Chapter Text
If I ever get out of this place, I'm never complaining about cafeteria food again.
Not that the cricket-peppered slop she'd been given was even her main problem.
Sasha paused her methodical strokes of a shard of... something that she really hoped wasn't bone- against the pitted stone bricks of her prison.
Footsteps. Faint. Familiar. Dreaded, but for the sheer mundanity of it. That, and the ever-present possibility that rattled in the back of her mind like loose change; was this the time a toad finally got frustrated from not getting whatever he wanted from her, and finally revealed that the swords weren't just for show?
Heads or tails, she thought morbidly. One more useless 'conversation', or another dark stain on the suspiciously rust-rimed corner of her cell?
Her stomach clenched at the thought, worse than hearing her mom's swerving steps because that meant Mrs. Waybright had slipped into the stage of drunkenness where she got weepy, urgh.
The thick wooden door swung open with a poorly-maintained creak. Yeah, definitely worse.
"What do you want, asshole?" Sasha grumbled, not bothering to look over her shoulder as she scraped out her twelveth tally mark.
Sasha was... adaptable. She'd accustomed to the cold, curling into herself and clinging at her jacket when night fell. To the prickling steel-sting of the chain around her ankle that she just knew was going to leave the most annoying blisters. Even to the objectively terrible food.
She never did quite get used to the helpless realization that nothing she said would help her get out of this place, or find her friends.
Sasha didn’t know what to say. She’d never not known what to say.
"C∷ᒷᔑℸ ̣ ⚍∷ᒷ. I ʖᒷꖎ╎ᒷ⍊ᒷ i'⍊ᒷ ʖᒷᒷリ ⊣𝙹╎リ⊣ ᔑʖ𝙹⚍ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ∴∷𝙹リ⊣ ∴ᔑ||. B⚍ℸ ̣ i ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リꖌ ∴ᒷ ⎓╎リᔑꖎꖎ|| ⎓𝙹⚍リ↸ ᓭ𝙹ᒲᒷℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ∴𝙹∷ꖌ ∴╎ℸ ̣ ⍑,” rumbled from behind her, unnervingly glacier-patient.
She ignored him, instead moving on to a new, unmarked brick; even if none of these bozos could read, it was a time-honored tradition to tell the world that Sasha Wuz Here.
She didn’t turn around. He didn’t get the right to see her smothered anxiety.
Armor-stiff footsteps thudded closer to the bars of Sasha’s cell. "I ꖌリ𝙹∴ ||𝙹⚍ ᓵᔑリ ⍑ᒷᔑ∷ ᒲᒷ. G𝙹 𝙹リ, ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ ᔑ ꖎ𝙹𝙹ꖌ. O∷ ᔑ ᓭリ╎⎓⎓, ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷ ||𝙹⚍∷ ꖌ╎リ↸ ↸𝙹ᒷᓭ.”
Boss Toad- she figured he was the boss, all the other armored toads definitely followed his growling orders- hadn't been up here in a while. Not after he'd finally gotten it through his thick skull that no matter how many times he repeated what he said, she couldn't answer him.
Not that she would even if she was perfectly fluent in weird toad-talk, because honestly, screw that guy.
“Ughhhhh,” Sasha languished dramatically at the interruption of her newest display of artistic talent. Tilted her face skyward as if pleading to the ceiling to cave in on her. “Fine, dude, what is it you want to bother me about this time-”
She froze. Her heart crawled up her throat and nearly spilled from behind her teeth as a shocked gasp.
Anne’s shoe. Muddy, laces untied, perched in this armed and armored toad’s hand-
He didn’t flinch as Sasha slammed against the cell door, leg-chain straining out behind her and thin bars creaking under her palms. “What did you do to her?!”
Was she somewhere around here? Had they caught her too- no, if they had, they’d probably bring her up for whatever reason they’d been interrogating Sasha for. This guy certainly seemed the type to lean on gloating and hammer-heavy threats.
And hell, if Anne- where was Marcy? Acid-sweet and smarter than any of these boulder-brains, sure, but she was nice, and it didn’t matter how shrewd she was if she stumbled onto the wrong end of a sword-!
"S𝙹 ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ 𝙹⎓ ||𝙹⚍, i ╎ᒲᔑ⊣╎リᒷ. Iリℸ ̣ ᒷ∷ᒷᓭℸ ̣ ╎リ⊣.” Boss Toad’s gravel-fractured voice twinged at the back of Sasha’s mind, well-recognized by now but slightly different-
Ah. He was talking around her, rather than at her. Sasha was familiar with the shade-faint distinction. Jackass.
"T⍑╎ᓭ 𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ 𝙹リᒷ ∴╎ꖎꖎ ⋮𝙹╎リ ||𝙹⚍ ᓭ𝙹𝙹リ, ᓵ∷ᒷᔑℸ ̣ ⚍∷ᒷ. Bᒷ⎓𝙹∷ᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ╎ᓵᒷ ᒲᒷꖎℸ ̣ ᓭ, ╎⎓ ᒲ|| ╎↸╎𝙹ℸ ̣ ᓭ𝙹ꖎ↸╎ᒷ∷ᓭ ↸𝙹リ’ℸ ̣ ᒲ⚍ᓵꖌ ⚍!¡ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ⍑⚍リℸ ̣ , ℸ ̣ 𝙹𝙹,” he mused, depositing the shoe onto the junk-scattered table shoved up against the wall. "Oリᓵᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᒲ𝙹⚍リℸ ̣ ᔑ╎リ !¡ᔑᓭᓭ ᒲᒷꖎℸ ̣ ᓭ, ||𝙹⚍’ꖎꖎ ʖᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ n╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ g⚍ᔑ∷↸’ᓭ !¡∷𝙹ʖꖎᒷᒲ. T⍑ᒷ ᔑ╎∷⍑ᒷᔑ↸ᓭ ⚍!¡ ╎リ nᒷ∴ℸ ̣ 𝙹!¡╎ᔑ ᒲ⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ʖᒷ ᑑ⚍╎ℸ ̣ ᒷ ᒷᔑ⊣ᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⊣ᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ╎∷ ⍑ᔑリ↸ᓭ 𝙹リ ||𝙹⚍, ╎⎓ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ||’∷ᒷ ᓭᒷリ↸╎リ⊣ rᔑリ⊣ᒷ∷ᓭ ᔑリ↸ ᔑ ᓵ⍑ᒷᓭℸ ̣ ⎓⚍ꖎꖎ 𝙹⎓ ᓵ𝙹!¡!¡ᒷ∷ ⎓𝙹∷ ᔑ ᓵ𝙹⚍!¡ꖎᒷ 𝙹⎓ ᒲ𝙹リᓭℸ ̣ ᒷ∷ᓭ.”
Sasha watched him leave with narrowed eyes, lava-chilled resentment churning.
--
Braddock hesitated by the door to the Tower’s uppermost prison level. Gulped.
This was her penance for drawing the short straw, she supposed. Guarding the cell of a supposedly-warmblooded monster until the Newtopian Night Guard retrieved it in three months’ time, when the Valley was finally accessible.
A monster that, from what Captain Grime gruffly told her, was likely to be aggressive after he’d provoked it- which was why there was to be a guard posted by the cell in the first place.
They’d even caught the thing trying to pick the lock on its chain, clever fingers fruitlessly working some kind of discarded hairpin into the lock after it had given up its frantic prying at the metal seams.
Better get this over with. Braddock lightly pushed the door, and it swung open with an ominous creak.
Dark as a toad-eating monster’s den, the cell was completely shadowed by the pre-dawn gloom. Braddock’s eardrums barely made out the sound of chain links clinking- the only evidence that the cell was occupied that she could sense.
No lunging against the bars. No blood-baying roars.
Okay, just… scoot over here, sit by the table, stay away from swiping-between-the-bars distance…
Braddock froze when the shadow-shrouded creature shifted its chains again. Crept further across the cobblestone floors. Finally sat with a slumped sigh on the wobbly wooden chair propped by the table. Looks like a boring guard job, then. At least it’s safer than what the Captain seemed to imply…
Clang!
“Agh!” Braddock jumped a foot in the air in fright, the sound of the chain suddenly whipping against iron cell bars ringing her head like a struck bell.
Pest-rotted wood buckled and splintered beneath her as she landed, but she was too busy catching her breath and waiting for her heart to slow down after being nearly scared out of her skin-molt early.
"Hᔑ⍑! g𝙹ℸ ̣ ||ᔑ!” the creature inside the cell crowed, its vocalization slithering with malicious glee and… weakly hoarse, as if suffering from disuse. "W⍑ᔑℸ ̣ , ↸╎↸ b𝙹ᓭᓭ bᔑᓭℸ ̣ ᔑ∷↸ ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ᓭᒷリ↸ ⚍!¡ ⍑╎ᓭ ʖ╎⊣⊣ᒷᓭℸ ̣ ᓭᓵᔑ∷ᒷ↸||-ᓵᔑℸ ̣ ᓭ?”
Still laying in a nest of broken stool, Braddock froze. Sat up, rubbing at a sore spot on her head that would surely grow into a terrific bump.
… The name of the stars is that thing?
Not what Braddock had been expecting, certainly. Long limbs, definitely taller than a toad. Lanky legs bent at the knee where the creature sat- one resting against the cell floor, one raised for the creature to prop its arm on. Feather-silk hair pulled away from its face, with narrow forward-facing eyes and a weird protruding bump on its face and blunt claws on the end of long digits- was it some kind of bird, maybe?
A strange, furred brow-ridge rose as Braddock continued to stare. "Wᒷꖎꖎ, ||𝙹⚍’∷ᒷ リᒷ∴.” The creature narrowed dark eyes at her, shuffling back away from the bars and to the thinning mat of old straw it’d made a nest- bed?- out of. All while never taking its eyes off Braddock. "W⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷. J⚍ᓭℸ ̣ - ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ꖎᒷᔑ⍊ᒷ ᒲᒷ ᔑꖎ𝙹リᒷ.”
That was way too deliberate, too varied of a series of vocalizations- like the toneless, emotionless love-dove cries echoing through the mountains, nonetheless holding a sickle-curved sound of threat.
But these weren’t exactly mindless.
… In retrospect the Captain’s overheard, bitter mutterings about ‘interrogating’ the creature made more sense now.
And the creature’s noises might sound like dove-deep calls sometimes, but it hadn’t tried to call for a partner, or even reach out and swipe at Braddock’s ankles- not that thin little claws like that would do much.
Braddock slowly stood up, opting to try and sit out the most awkward guard shift of her life on a more stable perch.
During her migration around the table, though, Braddock spotted shale-sharp lines of something barely visible in the dawn shadows, behind where the creature turned away from her, its scuffed and worn coat pulled tight around it.
Are those tally marks? And… words?
Hmm.
--
Past Braddock was a liar.
This was the most awkward guard shift she’d ever had.
It had been Percy’s idea, shared with Braddock over a conversation in the mess hall that would have been called ‘covert’ except for the fact that nobody gave damn what they heard in the hall unless Captain Grime was stalking the perimeter like a hovering dragonfly- and just as likely as a dragonfly to grab someone with violence aforethought.
If the creature could talk and write, Percy had enthusiastically illustrated, then surely it- they- could be spoken with.
Of course, that relied on the creature actually cooperating.
Arms as reedy and thin as their voice crossed over the shield pattern on their chest, and the creature glared at Braddock from between the bars. "T⍑ᒷ ⍑ᒷᓵꖌ ᔑ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ℸ ̣ ∷||╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 !¡⚍ꖎꖎ?”
They refused to touch the reusable wax writing slate Braddock had… borrowed from the wall that posted rotating Tower patrol schedules. Not like many toads bothered to look at it, anyway. They wouldn’t notice it was missing.
“Um, okay, I…” Braddock dithered. The creature was clearly as intelligent as any toad- they knew how to count, and was writing something on their prison walls. “Do you- do you have a name?”
"O⍑ ᒲ|| ⊣𝙹↸, ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ⍑ᒷᓵꖌ ↸𝙹 i リᒷᒷ↸ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ↸𝙹 ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⊣ᒷℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍ ∴ᒷ╎∷↸𝙹ᓭ 𝙹⎓⎓ ᒲ|| ʖᔑᓵꖌ?” The creature deliberately gestured one of its five fingers skyward, as if they could stab through the stone roof and possibly bury Braddock in rubble. "P╎ᓭᓭ 𝙹⎓⎓.”
… Something told Braddock she wasn’t exactly going to capture any success with this strange monster, and would end up looking like a fool for stealing from the commissary regardless.
“... Maybe names,” she decided, already dragging the wax slate to her and writing out her own.
She flipped around the stylus-scored slate, tapping the words she wrote and then gesturing to herself. “Braddock Henshaw,” she said, slow and clear as drifting snow. Tapped the words and herself again, just to get the point across.
"Y𝙹⚍ ⊣⚍||ᓭ ᔑ∷ᒷ ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ? s⍑𝙹ᓵꖌᒷ∷, i ⎓╎⊣⚍∷ᒷ↸ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ||𝙹⚍∷ ʖ𝙹ᓭᓭ ||𝙹⚍ ᔑꖎꖎ ⍑ᔑ↸ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣ ʖ⚍ℸ ̣ ⊣∷ᔑ⍊ᒷꖎ ᔑリ↸ ʖ⚍ꖎꖎᓭ⍑╎ℸ ̣ ᓭℸ ̣ ⚍⎓⎓ᒷ↸ ╎リℸ ̣ 𝙹 ||𝙹⚍∷ ᓭꖌ⚍ꖎꖎᓭ,” the creature said sardonically. "Wᔑ╎ℸ ̣ , ╎⎓ ||𝙹⚍’∷ᒷ ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ- ⊣╎ᒲᒲᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ !”
Spark-quick, the creature slid their arm between iron bars like a striking snake, dragging the slate towards them while Braddock remained frozen in fear and okay, if the thing could move that fast, maybe Grime’s commands to ‘never let it out of the cell under any circumstances’ held more of a dangerous weight than she thought.
The beast briefly looked between Braddock and the stylus as if contemplating where exactly they could stab their toad guard; to Braddock’s surprise, they used the broad end of the stylus to wipe the slate over and scribble out their own contribution.
They slid the slate back over, close enough to the cell-steel door that Braddock worried about being clawed as she retrieved it. But the creature simply watched her, idly twirling the stylus with deft fingers and a calculated glare undercut by deep shadows under their eyes.
Braddock traced a claw over the furrows drawn in wax, each score deep as a death-wound.
“Uh, I assume this is you?” she ventured, holding up the slate to gesture between its new markings and the prisoner.
They sat up straighter, haughty and chin tilted up in what could almost be called a threat display. “[Sasha.]”
They didn’t say anything else, but the thumb pointed imperiously at their chest made their meaning obvious. “Sasha?” Braddock tried, gesturing to the creature.
Relief on the creature’s face was smothered like cinders, but Braddock still caught the obvious slump of a sign that someone was talking to them. Sasha… No clade-name? Pack, city, whatever? Strange…
Wait.
Braddock leaned closer, squinting. Sasha leaned back an equal distance, but Braddock wasn’t focused on them
There, on the wall- the tally marks had expanded, one more added since Braddock’s last shift. So they can count…
What was it that old newt accountant said the last time Newtopia sent someone down for an inspection? ‘Numbers are the language of the universe’ or some spacey nonsense like that?
Well, if it was universal, it was worth a shot.
Sasha stayed stubbornly scowling, but Braddock still caught their eyes sliding unsubtly across the wax slate as she furiously scribbled on it.
Braddock whipped around her slate once she was done writing; the script was tiny, but clear, with the symbol for ‘1’ under a single tally mark, ‘2’ under two tally marks, and so on, all the way up to ‘9’.
Sasha looked like Braddock had offered them curdled cowapillar milk. "U⊣⍑, ⋮ᔑ╎ꖎ ╎ᓭ 𝙹リᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣, ʖ⚍ℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ᒲᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ↸𝙹 ᒲᔑℸ ̣ ⍑?” They rolled their eyes inside their sockets, and Braddock shuddered because oh, that’s horrifying.
… Maybe more elaboration. Helplessly, Braddock pointed at the slate still laying on the ground, and waved blunt claws to the prison wall behind Sasha.
Whose eyes lit in something like predatory recognition. "... Wᒷꖎꖎ, ╎ℸ ̣ ’ᓭ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ꖎ╎ꖌᒷ i ⍑ᔑ⍊ᒷ ᒲ⚍ᓵ⍑ ᒷꖎᓭᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ↸𝙹 ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ. Mᔑ||ʖᒷ i ᓵᔑリ ⊣ᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ⊣⚍ᔑ∷↸ ∷𝙹ℸ ̣ ᔑℸ ̣ ╎𝙹リᓭ 𝙹∷ ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷ b𝙹ᓭᓭ bᔑᓭℸ ̣ ᔑ∷↸ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ᓭ 𝙹⚍ℸ ̣ 𝙹⎓ ||𝙹⚍ ᒷ⍊ᒷリℸ ̣ ⚍ᔑꖎꖎ||.”
Spindly fingers dragged the slate closer, and the stylus flew in a few short strokes.
A copy of the tally marks scored into stone. A written digit of one, and then two…
Huh. Twelve. Braddock had only given them nine digits...
Steel and stars, they use the same number system as us.
And if that’s the case…
“Maybe Captain Grime was just going about it the wrong way. How would you like to learn how to talk?”
Their head cocked unnervingly as a hunting heron’s.
… This might take a while.
--
And it did take a while. They started slow. Small words. Pointing and miming and frustrated snarling from Sasha when neither of them could understand the other.
But Sasha was talking to Braddock. With all the grace of a tadpole, but they were talking- picking up Amphibian frighteningly fast, actually.
And canny as a Newtopian noble with their information, if not their words. Information, once they could communicate it, was compared with a feather’s difference in weight between what was to be given freely and what was worth something.
The words and gestures given without thought were… fun, actually. It kept the gray monotony of guard duty at bay, and human-words were so strange, it was like a game in itself to use them.
After being coaxed with Braddock’s own preferences, Sasha now had a favorite color, food, season, all kinds of little facts attached to them that made them out to be, well, more of a person. Only little facts, however.
Braddock, for her part, knew that the only way she would get any real information out of Sasha was to give them something in return.
Forty-nine days after Braddock’s exchanges with the creature started, the admittance that Sasha was looking for companions- there were more humans out there!- was given in exchange for the not-so-sneakily pried-out guard rotation schedule. It wasn’t like Sasha could even get out in the first place, not after the amount of escape attempts Braddock witnessed that were about as effective as attempting to mine iron with an icicle.
But while they were on the topic of lengths of time and numbers and the span of the sun-
Well. It was around the time the mess hall opened for midday meals, anyway.
Braddock spotted Percy, a dear friend and steady presence, easygoing as a midsummer pond, cheerfully polishing off his plate.
He’d been nothing but supportive and curious and a little bit giddy at the thought of being Braddock’s trusted keeper for her attempts to draw information out of the strange monster and maybe even socialize them. He’d know what to do with this.
Percy’s head jerked up as the plates rattled on splintered wood.
Braddock sat heavily on the bench across from her friend, unsure where to start. “... Perce, I think we messed up.”
“Oh- oh no, is Captain Grime gonna be mad we messed up? He hasn’t dangled anyone over the tomato plant in so long, you know he gets tetchy looking for an excuse if he hasn’t…” Percy fretted.
“Wait- no, not like that, I mean like…” Braddock picked nervously at the table, prying up a splinter with her claw. “I think we messed up with Sasha- the creature. I don’t think they’re actually a monster. Or a creature at all.”
“Um, I did see them, and they look pretty scary to me…” Percy croaked softly, a comforting ‘I am here’ twang. “Did something happen up there?”
All careful, furtive metaphor or winding explanation flew out the window like a body in a bar fight. “Percy I think we kidnapped a child,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Wait, huh?”
“I’ve been talking to them- they’ve been picking up on Amphibian way faster lately.” Though they could still be so hard to understand sometimes, their odd bird-pitched voice making it nearly impossible to tell if they were asking a question or making a statement or anything. “But, uh, we got to a point to some stuff and- Perce, they’re fifteen.”
“That’s… way too young for a toadlet to be away from the camp. Or any parents.” Percy leaned in closer, voice dim and eyes flickering out to the staircase leading to the dungeons.
“They might not have any,” Braddock admitted dully. “Might be different for whatever they are, but they never gave me a clade name, and the only other time they asked me about other humans was trying to dig for if I’d seen their agemates.”
“... Oh. And the Newtopian guys will be here soon for Sasha.” Percy propped his face between his palms, throat-sac puffing. “Man, I hate this job.”
“So do I,” Braddock muttered. Fifteen summers. Which meant whatever kind of weird bird-monster-person Sasha was would grow even bigger, and stronger, but still, it was looking more and more likely that Toad Tower might have collectively stolen an orphaned bird-monster beast-
“Oi! Braddock!” called from the open window that still leaked steam smelling of… something. “Food for the monster you wanted!”
Ah. She’d called in a favor with the cook. Something nice and meaty- most birds Braddock knew of couldn’t subsist on just bugs like toads could.
“I’ll talk to you again later, Percy,” Braddock whispered as she stood. “But before that… how do you feel about quitting this dumb job?” Leaning in closer, she pitched her voice ravine-low. “You and me, and- maybe a human?”
“I always did want to be a bard and travel! You already knew that, though.” Percy reached forward to pat Braddock’s hand, still braced on the table. “But, uh, for the record, if we travel with… someone else, I, uh. Your ugly monster might scare me but I don’t think they’ll eat me. I don’t think you’d let them, at least.”
Oh, he’s a keeper for sure. Percy was- sweet, with a handsome face and a pleasantly serenading croak and a decent fighter when he put his mind to it. Just a few nose-nuzzles between shifts was all they could manage sometimes, but…
Well. No trouble in dropping by his family for a blessing to marry him, if they were already traveling, and he wanted to.
“I look forward to it!” Braddock grinned, trotting off to pick up the food-favor before Cook yelled at her for wasting his time.
(Day forty-nine of Braddock’s primary shift ended with her seated in her usual spot, far more readily noticing the way bloodrust-brown eyes softened at her appearance, and the subtle forward lean as the creature admirably attempted to remain casual and unconcerned even as they scooted closer to the bars.
“I don’t know what to do with you…” Braddock muttered under her breath.
“Know not… what?” Sasha asked warily, the words still cotton-clumsy in their mouth despite long practice.
“... Nothing,” Braddock dismissed, guilt welling in her throat. She swallowed around it, trying her hand at English, for Sasha’s benefit. “Wait, no. [Leaving soon]. Newtopian rangers [go here in nine days. At you.]”
“Nine days,” Sasha repeated, words as uncanny and cold as water over steel. Their eyes flicked to the cell door, and their fingers tugged contemplatively at their chain.
Stars, they caught on to the time limit fast. “[You need… leaving? Leave. Before nine days,]” Braddock said firmly. “I’ll figure something out then, so just… we’ll all be leaving, then.”
Eyes narrowed, blade-thin. Flicked downward, where Braddock held out the still steaming bowl.
When warm hands, strong enough to snap apart the old bones in the cell Sasha used as stone-writing stylus, touched Braddock’s fingertips to take the bowl, it hit her with all the steam-bursting grace of a rampaging narwhal-worm.
Oh stars, I’m getting attached. Already got attached.
… Braddock just hoped that whatever happened, it didn’t end poorly. For her and Percy, or for Sasha.)