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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
The air was cooler than usual for Torchline—Deepfrost had that effect, even here. The salt wind had teeth, the sea smell sharper, and the sky looked bruised where the floating half of Haulani cut through the clouds. Damien didn’t mind the chill. Compared to Halo, Torchline felt like a long sigh of relief. He was beginning to prefer to do his shopping here, this season at least.
Aria padded along at his side, paws silent against the uneven boards of the raised street. Her coat caught the light like fresh snow, too bright against the dark planks and fish-oil puddles. He didn’t leash her—usually didn't—but his hand reached out to brush her shoulder every now and then, or he'd murmur something to her; little reminders, small praises to stay close. She was learning, slowly. Her eyes flicked up to him often, eager, curious, unafraid. He’d earned her attention. What he hadn’t yet earned, he suspected, was her trust.
“Keep this up, there might be a fish in it for you,” he told her, voice low enough to vanish beneath the crowd noise. She squeaked back up at him with a curious wave of her tail. A nearby merchant shouted about his catch, a few sailors were laughing loudly, gulls wheeled and argued overhead. Ordinary day here. He adjusted the strap of his pack and moved toward the market proper, Aria’s tail swaying like a white pennant beside his heel.
That’s when a bark cut through everything else. Damien turned his head in the direction.
On the corner, a stray hound was begging for scraps, ribs showing beneath its fur. Everyone else was shooing it away. Aria paused, ears pricking toward it. Damien saw it at once, knew what she was doing; the tilt of her head, the small curious chuff she made. “No,” he said, already stepping forth to stop her, but she was quicker and thought she knew better. She bounded away with a kitten’s thoughtless confidence, chirping as if greeting an old friend.
“Aria, come here—”
The hound spun, hackles raising, and the street erupted.
Clearly, it didn’t share Aria’s friendly streak. The instant its gaze locked on the oversized kitten it stiffened, lips curling back in a low, ugly snarl.
Aria froze, ears flat, then thought better of it. Her back arched, fur puffed to twice her size, but the hound came on anyway, claws skittering on the boards. With a burst of panic, she bolted—a spotted, white blur against the dark street—as the dog crashed through a row of fish crates in pursuit. The merchant cried out about his lost catches.
"Shit," Damien swore under his breath and ran, boots pounding after them. For now, all he could do was keep them in sight and pray the cub was faster than the dog.
The market is louder than usual, which is saying something. Deepfrost hasn’t stripped it of colour or noise, just wrapped everything in a saltier, sharper edge. The sky bruises purple where the floating half of the city slices through the clouds above, but down here it's all haggling, seagulls, and the occasional splash of mischief in the form of the Doubletake.
She’s bent slightly over a merchant’s table, flipping through a set of etched dice with the kind of scrutiny normally reserved for gemstones or lovers. "You’re telling me these roll fair?" she asks, voice skeptical but playful. "Because if I get snake eyes three times in a row, I will be coming back with a grudge and a very cute dragon." Spice chirps from her perch above, fluffing her wings like punctuation.
The merchant’s halfway into a defensive pitch when it happens: first the clatter of something big and wooden crashing over, then the wave of startled shouting that ripples through the market. Spice chirps sharply, launching from her perch in a flurry of wings, and Flora straightens instinctively just in time to catch a flash of movement as someone barrels past.
She knows that voice. Damien.
He’s shouting for someone—Aria?—and the urgency in it yanks something taut inside her. It isn’t fear, not exactly, but it’s the same thread that always tugs when someone she knows is in motion for the wrong reasons. Her eyes follow him down the row, tracking the blur of white fur weaving ahead of him and the much less friendly shape in pursuit.
"Shit," she mutters, not bothering to explain herself to the dice vendor as she turns on her heel. "I’ll be back. Maybe."
She slips into the flow of the crowd with practiced ease, skirt hitched, sandals skimming splintery boards as she picks up speed. Her fingers brush a fishmonger’s stall as she darts past, murmuring a rushed apology as the scent of brine gives way to the sharper sting of adrenaline. Whoever Aria was, if Damien’s chasing her like that, Flora doesn’t hesitate. Torchline doesn’t always reward stopping for other people’s messes, usually, but today, she’s not in the mood to be cautious.
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
Fish scattered across the boards like silver coins, gulls screaming overhead as the street broke into chaos. Damien shouldered through the crowd, eyes locked on the flash of white and the blur of brindled fur ahead. The smell of salt and fish oil hit sharp as he ran, his pulse pounding in his ears.
They cut through a cross-section of Haulani’s streets, the dog’s barking echoing between the alleys and storefronts, and then suddenly—they were gone. He skidded to a stop, scanning left and right.
“Damn dog.. Aria!” The name tore out of him sharper than he meant. No answer but startled passersby, who were of little help.
He turned, searching every shadowed gap between stalls and buildings. It hadn’t been more than a few seconds—how in the world had he lost them already?
Movement and the sound of footsteps behind him caught his attention. A stream of blonde hair and flowing skirts. When he turned fully to see who it was, disbelief cut through the burst of adrenaline. “Flora?” His voice hitched somewhere between surprise and exasperation. The Queen of Torchline, of all people, was chasing after him?
He didn’t have the breath to question it. He only let it stop him for a second, then took a few long strides forward. But he did cast a worried look over his shoulder at her as he asked, “Did you see which way they went?”
The scent of fish guts and sea brine is sharp enough to sting, and the noise is pure Haulani chaos; vendors shouting, crates creaking, someone loudly lamenting their ruined merchandise like it’s a national tragedy. Flora darts around a toppled barrel of red-slick snapper, catching sight of the tall, dark outline she’d clocked just before: Damien, unmistakably. Broad-shouldered and storm-eyed, looking about two seconds from tackling the next person who looked at him funny.
She slips into the trailing shadow he casts like it’s instinct, the hem of her sweater catching wind as she angles to close the distance. It’s Deepfrost, but Torchline’s version of winter is more dramatic in colour than in temperature, so she’s dressed in wide-legged linen pants and a chunky ivory sweater that slouches off one shoulder, her gold jewellery glinting with every movement, like a constellation trying to keep pace with her.
When he turns and her name breaks across his expression, she raises her brows in return, breath quick but posture still entirely relaxed, like she hasn’t just jogged half the damn market to catch up with him. "No, sorry," she replies, shaking her head as she straightens. "I saw a blur and heard your voice." And that was enough.
Tucking a curl behind her ear, she peers down the alleyway Damien had been about to storm through, expression sharpening with the kind of alertness usually reserved for late-night bar fights and poorly judged dares. Aria, was it? Flora doesn’t know exactly who it belongs to, but her brain starts drawing lines anyway. Daughter? Niece? Some poor soul caught under that gruff, bear-pawed protection she’s starting to suspect hides a gold-foil centre?
Her brows lift as she glances back at him, lips parting just slightly as if she might ask, but instead, she lifts her fingers and whistles sharply, two short notes slicing through the noise like a blade. Overhead, Spice wheels down from the clouds with her usual dramatic flourish, white wings glinting like spilled starlight. Flora doesn’t bother hiding the way she grins at the sight, or the quick flick of satisfaction in her gaze before she turns it squarely back on Damien.
"If you give Spice a description, she'll be able to look from above."
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
Flora was the picture of poise, even with her hair wind-tossed and her pulse quickened. Somehow she made chasing him through a market look like part of a parade. Damien, on the other hand, was all ruffled feathers and pounding blood, his heartbeat drumming hard enough to drown the noise of the crowd. He barely registered the flash of gold at her throat or the tilt of her smile; all he could think about was the sound of claws on wood and a white tail disappearing into the mess of Haulani’s streets.
That dog had looked half-starved and mean enough to take on anything smaller than itself. The thought of those teeth near Aria’s throat twisted something deep in his gut.
He gave a short nod of acknowledgment, half relief and half apology, then took a few long strides down the nearest cross street to look again. Nothing. Just more merchants hawking wares.
The whistle cut through the air like a blade, and Damien turned sharply, hand halfway to his belt out of instinct. What he saw instead made him blink. Spice—winged, bright as salt spray—spiraled down on the wind, catching the sunlight in a shimmer of silver.
When Flora spoke, her tone cool and precise, it took him a moment to catch up. Right. The dragon—Spice—could help. He wasn’t sure how intelligent the dragon really was, if it could understand him, but he wasn’t about to argue with the Queen of Torchline in the middle of a crisis.
“It’s a cub,” he said quickly, glancing between Flora and the dragon as if he needed both to understand. “Snow leopard. White, black spots, long tail. She’s small but fast. A stray dog spooked her and I—”
His breath caught mid-sentence. The guilt hit hard and sudden, heavy as the crash of the tide below the boards. He should’ve seen the hound sooner. Should’ve had her leashed, trained tighter, kept closer. Every thought carried another should have.
"Please, we have to find her. She can't fend for herself." He added, quieter, eyes on the dragon.
A cub. That sharpens the picture, even as the cold edge of concern curls deeper beneath her ribs. Flora's brows lift with dawning understanding, and behind her, Spice blinks once, cool and catlike and utterly unimpressed by Damien’s distress, though her sleek body already hums with readiness. A tilt of Flora’s chin and a flick of fingers is all it takes. "Go," she murmurs, voice low but steady as frostbite. "Find her."
The little dragon launches without hesitation, wings slicing upward with a snap that flutters scarves and skirts alike. "And if that dog tries anything stupid," she adds out loud, " freeze its ass." Pale and fast as seafoam whipped by the wind, Spice carves a spiral above the rooftops, tail flicking as she gains height. Flora watches her go for half a breath, then flicks her gaze sideways toward Damien.
Reaching out, she touches his arm; not dramatic, but not delicate either. Just warm fingers closing around a forearm still braced with worry. "We’ll find her," Flora says, the way you might promise rain to a dry field. "And there’s healing water all around if she's scraped up at all." It’s easier to be calm when it isn’t your companion out there. She knows that, but it doesn’t make her grip any less firm or confident.
Turning, she starts walking, pace brisk but measured, eyes lifted to track the shape of Spice against the shifting sky. "She’s young, but I bet her instincts’ll kick in. She's probably already two alleys deep and thinking her way around that mutt, and the streets have lots of places for her to hide that dog won't be able to follow."
She doesn’t say don’t worry, knowing at this point it was already far too late, instead she just moves beneath her dragon's shadow, trusting Spice to lead them, and the cub to be smart enough to stay alive.
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
He didn’t realize how hard he’d been spiraling until Flora’s hand closed around his arm. The warmth of it cut through the noise in his head—the hammering pulse, the running inventory of every worst possibility—and for a moment he just stood there, shoulders tight. Her calm wasn’t misplaced; it was deliberate, grounding. It gave him something to hang on to. It didn't annoy him, it steadied something that had started to unravel.
He made an effort to breathe and nodded. "Thank you." For the help, for knowing what to say. He meant it, gratitude thick in his voice and eyes, but they couldn't celebrate yet. He matched her pace as they moved, his steps falling into rhythm with hers. The noise of the crowds faded behind them, replaced by the creak of wood and the wash of tide against the stilts below. Above, Spice’s pale form slipped through the light like a thrown knife, small against the stretch of Haulani’s sky.
“I should’ve kept her closer,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “She’s smart, but she’s still just—” The rest caught in his throat. The word kitten sounded too much like helpless, and he couldn’t think of her that way. Not right now. Flora had a point; somewhere beneath the big round eyes and fluffy fur, there was generations of instinct coursing through Aria's blood. She would be okay. She had to be.
He scanned each street they passed, eyes flicking from shadowed alleys to rooftops where colorful laundry swayed in the wind. The air was damp with salt and smoke, the kind that clung to the back of the throat. He strained to listen for any signs; barking, yowling, crates toppling over.
He glanced up again, tracking Spice’s shape as she wheeled higher. A speck of silver in the bruised light, sharp against the clouds.
“C'mon,” he breathed, not sure if he was talking to himself, to the dragon, or to Aria out there in the maze of streets.
He quickened his pace, boots hitting the boards with renewed force, eyes following the line of Spice’s flight as if sheer will could pull her toward the right place. Somewhere ahead, he thought he heard a bark—distant, echoing through the alleys—and he felt his pulse quicken all over again.
High over the tangle of Haulani’s streets, Spice’s sharp eyes might catch it: a pale feline shape trapped in the mouth of an alley. Not too far from where the humans trailed, the dog had driven the snow leopard cub into a dead end. The hound crept forward, body coiled tight, every muscle trembling with the promise of violence like an arrow ready to loose. Aria did her best to look fierce—arched back, tail puffed—but truth be told, she wanted none of the smoke.
Flora catches Damien's glance and nods, a wordless little encouragement tucked behind the curve of her smile. It isn’t hollow; there’s a steady confidence behind it. "We’ll find her," she echoes softly, her voice a kind of tether that never tugs too tight. But his doubt slips in like smoke through floorboards, and she shakes her head, curls catching the breeze that sweeps between buildings like it’s been listening in. "As easy as it is to keep what we love right up close," Flora murmurs, not looking at him this time, but ahead, as if Aria might already be rounding the corner, fur mussed, but triumphant, "they always get free eventually. Especially the ones with claws and teeth and freedom stitched into their instincts."
She says it gently, but it’s truth through and through. Wild animals—even the soft-eyed kind—aren’t made for cages, not even the gilded, well-meaning ones. Above them, Spice wheels higher, and though the little dragon hasn’t found anything yet, Flora can feel the pull of the bond like a quiet fishing line; taut, waiting, until suddenly it snaps.
A thrill zips along her spine, frost-sharp and electric. Spice doesn’t speak, but the pulse she sends is enough; there! The dragon doesn’t hesitate, diving like a silver-tipped dart through the Haulani air, narrowing toward a darkened alleyway tucked between shuttered vendors and old stone. She’s no bigger than the cub, but as she lands in a spray of gravel and salt wind, her wings snap wide, twice her size, and gleaming like something holy. With a hiss, she plants herself between the hound and the cub, exhaling a stream of shimmering frost across the boards to freeze the path under the dog’s feet.
On the street, Flora jerks to a stop, head tilted just so. Spice’s thrill ripples through her again, and a bark rises to meet it, distant but clear. Hand closing around Damien’s arm again, she yanks him with her. "Quick!" she calls, already veering sharply off-course, skirts flaring as she pivots toward the alley. "I think she’s found her!" And without missing a step, she’s running. Not blindly, but fast; heart lifted high with the kind of hope that crackles just before it turns real or wrong.
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
The moment Flora jerked to a stop, Damien nearly collided with her. Her grip on his arm snapped him out of thought and straight into motion again. The word Quick! barely had time to register before he was already moving—legs churning, lungs burning, heart hammering.
They cut through the narrow street, boards slick underfoot, the smell of brine thick enough to taste. Ahead, a sound split the air—Spice’s hiss, sharp and metallic, followed by the crack of something freezing. The noise made every hair on the back of his neck stand up.
By the time he reached the alley, the scene hit him like a gut punch. The dog had Aria cornered against a stack of barrels, its body wound tight as wire, lips peeled back from wet teeth. A sheet of frost glittered across the boards between them.
Spice stood between predator and prey, wings spread wide, her scales flashing.
Aria’s ears flattened, her pupils blown wide. She didn’t understand what she was seeing—this glittering creature with frost breath—but she knew power when she felt it. Confusion trembled through her body; she pressed herself lower, tail sweeping the boards, trying to make sense of it. Somewhere in the back of her little animal mind, a faint memory of the other dragon flickered to life—the gentle one called 'Sugar'. Maybe that was why she didn’t bolt or something stupider like try to fight it lol.
The hound tested the frost, claws scraping against the thin ice. It barked, a hoarse, ugly sound, and then lunged, half-slipping, half-charging through the slick patch toward the cub. Its eyes were wild, its own hunting instincts sending it into frenzy.
Damien didn’t think. He just moved.
He hit the alley hard, voice cracking through the air. “Hey!”
The hatchet kept along his belt was in his hand before he realized it, the blade flashing once as he stepped in. His voice dropped to a growl. “Back off!”
He didn’t swing, not yet. Not if he didn't have to. But everything in his stance said he absolutely would. He alone was a wall, his weight shifted forward, his presence suddenly the largest thing in that narrow space. If the dog really wanted its catch, it'd have to go through him first.
The dog skidded to a stop a few feet away, hackles high, eyes flicking between the man, the dragon, the trembling cub.
Aria stared too, frozen—not just with fear, but with something deeper. Recognition, maybe. The shape of him there between her and the danger, the sound of his voice cutting through the cold, it hit her somewhere fear couldn’t reach. Her heartbeat stuttered, then steadied. The familiar scent of him cut through the chaos and anchored her.
Damien’s voice was quieter now, but no less intimidating as he faced the dog and raised his arms. “Go on, get out of here!”
The hiss of frost still lingers like a warning in the air when Flora skids to a halt at the mouth of the alley.
The scene hits hard and clear: Spice, small but blazing with defiance, wings arched like twin scythes of silvered glass. Damien, taller than anything else in the cramped space, hatchet gleaming, voice like gravel flung against steel. And between them—no, behind them, backed into a corner with wide, trembling eyes—Aria.
Flora doesn’t move closer, not when instincts are coiled so tightly the whole alley crackles with them. One wrong step and it might all shatter. Instead, she stands just at the threshold, breath held, her shadow slipping long across the boards behind her. Aqua eyes scan the frozen mess of it all, the sharp angle of Damien’s shoulders, the lurch of Spice’s chest as the dragon inhales.
And the dog? It hesitates. Gaunt, grease-slick, its ribs showing like drawn knives beneath patchy fur. It eyes Damien, eyes the blade. Weighs hunger against hurt with all the brutal simplicity of something that’s survived too long on nothing. It doesn’t see power or pity. Only obstacles.
Then it lunges.
Hackles up, claws scraping for traction across the frost, it darts low and fast; head down, mouth open, aiming straight between Damien’s legs. Not stupid. Just desperate.
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
The dog came low—mean and fast and desperate—and Damien barely had time to shift his weight before it was lunging behind him. He saw the whites of its eyes, the spit hanging from its teeth, and something in him just clicked. The old hunter’s instinct. The part that didn’t ask questions, didn’t leave room for pity.
The hatchet came up in a blur of silver and wood. He didn’t swing to kill—he swung to stop. The flat of the blade caught the dog across the shoulder with a wet, meaty crack, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the narrow space. It yelped, skidded sideways, claws shrieking against the frost, and slammed into a barrel hard enough to make the whole stack rattle.
Damien didn’t let it breathe. He took a step forward, teeth bared, voice ragged and raw. “I said back off!”
The words came out like something torn from him, half snarl. Steam poured from his mouth in the cold, mirroring the dog’s panting breath. The air stank of fear and iron and frozen brine.
The dog crouched, ribs heaving, eyes wild. It wanted another go—you could see it trembling on the edge—but there was something in Damien’s stare that cut through even the madness. A kind of promise. One more move, and it wouldn’t get back up.
He stood over it, chest rising and falling hard, hatchet threatening to go for another strike if he needed to. His pulse roared in his ears.
Behind him, Aria made a small sound. Not quite a mewl—lower, rougher.
He turned just enough to glance at her. The cub’s fur was bristled high, eyes huge, but as he glanced over, she looked back at him. Not the dragon. Not the dog. Him. Her tail gave a single, tentative flick, and she crept forward a few inches, still trembling, still ready to bolt—but moving toward the person that had stepped between her and the chaos of the world.
The wounded dog watches them for one long, tense moment; ears flattened, chest heaving, eyes wild with a pain too old to name. But whatever fight had flared up in it guttered now like a match in rain. With a final, miserable whimper, it limps backward on shaking limbs, dragging one paw, then the other, before turning to slink off into the deeper maze of Haulani.
Flora steps back to let it pass, shifting just enough to avoid the sweep of its retreating tail. Her eyes never leave it, not until it disappears into the crowd again, just another shadow in the cluttered city. Then she whistles low and sharp, two fingers against her tongue.
Spice wheels in the sky, and then drops in a blur of frost-laced wings, landing neatly on her shoulder with a flutter that sends her curls dancing. The little dragon presses close, her chill breath stirring the neckline of Flora’s sweater the Queen strokes her absentmindedly with a manicured fingertip. "Good job," she murmurs, too soft to be smug, and steps further into the alley.
Not all the way in; just enough that her sandals kiss the edge of the frost but that her scent—salt-sweet with a twist of jasmine—doesn’t crowd the cub. Her gaze flicks between Damien and Aria, taking in the slight shift in the cub’s stance, the tentative inching forward. The way her trembling body was still angled toward him.
Flora slides one of her rings free—the gold leafed one—whispering with warmth between her fingers. "Here, Damien." She extends her hand outward, careful not to reach too close, keeping the distance deliberate. "It’s a healing ring. You won’t need to do anything—just touch her with it while it’s on."
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
The alley went still. The sound of the dog’s retreat faded into the noise of the city—fishmongers shouting, gulls screaming, the steady pulse of Haulani life picking up where it had paused.
Damien stayed where he was for a long breath, hatchet slowly lowering to his side, until the thrum of danger finally eased out of his muscles. Then he turned toward the cub.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice hoarse, "It's okay."
He crouched, slow and careful, one knee sinking to the frost-slick boards. Aria’s tail twitched, a nervous whip of movement, but she didn’t shrink back. Her wide eyes followed him, pupils still blown, body trembling with the leftover electricity of fear. Then, with a soft huff that sounded almost like a sigh, she inched closer.
He reached out, free hand open, and brushed his fingers lightly through the thick ruff at her neck. Her heartbeat thrummed beneath his touch—fast, wild—but steadying. She leaned into his palm, and it was enough to say what words couldn’t.
When he looked up, Flora and her dragon silhouetted the mouth of the alley. Spice perched on her shoulder like something carved of ice and breath, frost glittering along the edges of her wings. The sight of them, calm and whole, pulled some of the tightness from his chest.
“Guess we owe you both,” he said, a slight lift of the corner of one lip, though the smile didn't quite match his eyes.
Flora stepped forward then, the gold leaf of her ring catching what little light filtered through the slats above. The offer caught him off guard—kindness always did—but he nodded, sliding the hatchet back into its sheath before taking the ring. It was warm against his palm.
He slipped it on and gathered Aria into his arms. The cub let out a soft trill at Flora as he did—questioning, curious—as if she were trying to make sense of this bright, perfumed stranger. Whatever scrapes or bruises she’d earned in the chase, they faded fast under the ring’s warmth. The tension that had been choking him loosened as he stood, Aria settled against his chest. She blinked up at him, then leaned over his arm toward Flora and shortly after, a big fluffy paw reached out for her.
Damien huffed a short, quiet laugh through his nose. “She's feeling better already.”
He turned to offer the ring back to Flora, unceremonious but sincere. “Thank you. For this—and for showing up when you did. You too, Spice.” His tone carried an uncommon warmth. “Could’ve gone much worse.”
He glanced down at the cub. “But I think we’ll both remember it.”
Flora beams at the cub’s paw, fluttering her fingers in the air just shy of it. "Hey gorgeous," she coos, eyes bright with amusement and affection, but she doesn’t close the distance. The poor thing’s probably had enough surprises for one day; between alley dogs and frost dragons, the stimulation quota is likely already full.
Spice, ever the show-off, puffs a pleased trill from Flora’s shoulder and leans forward, exhaling a little swirl of cold that shivers across Aria’s fur before rolling down Flora’s spine. She gives a theatrical shudder, shoulders scrunching. "Rude," she mutters at the dragon, who only flicks her tail smugly and curls around the back of her neck like a too-chilly scarf.
With a flick of her wrist, Flora takes the ring back and slides it onto her finger with the ease of habit. "Nah," she says, shaking her head lightly, lips tugging into a smile that doesn’t try to be anything but warm. "You would’ve found her on your own, I’m sure of it." And maybe he would’ve, but sometimes it's better not to know.
She glances down at the cub again, the shimmer in her gaze softening. "Still," she adds, brushing a curl from her cheek, "sorry her first impression of Torchline was so impolite. We’re usually a lot more fun than near-death alleyway chases." A beat, and then, half-laughing: "Well..."
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
