Ren paced the length of the King's Nest, her bare feet slapping against the cold stone floor in a rhythm of agitation.
"My soap," she muttered, kicking a pile of furs so hard a puff of dust rose up. "I gave the only bar of soap in this entire world to a fox who probably licks his own butt to get clean!"
She threw herself onto the bed, staring up at the black stone ceiling. The loss of the soap was a traged, that rose scent was her last tether to civilization—but it was worth it.
Kael was alive.
Relief washed over her, hot and sudden, making her limbs feel weak. But it was immediately followed by a wave of cold, suffocating fury.
'He's alive,' she thought, her hands clenching into fists until her nails dug crescents into her palms. 'But he's drugged. That discount-bin catwoman doll is feeding him poison.'
"I'm going to wok-fry her," Ren whispered to the empty room. "I'm going to sauté her with extra chili oil until she begs for water."
