News of Raven's Crow clearing the Crimson Hollows spread through the D-rank district like wildfire.
The cursed dungeon that had swallowed three teams whole, the place where good fighters went to die, cleared. By a mid-tier guild with an F-ranker on the roster, no less.
The bar they'd chosen for the celebration was packed, loud, and exactly what they needed. Rook stood at the center of the room, the Twilight Giant's core sitting on display behind the bar like a trophy, and raised his mug high.
"Drinks are on me!" Rook bellowed as his voice cut through the noise.
"YEAAHHH!" The guild roared back, fists pumping, mugs slamming against tables.
Kurt sat at a corner table with a cigarette in one hand, a new pack already purchased, and a pint in the other, watching the chaos unfold.
Emma was three drinks deep already, her face flushed and her laughter sharp and wild as she traded insults with one of the other guild members. Lizzie was perched on the bar itself, swinging her legs and examining a gold coin as she downed shots like they were water.
And then there was Cassandra.
She stood apart from the celebration, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed and watched the chaos with the same cold detachment she'd shown in the dungeon, like she was observing a different species.
Noticing this, Kurt took one long gulp of his drink, grabbed a fresh pint, and made his way over.
"Come on, love," Kurt said, holding the drink out to her. "You survived a death trap and a betrayal. Least you can do is have a drink to celebrate."
Cassandra's gaze shifted to the pint, then back to him. "I don't drink."
"Everyone says that until they've had a proper pint," Kurt said with that lazy grin of his that caused crinkles around the edges of his eyes. "Some just need better convincing than others."
"I said don't drink," Cassandra said, making herself clear.
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Ever?"
"Ever." Her tone left no room for argument. "Alcohol and I don't mix well."
However, Kurt was nothing if not persistent. He leaned against the wall beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"Look, I get it. You're the ice queen, all stoic and untouchable. Very intimidating. But you've been wound tighter than a spring since we dragged you out of that dungeon. One drink. That's all I'm asking."
Cassandra's cold frown didn't change, and for a moment, Kurt thought she'd tell him to piss off. But then she sighed, uncrossed her arms, and took the pint from his hand.
"One drink," she said flatly.
"That's the spirit," Kurt said with enthusiasm, raising his own mug.
Cassandra lifted the pint to her lips and took a single, small sip. Almost immediately, her face flushed red, her pale skin blooming with color from her cheeks to her neck. She blinked, swayed slightly, and let out a soft hiccup.
Kurt's grin widened. "Wow. You really know how to handle your liquor there, love."
Cassandra hiccupped again, her hand gripping the pint tighter as she glared at him. "I'm fine."
"Sure you are," Kurt said, laughing. He glanced across the bar and saw Emma and Lizzie both drinking like the world was ending tomorrow, their voices loud and raucous. He shook his head, still grinning. "These lot's going to be useless tomorrow."
Cassandra took another sip, bigger this time, and hiccupped again. Her blue eyes were slightly unfocused now, and when she tried to stand up straight, she wobbled.
Then she looked at Kurt with completely earnest confusion. "Why is your face so... face-shaped?"
Kurt blinked. "What?"
"Your face." She poked his cheek. "It's very... facey. All the parts are in the right places but also it's just... so much face." She hiccupped again.
Kurt couldn't help but laugh. "Are you trying to give me a compliment?"
"Maybe?" Cassandra swayed, looking genuinely confused by her own words. "I don't know. Faces are weird. Do you think about your face? I never think about my face but now I'm thinking about your face and—" She hiccupped. "—this is exhausting."
"Right. You're done." Kurt took the glass from her hand.
"Nooo," Cassandra protested weakly. "I was just getting started. Did you know... did you know that fire isn't actually a thing? It's a process. Combustion. Isn't that wild?" Her eyes were wide, like she'd just discovered the secrets of the universe.
"Okay," Kurt said, setting his mug down and catching her arm before she tipped over. "That's enough for you, love."
"I'm not drunk," Cassandra protested again, her words slurring just slightly. "I'm perfectly fine."
"Of course you are," Kurt said and glanced over at Rook, who was deep in conversation with some of the other guild members. "Oi, Rook! I'm taking Cassandra back to the guild. She's done for the night."
Rook looked over, saw Cassandra swaying in Kurt's grip, and smirked. "Yeah, you do that. We'll catch up later."
He turned back to Cassandra and grinned. "You threaten to kill me when sober, and now you can barely stand after one drink? What happened to the ice queen?"
Cassandra hiccupped and tried to glare at him, but it came out more like a pout. "Shut up."
"This is incredible," Kurt said, still grinning. "One pint has you stumbling like a newborn fawn."
"I said shut up," Cassandra muttered, her face flushing deeper.
"Not a chance. This is too good." He slipped an arm around her waist to steady her as they walked.
Cassandra immediately tried to pull away. "I don't need your help. I can walk perfectly—" She hiccupped and stumbled, nearly taking Kurt down with her.
"There, there," Kurt said, adjusting his grip and steering her toward the door. "Let's get you back before you faceplant into someone's drink."
***
The walk back to the guild hideout was short, but it felt longer with Cassandra leaning heavily against him and mumbling under her breath.
She was coherent enough to walk, but her usual grace was gone, replaced by unsteady steps and the occasional hiccup.
Halfway there, she stopped abruptly and turned to face him, her blue eyes glassy but sharp. "What's so special about you?"
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You," Cassandra said, poking his chest with one finger. "You fuck around. You charm everyone. You get away with everything. What's so special about you that you don't have consequences?"
Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Cassandra's hand dropped lower, her fingers brushing against his groin. "Is it this?" she asked, her voice slurred but curious. "What's so special about this?"
Kurt caught her wrist and gently pulled her hand away. "Alright, love. That's enough of that."
Cassandra hiccupped and swayed again, and Kurt tightened his grip to keep her upright. "Come on. Let's get you inside."
***
The guild was quiet when they arrived, most of the members still at the bar celebrating. Kurt guided Cassandra through the halls and into his room because she hadn't been assigned one yet, and he wasn't about to leave her passed out in the lounge.
He pushed the door open and led her inside, intending to sit her down and leave. But Cassandra had other ideas.
She pulled away from him, stumbling slightly, and reached for the hem of her shirt. "It's too hot in here," she muttered drunkingly.
Kurt's eyes widened. "Whoa, hold on—"
She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, revealing pale skin and a black bra that contrasted sharply against her complexion and looked like it was barely holding her breasts as they threatened to spill out.
"Cassandra—"
"Socks are weird," she said, sitting on the floor and trying to pull one off. She tugged at it, lost her balance, and tipped over sideways. "Why are they so tight? This is a conspiracy."
Her hands went to her thigh-high socks again after taking off one of her boots, rolling it down slowly, before tossing it aside. Then the second followed, the fabric sliding over her long pale legs and pooling on the floor. "Take that, weak sock." She pointed at it.
Kurt swallowed hard, unable to take his eyes off her. "Cassandra, you should probably—"
She stood up and kicked off her other boot, the heavy thud echoing in the small room, and reached for the clasp of her bra.
It came undone with a soft click, and she let it fall, exposing pale breasts that were extremely eager to escape the confines of her bra, with pink nipples that hardened slightly in the cool air.
Kurt held his breath as the moonlight streaming through the window bathed her in silver, highlighting every curve, every line. Her skin was flawless, almost luminous, and the way she moved, clumsy but still somehow graceful, made it impossible to look away.
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and shimmied them down over her hips, revealing black underwear that clung to her voluptuous curves.
The skirt hit the floor, and she stepped out of them, swaying slightly as she stood there in nothing but her underwear.
"Cassandra," Kurt said with a voice that was meant to come out soft but sounded rougher than he intended. "You need to stop."
She looked at him, her blue eyes hazy but still sharp, and smiled a slow, drunk smile that was equal parts innocent and dangerous. "Why? You don't want to?"
Kurt clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away. The old him... the Kurt before the amnesia, probably wouldn't have hesitated. Hell, he'd have been halfway undressed himself by now. But he wasn't that man anymore. He didn't want to be.
"Not like this," Kurt said quietly. "Not when you're drunk off your arse and don't know what you're doing."
Cassandra pouted, swaying again, and then her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the bed, sprawling across the sheets, her pale skin stark against the dark fabric.
Kurt exhaled slowly, grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed, and draped it over her. She mumbled something incoherent, already half-asleep, and curled into the blanket.
He stood there for a moment, looking down at her, and then shook his head. "You're going to be trouble, aren't you?" he muttered mostly to himself.
Then he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
***
Miles away, in the opulent headquarters of the Silver Tail guild, Braun Ironside stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, staring out at the city lights.
He was a massive man, broad-shouldered and scarred, with a presence that made even other A-rank fighters think twice about crossing him.
In his hand was a glass of expensive whiskey, amber liquid swirling as he listened to the report.
"They survived," his second lieutenant said, standing stiffly behind him. "Raven's Crow cleared the Crimson Hollows. Including the traitor."
Braun's grip tightened, and the glass in his hand began to crack. "How?"
"We don't know, sir. The dungeon should have—"
The glass shattered and whiskey and blood dripped from Braun's hand as shards of glass were embedded in his palm, but he didn't flinch. Instead he turned slowly, eyes burning with anger.
"Find them," Braun sounded dangerous. "Find Raven's Crow. And this time, make sure they don't walk away."