Eis waited.

  The guild hall had shifted around her while she remained still.

  When she’d first been left there, light still filtered through the tall front windows, turning dust motes into drifting sparks. The benches nearby had been half-filled—adventurers talking over one another, boots scraping stone, the steady rhythm of a working hall.

  Now it was darker.

  Lanterns burned low along the walls, their glow warm but uneven. Shadows stretched longer between the pillars. The crowd had thinned, voices dropping into clusters instead of a constant hum. Somewhere deeper in the building, a door closed. Somewhere else, someone laughed—tired, loose.

  Eis hadn’t moved.

  She stood near one of the stone columns, posture relaxed but balanced, hands resting loosely at her sides. Anyone looking quickly would assume she was waiting only a few minutes.

  She noted the change in shift rotations by sound alone.

  The difference in footsteps between day staff and night.

  The way the air cooled once the main doors stopped opening.

  Time had passed.

  Voices carried more clearly now.

  “…has she been there the whole time?”

  Eis did not react.

  “I think so. I swear she hasn’t even shifted her weight.”

  A pause. Then, quieter—

  “She’s kind of cute, though.”

  Another voice snorted. “You don’t have a chance.”

  Eis blinked once.

  She remained where she was.

  Someone passed closer, slowed, then continued on. Curiosity brushed the edge of the room like a draft—nothing hostile, just interest accumulating in small, harmless pieces.

  Hours, then.

  At last, familiar footsteps cut through the background noise.

  Ronan’s stride was easy to pick out. Kael’s followed—measured, deliberate. Lira’s voice came first, already mid-sentence.

  “There you are,” Lira said, relief edging her tone. “Sorry. The Guildmaster does not let go once he gets started.”

  Ronan stopped in front of Eis. “We didn’t mean to keep you waiting this long.”

  Eis straightened slightly. “It’s fine.”

  It was true. She hadn’t been inconvenienced.

  Kael reached into his coat and produced a folded document, edges stamped and marked. He held it out to her.

  “Temporary papers,” he said. “Visitor status, limited access. Enough to keep people from bothering you.”

  Eis took them, eyes flicking over the seal and signatures. Legitimate. Recent.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Lira smiled. “Also means you won’t get kicked out if you wander.”

  Ronan gestured with his head toward the inner hall. “Come on. We’ll show you where you’re supposed to go next.”

  Eis tucked the papers away and fell into step beside them without comment.

  As they moved off, she felt the weight of a few lingering gazes at her back—curious, speculative.

  She didn’t look back.

  She followed.

  Ronan walked in front, steps confident, shoulders broad.

  Kael took the rear, eyes always scanning.

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  Lira walked beside Eis, hands clasped behind her, studying her the way a scholar studies a puzzle.

  They stopped at a heavy wooden door with a silver emblem stamped into its surface.

  TEAM ARGENT — VETERAN STATUS

  The guild didn’t give rooms to just anyone.

  Only high-ranking, trusted teams.

  Ronan pushed the door open.

  The room inside was surprisingly spacious.

  Two bunk beds lined the right wall.

  The fourth bed, technically intact but buried beneath a chaotic sprawl of packs, spare cloaks, tool kits, half-disassembled gear, and a crate of things no one had bothered to sort in weeks. Whatever it had once been, it was unusable now.

  A shared desk crowded the far side of the room, cluttered with maps weighed down by stones, scattered quills, ink pots, and repair tools in various states of use. A small sitting area held worn but comfortable chairs pulled close together, the kind that had seen long conversations and longer nights.

  Weapons hung neatly on hooks.

  A narrow window overlooked the city lights below.

  It wasn’t luxurious.

  But it was lived in.

  Homey.

  Safe.

  “We’re staying here?” Eis asked.

  Ronan glanced back at her, his expression softening. “Welcome to our base of operations.”

  Lira waved a hand toward the cluttered bed with a sheepish grin. “We’ll clear that one out tomorrow. I keep meaning to organize it.”

  Then she nodded toward the ladder leading up. “For now, you can take my bed. I’ll stay down here with Kael.”

  Kael lifted a brow. “You snore.”

  “You exaggerate,” Lira shot back.

  Eis blinked.

  The exchange was brief. Casual. Entirely unforced.

  And somehow, it loosened the tightness in her chest.

  Kael reached for a folded blanket draped over one of the chairs and held it out to her.

  “Here,” he said. “It gets cold at night.”

  His voice was even.

  His hands steady.

  But she saw the small kindness in the gesture.

  “Thank you,” Eis said, clutching the blanket.

  Lira approached next, folding her arms lightly.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said, tone polite but sharp, “may I ask where you came from again? You never mentioned what brought you to Eldergreen forest.”

  Here it was.

  Eis kept her expression steady.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I was traveling… further north. Our caravan was attacked by—”

  She searched for the right world-appropriate term.

  “—bandits. I fell behind. Lost most of my belongings.”

  Lira studied her face, golden eyes narrowing to read every microexpression.

  “Mm. A common misfortune,” Lira murmured, not unkindly. “But most lone travelers don’t move like seasoned fighters.”

  Kael glanced at Lira, then at Eis.

  Ronan stopped arranging the extra blankets and turned toward her fully.

  Three sets of eyes on her at once.

  Eis stayed calm.

  “…My father trained me.”

  “Military?” Lira pressed.

  “Something like that.”

  Ronan watched her quietly, unreadable—

  but she felt no hostility.

  Just… concern.

  “Whatever happened,” he said finally, “you’re safe here tonight.”

  Eis gave a short nod.

  Kael studied her for a moment, then spoke again, his tone even. “You should rest. Shock sets in late.”

  She considered that, then nodded once more. “I will.”

  Lira stepped closer, not crowding her space. “If you need anything—water, food, bandages—say so.”

  “I’m fine,” Eis said..

  Ronan gestured toward a pillow. “There. It’s clean. You can take it.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You do,” he said, not unkindly. “We’ll clear the other bed in the morning.”

  Eis hesitated only a fraction of a second before accepting.

  She crossed the room, set the blanket down neatly, and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. Sturdy. Serviceable.

  Her body took that as permission.

  Tension bled out of her in slow increments—shoulders easing, breath deepening. Not relief. Release. The kind that came after standing watch too long.

  Behind her, the room remained occupied but deliberately quiet.

  Ronan checked the door and the window latch, movements unhurried.

  Kael returned to his gear, metal whispering softly as he worked.

  Lira shuffled books and supplies with exaggerated care.

  They weren’t watching her.

  They were making sure she didn’t feel watched.

  Eis noted it.

  She lay back and pulled the blanket over herself, boots still on, posture instinctively angled toward the room rather than the wall. Familiar habits. Useful ones.

  “Goodnight,” Lira said softly.

  “Goodnight,” Eis replied.

  “Rest well,” Kael added.

  Ronan’s voice came last, calm and certain. “Sleep. We’ll handle the morning.”

  Eis closed her eyes.

  The room settled around her—steady breathing, distant city noise, the quiet assurance of presence nearby.

  For the first time since waking in this world, she allowed herself to sleep without planning the moment she would need to wake.

  Just for tonight.