She comes in through the window — the only one Rivin hasn’t patched because he likes to listen to the water drop outside. His carriage is separate from the others, not because he’s in charge, but because he’s impossible to live with. Everything is polished and clean. His clothes are tidy and neatly partitioned on the rack and while his quarters are simple bar books (organized by size) they lack most anything that glimpses who he is. His cot itself has replaced the spot where two benches used to be, white sheets now kicked up and tangled from his nightmares.

  Roach isn’t quite so mythical when she’s stuck and wriggling through a tilting frame. The glass is gone but the metal catches on her heavy pockets and snags her hips to a halt.

  Rivin sits up and pretends to rub the crust from his eyes — he sleeps less and less these days, merely stares at the ceiling most nights until exhaustion folds him into at least four hours. He is not frightened or shocked by her trespass, her reentry felt inevitable since Matteo and the knife.

  Perhaps he’s been waiting.

  Roach catches him staring and forms a wily smirk, “that’s right!” She attempts to shoot a finger gun but slips and exhales a deep wheeze turned high-pitched choke as the frame sharply digs into her gut. “Ouuowh— It’s… ow.. me!”

  Rivin rolls his eyes, kicks off the rest of the sheets caught around his ankles and closes the two strides between them. “What are you doing here?”

  She waves away his help, scrambling up the outside wall, bare feet kicking against the tin. She puffs out her cheeks and grits to pull up her weight. Rivin stands back, tries not to rush in when it looks like she might fall, and when she’s finally ready, she perches atop the frame in all her filthy glory.

  She appears to be wearing a ratty scarf that drops down her back like some tattered tail, a trench coat too — threaded with Swill patchwork and stripes, topped with a bow-tie hastily strung together, scarcely visible beneath the felt of her scarf.

  She clicks her tongue and jumps down, lands far more deftly than how she’d first arrived. “You’ve been asking about me.” Her smirk has returned, even while her face is now completely red and damp. She’s a little breathless but mostly smug.

  Rivin scowls but one brow quirks. Curious. Irritated. Still not immune. The wild girl starts her movements immediately, darting across his room to look at the lack of it.

  He watches her crouch by the books and examine them one by one only to curl up her lip in judgment. She doesn’t even try to get under his skin, rather awakens like she’s always been something that lived there. “Drat. I’ve read all these.”

  “Slim pickings down here.” Most of it is Halidom propaganda thinly veiled as something else. He doesn’t mind. It’s not like he could be indoctrinated down here. He knew reality too well.

  He moves closer but not quite close enough to suggest that he’s elated by her appearance. His eyes are heavy steel and they fall away to glare at the floor between them. “You just left.”

  She doesn’t look at him but he notices her head tilt slightly, her face shadowed by loose curls. For a moment, neither of them say anything and the silence sits heavy like his eyes had. He might hear her swallow.

  “Yeah, well I had to make you that cool dagger.” She rises to stand, spins on her heels to offer a smile that’s more like an olive branch. “Where is it?”

  Rivin churns like old milk, gritting his teeth. Despite the sourness, he answers, soft as a whisper. “Under the pillow.”

  Her grin turns sly and then she’s darting across the floor again, to the only part untouched. His cot awaits and her fingers dig beneath what’s left of a half-made bed to wield the item victoriously from beneath his pillow.

  Rivin looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. Something in his shoulders makes his whole body feel pained. “You know my crew.”

  “I know lots of things.”

  His eyes narrow. He’s not sure how many times they’ve had this conversation dressed up like something else. “Like what?”

  “I knew that you would owe me.”

  “How?”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Ugh, I can see you're feeling better.” She tosses the dagger and he catches it by the tip, stormy eyes narrowing hotly. Roach doesn’t notice for she’s already reaching for his discarded blankets, dragging them up and over her frame, coat and all. He doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t scold. Most of all, he doesn’t know who he is around her.

  “I heard the deal went well with Lav.”

  “Sure. If you count being barred from trade in The Spine as something that went well.”

  She cackles, loud and unapologetic. “Was there steam comin’ out his ears?” Her copper eyes are so bright and her hands are tightly clasped together. She’s made a hood out of his bleached white sheets and she peers through their cleft with an innocence that doesn’t suit her but buckles him anyway.

  “He was pissed.”

  She claps, gleeful. “That'll teach him.”

  “You expecting a cut?”

  “I took my cut when I dropped you off,” she snickers, “I’m sure your friend told you all about it.”

  He might smile. “Why the spoons?”

  “Calling card.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, huh?”

  “Huh.” She talks like no time has passed at all. Like she'd barely been out the door before skirting back with something new to say or add. “How're your stitches?”

  “Fishing for compliments?”

  Roach clicks her tongue, pretends to throw a line. Reel it in. “Just fishing.”

  He laughs and the sound is foreign. Rusty. He’s crept closer each break in tension and finally he comes to sit beside her, smoothing his fingers over the edge of the crude blade. “I won't die.”

  “That's the goal. You like it? I’m not much of a smith.”

  “Lightweight. Strong.” All compliments. “Symmetry could use some work though.”

  “Still lacking in taste I see.”

  Rivin feels the laughter bubble low in his chest. “Can’t fix that I’m afraid.”

  “Mhm.” There's another long pause. Comfortable this time. Softly settling like dust in the heat. He can feel his heart thudding hard in his chest. He turns his body to face her but can’t quite gather the courage to do the same with his eyes. “Where have you been?”

  The sheets rustle but she doesn’t answer right away. Rivin forces himself to look up and her golden eyes are searching his face, flitting over pale skin as though examining him thoroughly. She tilts her head and the hood falls to her shoulders. Eventually, she narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Why? Whose asking?”

  His features soften a touch. “Idiot. Just me.”

  “You fall in love or something?” Deadpan. Curious.

  Rivin flicks her between the brows. “Shut up.”

  “Ow!” Roach rubs the spot with two dirty fingers, glaring from behind them.

  “I just thought you’d stick around.”

  “Huh.” She tilts her head. “People don’t usually like that.”

  “It’s not permission,” he says too quickly, regretting it immediately, “but it’s…” he pauses, suddenly feeling all too foolish for waiting in the first place, “.. impolite.”

  “Impolite?” She doesn’t sound convinced. Her forehead is red in the middle but her smirk is growing again — blooming up from whatever corrupted thought has seeded in her brain. It’s already growing. Sprouting velvet leaves and ambitious buds.

  Rivin looks away. “… Yes. It is.”

  “More impolite than stealing?”

  His lips twitch. “Cutlery and a bomb is a fair price for saving my life.”

  “Huh.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  Roach tilts her head. “You’re bold for someone so indebted.”

  “We’ve just established you were paid.”

  “A first installment is all.”

  Rivin frowns. “What?”

  Roach smiles wider, “of what you owe.”

  “I have a feeling you’re expecting me to be indebted to you for life.”

  “You’re catching up,” the girl beams, getting more comfortable atop his bed and nudging one filthy cheek against his pillow.

  “Now what are you doing?”

  “So many questions,” she whines, tightening into a ball.

  He wonders why he doesn't kick her out. Why the bite that usually comes so easily hasn't worked it's way into his words.

  “It's a heavy burden watching over all my pupils.” He can barely see her beneath the folds of sheets. “I'll just rest my eyes.”

  “You're sleeping here?” He sounds bewildered. Mildly amused.

  “It's the least you could do for your dear leader.”

  “Roach,” it's a warning. Only half. The other is deep with something he can’t or won’t name. She doesn’t seem to understand, only grins that tilted grin and asks:

  “What? You really miss me that much? You could’ve stayed, y’know.” The quiet sits heavy again. Thick between them. “I came back.”

  Rivin freezes. The words don’t heal. They slice, dull and cold.

  It’s her tone that undoes him. Quiet. Small. A girl playing hero in the dark. He hears her mask fall before he sees it — the break in a lifelong performance. Her hand, wrapped in wet, browning gauze flattens over his. Comforting. Dirty.

  He looks at her hard — really looks, at the new scar on her cheek and the dimples that pit them, at the glimmer in eyes and the knitting of brows where skin is still welting red from a new bruise. She’s studying him too, eyes warm like bread, like sheets, like home, and for half a breath, he believes in softness.

  Before the authenticity shocks him cold and he snatches his hand away. Rivin examines the new dirt on his knuckles with half-feigned disdain, he really just needs to look at anything else. “I can see that. Is your calling card also mud?”

  Roach looks confused for a moment — hurt for even less, before the facade resumes with a smile. “I seek only to leave gardens behind.”

  “Puddles more like. If you plan to hang around you’ll need to clean yourself.”

  She doesn’t move. “I don’t know what your talking about.”

  “You’re filthy.”

  A brief pause. “Y’know it masks my scent, right?”

  Rivin scrunches up his face, tries to sound harsh, but it comes out too soft, “it does not. Get clean or get out.”

  Roach groans but sits up. “You’re bossy when you’re at full health. Shouldn’t you be all weak with grief or something?”

  He feels his eye twitch. “You heard my terms.”

  “Pfft. You try to do a nice thing for a guy...” The girl trails off as she gets to her feet, blankets spilling back to the bed. Rivin guides her towards the door,

  Rivin risks a smile, “yeah, well, welcome to my kingdom, kid.”