Ren had repeatedly told himself he wouldn't get up early, and wouldn't prepare anything for Zayden's hangover before falling asleep. Yet the first thought that came to him upon waking was exactly that.
He looked out the window. The swirling snowstorm from last night had vanished, as if neither the storm nor the words Zayden had whispered into the dark ever existed.
Slipping into the slippers provided by the inn, he stepped out of the blanket and neatly arranged it at the edge of the couch before leaving the room.
Once downstairs, the smell of freshly baked cake reached him. A faint grin tugged at his lips. He could prepare a simple sandwich for Zayden—he always preferred a light breakfast.
"My, isn't it the General's little servant?" The inn owner sneered, his eyes dragging slowly from Ren's head to toe. "Hmm… you're pretty. An omega, I assume?"
Ren didn't answer. It was best to ignore people like him—unnecessary, intrusive, and far too curious.
