By the time the sleep has cleared from her eyes, the charred, broken streaks across Abia’s flesh have dissipated. She feels their warmth, still. The gang shares a quiet breakfast and it’s clear no one feels rested. Abia is silent, as usual, but there’s a quality to the silence that prompts Shyan to ask what she’s thinking.
“Thinking of return,” Abia says, a world-weariness to her tone though her eyes sparkle.
“Last one, huh?” asks Shyan, doubt heavy in her voice.
“Superb,” Cang says. “There are indeed several valuables I would love to acquire.”
“What about all that?” Fassn asks, jabbing Cang in the ribs where he keeps a pouch of coins secreted in his vest.
“Never you mind,” says Cang. “After all, this is for Abianarin!”