The Sun Will Rise and We'll Try Again

Gabe rode alongside her, one hand loosely gripping the reins, the other fiddling with a cigarette he'd managed to keep dry in the damp. The ember flared dimly, mirroring the glint of his sharp eyes as he scanned the horizon.

You know, I don’t think the ham’s the real problem, Mariam. It’s the soul-crushing monotony of it. Out here, even the food’s given up on having personality. Gabe took a slow drag from his cigarette, flicking the ash without care. But yeah, I’m with you—ham can sod off. First thing in the city, we’re finding you a proper plate of something that once mooed.

Fancy dinner, though? You drive a hard bargain. Sure, let’s call it a celebration—surviving the muck, dodging death traps, and your bow getting the royal treatment. But don’t get too posh on me. If there’s a dress code, I’ll have to nick a tie from someone.

He smirked, adjusting his coat against the damp chill. A couple days, eh? That’s plenty of time to enjoy ourselves and maybe stir up a bit of trouble while we’re at it. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking we’ve gone soft, would we?

@Mariam DeTyne