Valia sat beside Ligon, watching the mingling of species that, days ago, had wanted each other dead. “They’re actually… laughing together,” she murmured.
He nodded. “A rare sight. My wolves hardly ease their guard,” Ligon admitted. “They live to serve, to obey and I’ve trained them too well in both. Perhaps the fault is mine, for being so thorough with them."
She turned her cup in her hands. “Do you think it’ll last? This happiness”
Ligon glanced around the room—the Sirens dancing barefoot, the wolves slamming mugs on the table in rhythm. “For tonight, yes. Tomorrow? Who knows.”
“Always the realist.”
“Someone has to be.”
Valia eyes glinted but later drooped as she spoke. “ Realists often chain themselves,” she said softly. “They call it reason, but it’s fear dressed in fine words. So
