Night settled quietly over Barcken, the kind of deep blue hush where even the tavern's usual clatter softened into scattered murmurs below. Luke lay on his side, eyes half-lidded, body already falling into that nice warm pull of sleep.
Or it would have, if the universe weren't currently performing a rustling symphony right beside him.
Rustle.
Shift.
Rustle again.
He tried ignoring it. He tried pretending he didn't hear the blankets being strangled to death. He even tried stuffing part of the pillow against his ear.
No luck.
Finally, with a small exhale, Luke rolled over—and found Ilyrana lying flat, stiff as a board, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling. Her hands clutched the cover sheet like she was bracing for the world's slowest earthquake.
"…You okay?" he whispered, because apparently she looked like she was going through an existential crisis at two in the morning. "You're usually asleep before me. Or, you know… within ten seconds."
