The night had already fallen deep—it was close to midnight.
Mira closed the tavern’s gates before heading back to the kitchen. She tidied everything for the next day, extinguished the lamps, and shut its windows and door.
Two bowls of steaming soup still rested on the table in the tavern hall. Mira and Velira sat opposite each other, quietly sipping the vegetable broth as they talked.
"So, Eren’s hand won’t be fixed?" Mira asked.
Velira only lifted her shoulders in a silent I don’t know.
Mira still had no idea what had happened inside that room, nor the reason behind Alayne’s piercing scream. What lingered most in her thoughts was Bavrik’s sudden outburst—and everything that followed, keeping her mind occupied.
Meanwhile, Velira sat across from Mira. Her face appeared calm, but inside her thoughts were boiling. She knew exactly what Alayne and Eren had been doing in that room, and she silently cursed him. How could you do something like that? Don’t you realize she’s the fiancée of a noble—a high-ranking one at that?
Yet, none of this reached her lips. She only sipped her soup in silence, chewing at the vegetables without complaint, while Mira was left burdened with questions she could not get the answers of.
Time drifted on. The night deepened, and stars quietly scattered across the sky. Velira set down her empty bowl and rose, walking towards the kitchen.
Soon, as Mira finally finished her meal. She noticed Velira standing and opening the kitchen door.
"What are you doing?" Mira asked.
"I was trying to wash my own dishes. Is that not allowed?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ ⓝovelFire.net
Mira chuckled softly. "No, no—you don’t need to. You’ve already done more than enough for the tavern today."
Velira frowned faintly. "You’ve given me food and shelter. This is the least I can do." She tried to insist, but Mira gently refused.
"I’ll take care of the dishes in the morning. Just leave it by the side," Mira said, placing her own bowl near the kitchen door.
Velira hesitated—her lips parting with half a protest, half a question—but when she saw how firm Mira was, she gave in. Quietly, she placed her bowl just outside the tavern door, then followed Mira into the room where Eren lay.
The moment Eren noticed Velira enter, his body tensed—his expression jolting with unease—but Mira’s presence beside her kept him silent. He swallowed the reaction, forcing himself to adjust.
Mira, however, stood with her hand over her chest, gaze lowered, disappointment shadowing her face.
After a long pause, she spoke softly. "I’m so sorry. With all the ruckus earlier, I completely forgot to get another futon. We only have one." Guilt flickered in her eyes as she glanced between the futon beneath Eren and Velira standing nearby.
"I could just sleep on the flo—" Mira began, but Velira gently pressed a finger against her lips, cutting her off.
"Thanks, but no need for that, Mira," she said softly. A faint smile curved her lips, though her eyes carried a glint of mischief.
Then, almost playfully, she added, "Can’t we all sleep on the same futon?"
Hearing Velira’s words, Eren almost squeaked an involuntary "eep," while Mira only stared—confusion and questions layered across her face. Velira didn’t slow.
"Don’t you think so too, Eren?" Her eyes held an unapologetic glint—shameless, edged with something predatory.
Eren, stung by her provocative tone, didn’t argue. After all, she’d seen everything already. His defiance collapsed into something meek and muddled, half-agreeing, half-not, as he looked at the crude, confident Velira and—weakly—took her side.
"Y-yes, Aunt Mira... wouldn’t it be better?" he said, awkward, unwilling—and saying it anyway.
Velira nodded. "Yes, Mira. Wouldn’t it be better?" She glanced to the window; the stars were thinning. "It’s so dark outside. I won’t even make it to camp in this—the beasts are restless at night."
An expert-rank fighter, fearing the streets of a quiet town at midnight? It was like a lion pretending to be afraid among deer. But Mira didn’t voice the thought. After a moment of consideration, she simply sighed.
"Alright," she said. "How do you want to do this? There are three of us and only one futon."