called a problem child
cause i got too wild
I outright laugh at that. "Keep them in line? Sure—maybe I can whip Damien into shape," I say, deadpan for half a beat before I crack, "but Koa? Wildcard. You’re on your own."cause i got too wild
I fall in beside Deimos, soaking in every detail like the place might disappear if I blink too slow. The hearth’s warmth, the scuff-worn floors, the quiet weight of the trophies—I drink it all. Erebos is just adorable, and I can’t help waggling my fingers back at him whenever he glances my way. When Deimos raids the pantry for jerky, I bite the inside of my cheek to hide a grin and pretend it’s the most normal briefing snack in the world.
Erebos beckons, commander of crayons and corridors, and I grin. "I’m coming, I’m coming," I assure him, following into the back hall—right into the armory.
Steel and oil wrap around me like a welcome. Racks and pegs gleam with bows and daggers, longswords and broadswords, crossbows lined up like they’re waiting to be chosen. I’m a kid in a very sharp candy shop.
"I can just pick a weapon? These are for anyone in the guild?" I ask, hovering a hand over a row of hilts. "I mean—not to keep, obviously. To use?"
My gaze snags on a shortsword built for my reach, not my father’s. Dad carried a longsword like it was part of his spine; the memory ghosts through me, warm and a little aching. I step in, lift the shorter blade from its place. The balance is clean. I give it a cautious spin—nothing fancy, just enough to feel how it moves—then settle it in my palm, testing the weight, the promise of it.
Carefully, I set it back where it belongs, aligning the guard the way I found it. "Whoever forged these knows what they’re doing," I say, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice. "They sit right in the hand. Beautiful work."
but now that's how i'm getting paid
Theea
