Garret woke up to sunlight stabbing through a narrow window and a warm weight draped across his chest. Lira was still asleep, dark curls spilled over his shoulder, one leg tangled with his. The room smelled like sex, incense, and the faint sourness of spilled wine from the night before. His head throbbed dully — not the skull-splitting hangovers from his old life, but a respectable reminder that the good stuff in the Velvet Lantern packed a punch.
He lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling beams. This new body felt… used. In a good way. Muscles a little sore in places that reminded him exactly what they'd done twice (maybe three times?) before passing out. No crushing regret yet. Just the quiet realization that he'd had a decent night with a decent woman and hadn't died or started any prophecies.
Small victories.
Lira stirred, murmuring something sleepy before cracking one eye open. She smiled lazily when she saw him watching her. "Morning, farmer. You're still here. Most men sneak out before the suns are fully up."
"Not sneaking anywhere with this headache," Garret grunted. He shifted carefully, sitting up against the headboard. His scar itched where sweat had dried overnight. "Besides, you earned the extra coin. Least I can do is not treat you like a quick transaction."
She propped herself on an elbow, sheet slipping down to bare one breast. No shame in it — just comfortable familiarity. "Smooth talker when you want to be. Most of the time you just grunt." Her fingers traced the scar on his jaw again, lighter this time. "You really don't remember how you got this?"
"Old fight. Drunk. Details fuzzy." He wasn't lying — the borrowed memories were hazy at best. "Doesn't matter. It's there now."
Lira chuckled and rolled out of bed, stretching unselfconsciously. She had a nice ass and the kind of easy confidence that came from doing this job well. "Stay for breakfast? The kitchen downstairs does decent eggs and flatbread. My treat — you were surprisingly gentle for a man with a face like yours."
"Tempting," Garret said, watching her move. The body reacted with a low spark of interest, but his brain overruled it. "But I've got a farm that's probably wondering where I am. And a kid who's going to show up yelling about sword lessons."
She tossed his trousers at him with a grin. "The aspiring adventurer? Pip? She talks about you like you're some retired legend. Be careful — girls like that latch on hard."
"Yeah, I noticed." Garret pulled on his clothes, wincing a little as his shoulder protested. The boar incident from yesterday had left a bruise he hadn't felt until now. "She'll get over it when she realizes I'm just a drunk who throws rocks."
Lira tied a simple robe around herself and leaned in to kiss his cheek. It was softer than last night's heat — almost friendly. "Come back sometime, Garret Mole. Not every night has to end in heroics or heartbreak. Sometimes it's just nice to forget the borderlands for a few hours."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, meaning it more than he expected. He left a few extra coins on the table anyway — not because he had to, but because it felt right.
Downstairs, the Velvet Lantern was quiet in the morning light. A couple of workers were sweeping up from the night before. Sable was nowhere in sight. Garret figured she'd handled her business and slipped out early. Smart woman. He didn't ask questions.
The walk back through Cragmore felt longer than it should have. His legs were steady, but the pleasant ache in his body and the light fog in his head made everything feel a little slower. People nodded at him as he passed — a few knowing smirks from the men who'd seen him leave with Sable last night. Word traveled fast in a small frontier village.
Dov was out in his field when Garret reached the edge of town. The big man raised a hand in greeting. "Late night?"
"Something like that," Garret replied, not stopping. "Your dog still invading my chickens?"
"Probably. I'll send one of the kids to fetch him later." Dov paused, then added with a slow grin, "Heard you handled that boar yesterday. And then disappeared south. Good for you, Mole. Man needs more than just ale sometimes."
Garret waved him off without answering. Gossip already. Fantastic.
By the time he reached his farm, Pip was already waiting on the porch, wooden sword in hand and bouncing with energy that made his headache worse.
"Mister Garret! You're finally back! I waited forever. Mama said you were out late 'handling business.'" She made air quotes with her free hand. "Did you fight more monsters? Or was it that knight lady? She looks like she knows how to fight."
Garret groaned and headed straight for the rain barrel. He splashed cold water on his face, letting it drip down his neck. "No monsters. No fighting. Just… adult stuff. Go home, kid."
Pip tilted her head, confused but undeterred. "Adult stuff? Like drinking more? Or like kissing girls? You've got lipstick on your collar."
He glanced down. Sure enough, a faint red smudge on his tunic. "Shit."
Pip giggled. "See? I notice things! That means I'd be a good adventurer. Teach me how to notice things like that in a fight. Or how you scared the boar yesterday. Please?"
Garret sat heavily on the porch step, rubbing his temples. The new body was great for farm work and bedroom activities, but it still got hangovers. And persistent teenagers. "Look, Pip. Yesterday was a boar. Today is weeds and a nap. Tomorrow might be more weeds. That's the life. You want excitement, go bother the caravan guards or something."
"But you're the one who actually survives!" she protested, sitting down next to him uninvited. "Old Henk says you used to be worse than him at drinking, but now you're… steady. Like you know things. Even when you pretend you don't."
Garret stared at her for a long moment. Steady. That was new. In his old world he'd been a mess who died choking on his own blood and broken glass. Here he was… functioning. Farming a little. Drinking a lot. Fucking when the opportunity came. Giving half-assed advice that people took seriously.
It was almost comfortable.
He sighed and stood up. "Fine. One thing. Watch."
He picked up a decent-sized rock from the ground, weighed it in his hand, and lobbed it in a lazy arc toward a nearby fence post. It thunked solidly against the wood.
"Throw like you mean it but don't overthink. Most things run if you make noise and look like trouble. Now go practice on your own trees or whatever. I need to pretend to work before I pretend to sleep."
Pip's face lit up like he'd just knighted her. "Yes! Thank you, Mister Garret! I'll practice every day and show you tomorrow!"
She dashed off, sword swinging wildly.
Garret watched her go, then looked at his half-weeded field and the distant treeline where another faint, unnatural howl echoed.
His shoulder still ached a bit from yesterday. His head still throbbed. There was lipstick on his collar and a pleasant soreness between his legs that reminded him last night had been real.
Small consequences.
He grabbed the hoe anyway and gave the weeds a few half-hearted swings.
"Not bad for a dead man," he muttered to himself. "Just keep it simple. Farm. Drink. Repeat. Everything else can stay somebody else's problem."
But as he worked, a tiny, nagging thought wormed its way in: the village was starting to feel less like a temporary stop and more like… home.
He shoved the thought away and went back to weeding.
End of Chapter 6