The room was quiet, heavy with that after feeling. The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Their clothes lay scattered where they'd peeled them off - her boots by the door, his shirt somewhere under the bed. The smell of sex clung to the sheets, salt-sweet and warm.
And Starling was there. Tucked between them, sprawled on her stomach, hair a gold-drenched snarl against the pillow. Her bare back rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm, the wound along her side wrapped and healing. Angry, red-edged, but no longer bleeding.
Vasha was dead. Which was something. Not everything, but something. Lucanis lay beside her, quiet and sharp-eyed, fingers dragging in soft lines down her spine, tracing between her shoulder blades, then lower. Careful. Tender, for him. Viago watched them both from his side of the bed, cheek against his hand, bare chest half covered by the sheet. He was warm, sated, limbs heavy. Every breath thick with a satisfaction that went deeper than pleasure.
She stirred. "Did you see the others?"
The words came out muffled, barely more than a mumble against the pillow. Viago smiled, slow and fond.
"Yes," he murmured.
She was quiet for a moment, like it took effort to summon the next question. "Are they all right?"
"They're fine."
His voice stayed soft, the same rhythm he used when soothing bruised informants or rattled apprentices. Meant to lull, to reassure. She made a quiet hum of acknowledgement and didn't speak again. He let his eyes drift over her - where the sheet clung low to her hips, the long line of her spine, the mess of her hair and the faint, fading edge of a bruise on her arm. The stubbornness of her. The fact that she came back. Not out of guilt, or fear. She'd just… come home.
Viago reached across and brushed a knuckle along her shoulder blade, just above Lucanis's hand. A shared touch, a silent agreement. Ours. Not caged, yet anyway. But still. Ours.
She lay between them, slack with comfort, cheek buried half into the pillow, golden hair scattered like silk across her shoulders and back. One leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, bare skin glowing in the firelight. Her breaths had slowed, but not quite fallen into sleep yet. The tea had cooled. The sheets were warm.
Viago lay on his side, propped on an elbow, just watching.
"What time do you need to be at the Hall tomorrow?" Lucanis asked, voice low and even.
"Early," she mumbled, without lifting her head.
Lucanis didn't stop the motion of his hand. "What would you be doing if you didn't have to?"
There was a beat of silence. Then she snorted softly. "You two, probably."
Viago's chuckle was low and pleased, curling in his throat like smoke. She always made it sound like they were the ones being indulged, like she wasn't as caught up in this as they were. But he knew better.
Lucanis's mouth twitched, but he didn't reply. Just kept tracing her spine. Viago let the moment stretch a little, then eased in again.
"What's your favourite mark you ever took?" he asked, voice casual.
She shifted slightly. "The merchant who smelled like burnt sugar. Had a hidden safe under the bath."
Viago grinned. "Clever girl."
They asked more, slow and harmless at first. Questions that didn't sound like prying. Viago asked what she used to daydream about when she was still in training. Lucanis asked who her least-hated handler had been. Viago teased out her favourite escape route in the city. Lucanis asked what it would take to make her stay with them without ever looking over her shoulder.
Each question softer than the last. Each answer shorter, murmured, as her body went looser, heavier, drifting into sleep.
And then, when she was nearly gone-
"What does home look like to you?" Lucanis asked.
There was a pause. A long one. Viago thought she might have fallen asleep. Then, still half-buried in the pillow, her voice slipped out - small, breath-warm.
"It looks like a person."
Lucanis went still, his hand paused on her back. Viago's smile faded, just a little.
"What person, tesora?" He asked gently.
A breath. Then, soft as confession, "Papá."
Viago's chest went tight. Lucanis shifted but didn't speak. She didn't mean it like an open wound, but it landed like one. She hadn't meant it to be cruel, but fuck, it stung. Papá.
She was a Crow. A killer. A thief. A survivor. But underneath all of it, she'd been a girl who'd had a father. A girl stolen from him and sold to the Crows. A girl who still carried him like a map folded under her chest. Viago looked at her sleepy face. The curve of her mouth, the soft breath slipping between her lips, the faint crease between her brows as it eased.
He reached out, brushing a piece of hair from her temple. "I'm sure he'd be proud."
For a long moment, nothing. Then - barely louder than the crackle of the fire - she let out a little huff of breath. A sound of sleep-dulled amusement, like the thought itself had made her smile somewhere deep in the dark of her mind.
"That I'm a harlot who kills people?" She mumbled. "Every father's dream…"
The words slurred at the edges, half buried in the pillow, too tired to sting.
Viago smiled, soft and crooked. "Mm," he murmured, "depends on the father."
Lucanis didn't laugh. But his hand kept moving - slow, even softer now - just above the bandages on her back.
"He'd be proud you lived," Lucanis said, voice low, threaded through with that rare, understated truth he only gave her when she couldn't look at him. "That you survived. That you came through it mean and golden and yours."
Viago let his fingers trail lightly down her arm, his touch as quiet as his voice.
"And if he saw you now," he whispered, "he'd see what we see."
She didn't reply. But her body shifted just the smallest bit - closer to Lucanis, the way she did when she stopped noticing she was doing it. She was asleep a moment later, breath warm and even. Viago lay back against the pillows, folding one arm behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.
What we see.
Not just a weapon. Not just something carved into purpose by the Crows. But someone sharp and bright and achingly hers.
He reached over, lightly laced his fingers through hers where her hand lay between them. Lucanis didn't say anything. But he kept his hand on her back, steady as breath.