clean stone—it made the world feel manageable.

  When he stepped out, he felt lighter. Clean. Reset. Then he realized he’d left his clothes on the bed.

  “…Seriously?” he muttered to himself, mentally slapping his forehead.

  He wrapped the towel around his waist, cracked the bathroom door, and peeked out. Most of the Pack was still asleep or dozing. Lyra was back at the window. He stepped out quickly and made for the bed.

  It wasn’t a full thought—just a flash of reaction, louder than she meant to send it. A hit of quiet surprise. A little too focused. He didn’t look at her, just grabbed his clothes. Then it came again through the bond: “Strong shoulders. Abs now. When did that happen?” She hadn’t said it, but it slipped through before she could pull it back. Ethan caught it and pretended he hadn’t.

  He ducked back into the bathroom and got dressed faster than he ever had in his life. When he stepped out again, Lyra was re-braiding her hair. Her expression was calm, ears forward, tail still. Their eyes met for a second.

  Buster groaned from the floor. “You’re both ridiculous,” he said through the bond.

  “Shut up, Buster,” Ethan and Lyra said together—then froze, mildly horrified at their own timing.

  Pixie’s head popped up. “Are we fighting or flirting? I can’t tell the difference sometimes,” she said through the bond.

  Ethan rubbed the towel over his hair one more time. He felt human again—mostly. The shower had taken the road dust, the grime, the fatigue that had lived under his skin since the last campfire. His shirt was clean. His boots were dry. Everything about him felt reset… except his mouth.

  His teeth felt fuzzy. That annoying not-quite-clean texture that never went away until you brushed. He glanced toward the bathroom, frowning. “I didn’t see a toothbrush,” he said aloud.

  Lyra turned from the window. “A what?”

  “A toothbrush,” Ethan said. “Handle, bristles, paste. You scrub your teeth with it.”

  Her ears tipped forward. “You scrape your teeth? Why?”

  “To get them clean,” he said, already regretting how it sounded. “So they don’t feel… weird.”

  She blinked. “You clean them by scraping?”

  He sighed. “Show me what you use.”

  Lyra walked into the bathroom and pointed to a shelf near the basin. “That.”

  Ethan leaned closer. A small bottle sat among a row of neatly arranged vials—pale blue liquid, faintly glowing. The label read Oral Purity Elixir.

  “That’s mouthwash,” he said, relieved and curious all at once. “How’s it work?”

  “You take a sip,” she said. “Swish. Don’t swallow.”

  He turned it in his hand. The instructions were etched right into the glass. “Got it.” He took a cautious sip and swished.

  Cold fizz hit instantly, sharp enough to make his eyes water. Tiny bubbles popped across his tongue. He spat into the basin. The drain runes flared white, and the residue vanished with a soft hiss.

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. Smooth. No grit, no film. “That’s cheating,” he muttered.

  Pixie’s head popped up. “Cheating at what?” she asked through the bond.

  “Teeth,” Ethan said. “Magic mouthwash.”

  Pixie trotted closer, tail wagging. “Does it taste like cookies?”

  “No,” Ethan said, already holding the bottle out of her reach. “Minty. And no swallowing.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Buster cracked an eye from the floor. “Then what’s the point?” he asked through the bond.

  Ethan sighed. “Clean teeth. You know what—fine. Line up.”

  Pixie bounced in place. “I volunteer!”

  “It’s not a contest,” Ethan warned, but she was already trotting after him toward the bathroom. He grabbed two wash bowls from the counter and set them side by side on the floor beside the door.

  “One’s clean,” he said. “You’ll lap from that one. The other’s for spitting. No cross-contamination.”

  Pixie tilted her head. “Cross what?”

  “Just use the clean one first and spit in the other,” Ethan said.

  She eyed the setup, then leaned over the clean bowl for a tentative lap. The fizzing blue potion made her ears twitch, and she immediately backed up, drooling bubbles. “It’s biting my tongue!” she squeaked.

  “Spit!” Ethan said, pointing to the second bowl. She spat—sort of. Most of it dribbled down her chin before landing in the right one. The bubbles hissed and popped, leaving faint blue foam.

  Pixie blinked, dazed. “My mouth feels sparkly.”

  Buster snorted. “You look rabid.”

  He took the bottle next, far too confident. He held it between his teeth, tipped his head back, and tried something like a gargle. The sound he made was halfway between a growl and a drowning noise. Blue foam leaked from both sides of his mouth, dribbling into both bowls at once.

  Ethan doubled over laughing. “You’re supposed to spit, not stage a flood!”

  Buster glared. “I’m trying!” he said through the bond, still dripping blue. “Humans invent strange punishments.”

  Amelia approached last, cautious but curious. She took a small lap from the clean bowl, let it sit in her mouth, then turned neatly and emptied it into the other bowl in one elegant stream. Not a drop on the floor.

  Pixie stared at her, offended. “How did you do that?”

  “Control,” Amelia said through the bond. “And smaller mouthfuls.”

  Buster grumbled. “Show-off.”

  Ethan leaned against the wall, still laughing. “You’re all ridiculous,” he said. “But I think it worked.”

  Pixie grinned, flashing bright teeth. “Do they sparkle? They feel like sparkle teeth.”

  “They’re perfect,” Ethan said. “You’re all minty fresh now. Congratulations.”

  Lyra stepped back into the doorway, watching the chaos. “You’re teaching them to spit into bowls,” she said flatly.

  “Teamwork exercise,” Ethan replied.

  She shook her head. “You’re all hopeless.”

  Moose interrupted like he was flipping a mental switch. “Breakfast. Then decisions,” he said through the bond.

  Ethan nodded, still grinning. “Fine by me. We’ve already conquered hygiene—next up, food and figuring out what to tell Gwenna.”

  Pixie beamed. “Cleanest Pack in Celdoras,” she said proudly.

  “Let’s try to stay that way,” Ethan said, slipping on his jacket. “Downstairs. Before someone decides to drink the mouthwash.”

  The common room was already warm with hearthlight when they came down the stairs. A few early risers clustered around the tables near the windows—locals, mostly. One man read a tattered scroll with a frown. A woman in traveling gear leaned over a bowl of porridge, eyes half-closed with sleep.

  Mara was behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hair tied back, pouring something thick and golden into shallow mugs. Senna moved between tables with practiced ease, collecting plates from the night before.

  “Morning,” Mara said without looking up. “Food’s hot. Tea’s strong. First come gets the corner seats.”

  Pixie zipped across the floor and launched herself onto one of the benches near the fire. “Dibs!” she shouted through the bond.

  Buster lumbered after her and dropped onto the rug with a grunt. “You can have the bench. I want the floor and food,” he said through the bond.

  Moose settled near the wall. Amelia stayed close to the hearth. Lyra hovered for a moment near the table, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve—then stepped closer to Mara.

  “I didn’t get to wash up last night,” she said quietly. “I don’t have anything else to wear. Can I borrow some clothes? Just enough to shower and get through the morning.”

  Mara didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely.” She nodded toward the back. “Clean stock in the tall cabinet—help yourself to anything with a green stitch. But you’re not just borrowing. You’re coming with us.”

  Lyra blinked. “Coming where?”

  “Marketline,” Mara said. “You’re getting your own clothes.”

  Senna looked up from her tray stack. “Real ones. With seams that aren’t holding on out of spite.”

  Ethan winced. The guilt hit hard. He’d come down fresh and dressed and hadn’t even thought about Lyra. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  Lyra shrugged slightly. “I wasn’t going to complain. I’ve already been given more than I expected.” She glanced around the common room. “Besides, you have more important things on your plate right now.”

  Ethan felt the guilt hit harder. It was always worse when someone didn’t blame you when they should—and somehow even worse when they gave you a reason not to think about them. Still, he reached into his belt pouch and slid a single gold bit across the table. “Here. For emergencies. Or if something catches your eye. And because I feel bad for not thinking about your needs.”

  Lyra looked at the bit for a second, then picked it up and tucked it into her belt. “Fine,” she said. “But only because you meant that.”

  Pixie straightened like someone had sounded a trumpet. “GIRLS’ TRIP!” she shouted through the bond.

  Senna blinked. “What?”

  “It’s official,” Pixie said through the bond. “A proper, full-power, fox-led fashion crusade. I’m naming it … the Celdoras Style Sweep.”

  “I’m not translating that,” Lyra muttered.

  “Yes you are,” Pixie replied through the bond. “You’re the only one with social grace and a vocabulary.”

  Senna raised her eyebrows. “What is she doing?”

  Lyra sighed and translated. “She named the shopping trip. Dramatically.”

  Senna blinked. “Wait … you can understand her?”

  “Now I know how Ethan feels,” Lyra said.

  Senna tilted her head. “What did she name it?”

  Lyra said, “The Celdoras Style Sweep.”

  Senna giggled in delight.

  Mara laughed. “She’ll fit in fine.”

  Pixie turned to Amelia. “You’re coming too. We need stealth, symmetry, and serious wolf energy,” she said through the bond.

  “I … don’t know what that means,” Amelia said.

  “Perfect,” Pixie said through the bond. “You’re already halfway to mysterious.”

  Senna crouched next to Pixie and reached out gently. “Is she always like this?”

  Pixie puffed up. “Yes. And more,” she said through the bond.

  Lyra translated, and Senna grinned. “I like her.”

  Mara passed around steaming bowls of stew and fresh-cut bread. “Eat up,” she said. “We’ll go once the market wakes up. You are not wearing that blanket out with us if you’re coming, missy.” She reached out and untied the small blanket Pixie had been dragging everywhere, folded it neatly, and placed it on a shelf.

  Pixie gasped. “NOOOO! Sir Fluffington!”

  “Let’s see if we can get you a cloak or something,” Lyra said.

  “It must have fringes,” Pixie declared. “And maybe be enchanted.”

  Ethan watched the exchange in quiet relief. Lyra hadn’t brought up the oversight again—but the look she’d given him had said enough. He’d missed it. He’d try not to next time.

  Pixie twirled once on the bench, her cape flaring behind her like a banner. “Today is for fashion. Tomorrow is for fighting evil. That’s the law,” she said through the bond.

  “Moose,” Buster groaned. “Make her stop,” he said through the bond.

  Moose didn’t even lift his head. “You can’t stop a force of nature,” he said through the bond.