The Sun Will Rise and We'll Try Again

Gabe exhaled smoke through his nose, watching it curl into the damp air like a lazy ghost. His grin was sharp, a flicker of teeth in the dim light.

Oh, I remember the nug. You think ham’s bad? At least it doesn’t stare back at you while you’re eating it. Nug stew, nug jerky, nug roasted over a fire—it’s like chewing regret. Can’t believe we survived that without stabbing each other. He shook his head, flicking ash off to the side. So yeah, meat on sticks? Sounds downright civilized by comparison.

Gabe rolled his shoulders, shifting in his saddle. His coat had taken on that damp, clinging weight that came with travel through miserable places, and he was itching for dry clothes and a stiff drink.

As for trouble, you know me—I’m flexible. Art and magic markets sound like the kind of place we could poke around in without getting immediately gutted. Probably. Could be something interesting there, or someone willing to pay for a quick hand. And bars? Well, a few drinks in the right places might shake some useful information loose.

He met her gaze, amusement flickering in his eyes. Besides, if we’re treating this like a proper job, we might as well get paid. No sense getting stabbed for free, yeah?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before settling back into the rhythm of the ride. But if you’re asking if I think it’s dangerous? Hell yes. Always is. Stabbing hazards are easier to spot than some well-laid trap, though, and I’d rather face a knife than another bloody death maze tailored to kill us specifically. At least a bloke with a blade is predictable.

A pause. Then, with a smirk, Of course, now that I’ve said that, we’ll probably get both. Just our luck.

@Mariam DeTyne