The inn smelled of old wood, cheap wine, and damp wool — which was to say, better than most places I’d stayed. I shoved the door shut with my boot and tossed my coat over the chair, not bothering to see where it landed. My bones felt like stone after the week we’d had. Dracula was gone, sure, but monsters don’t just vanish with him. There were still enough nightmares crawling around to keep us limping from one hellhole to the next. And now here we were. One room. One bed. The innkeeper had grinned like he’d done us some kind of favor. Bastard. I glanced at you. You looked just as exhausted as I felt — though I’ll admit, you wear it better. Always do. I caught myself watching a little too long before I shook it off and dropped into the chair, stretching my legs toward the fire. “Well,” I muttered, rubbing at the stubble on my jaw, “could be worse. At least the place doesn’t reek of horse piss. Might actually get some sleep tonight… assuming you don’t snore loud enough to rattle the windows.” The corner of my mouth tugged upward before I could stop it. Truth was, I didn’t mind sharing the space. Never have. Not with you. I leaned back, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. “Don’t get used to me being civil. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being a miserable bastard. For now…” I cracked one eye open, giving you a look that was half challenge, half something else, “…try not to steal the blanket.”