The lights of the bar beckon to me as I turn down a long, dark lane. The heavy metal sign groans as the wind kicks up and the light catches on the bright red lettering.

The Stone Guard, named in honor of the sturdy walls that protected us from the Drained for years, is in the sixth level of the fort, closest to my family home and the hunt grounds. It’s our favorite bar, the most popular haunt for huntsmen, which makes for good people-watching and information-gathering. But usually we end up here because it’s where Carter’s wife, Naima, works.

The swelling of conversations, music, and laughter hits me before I even step inside and crescendos as I pull the heavy wooden door open. The bar is warm, all the wooden tables adorned with glowing sunstones that cast golden light on the drab walls.

Two drummers and a fiddler sit at the front of the bar, playing a lively tune that keeps picking up speed. Couples on the dance floor struggle to keep pace as they move through a series of complicated footwork.

On one side of the room, a long wooden table is piled with fresh breads, preserves, and the picked-over bones of several roasted chickens. Feast nights are a sort of community potluck where the price of entry is food for the community table. It’s meant to honor Kennymyra’s generosity and celebrate the pleasure of excess.

I push my way through the drunken crowd and find Carter and Bryce toward the back of the bar.

“I knew Carter would be here, but I’m surprised to see you, Bryce. It’s not like you to spend so little time primping for a feast night,” I say.

Bryce grins. “Stop acting like I don’t look great. Plus, I like to wait until the last minute. It takes the new prey a little longer to work up the nerve, and the newbies are more fun.”

Carter shakes his head. “Only because no one else will have you.”

Bryce scoffs and tosses his hair. “Don’t be jealous. Just because you’ve settled on one pussy for the rest of your life doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.” He winces as he meets my eye. “No offense, Hen.”

“Who says there will only be one?” I ask.

Carter shakes his head and takes a gulp of his ale. “The murderous look in your wife-to-be’s eyes, for one.”

“Yes, but that’s part of the fun with a woman like that,” Bryce says. “The danger.”

Carter shakes his head. “Nothing about that sounds fun.”

Bryce flashes a sharp smile. “That’s only because you’ve never fucked a woman who’d like to kill you.”

“I worry about you,” Carter says.

Bryce shrugs. “What can I say? I have a type.”

It’s good to have a moment with them before I step out and am expected to be heir. The pressure to be impeccable is constant out there, but in here, Carter and Bryce still treat me the same as they always have—perhaps even a bit more like family. We all barely survived the attack. In the aftermath we became even closer, connected by the same unspeakable horrors.

I take a long swig of whiskey and set the glass down. I need to keep my head tonight.

Carter’s assessing gaze bores into me. “You good? It’s been a while.”

I glare at him. “You suggesting I can’t handle myself?”

“I’m suggesting you’re a bit distracted.”

I frown. “By what?”

“By your pretty fiancée, though I think it’s more than her beauty that has you ruffled.”

I cross my arms. It felt wrong to tell my parents what I noticed, not out of some sense of loyalty to her but more out of not knowing what to make of it. But Bryce and Carter are different. They’ve survived the same crucible, been forged by the same fires.

“What happened in the woods?” Carter asks.

“She was afraid, but also—” I swirl the liquid in my glass.

“But also…” Bryce prompts.

I glance around the bar, but no one is paying us any mind. “But she stayed focused and precise. The shock didn’t hit her until we were out of harm’s way.”

Carter’s brows shoot up. “So your city girl has seen some things?”

I nod. “I suspect she has. Back in Lunameade, her father sliced her arm to have me prove my ability and she didn’t so much as flinch—and that was not a scratch. Then she was wounded in the fight in the woods—claws in her shoulder, a broken wrist—and said nothing.” I scrub a hand over my face.

Carter’s jaw drops. “She’s got you.”

I balk. “She does not. I can tell that these things have slipped out when she didn’t mean them to.”

Carter leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “So you’re telling me this woman who casually fought off the Drained, who tried to murder you twice already, who curates an appearance designed to entice and trick men, has accidentally let things slip to you?”

When he puts it like that, I doubt myself, but I know what I saw on her face, what I felt from her in those moments.

“He’s fucked.” Bryce laughs and pours some more whiskey into my glass.

I rub the back of my neck. “I’m fine. Nothing has changed. I just think there’s more to uncover with her.”

Bryce waggles his eyebrows. “Sure is. Just a few more days until you get to uncover all of her.”

I shake my head. “You better stand at the back of the crowd at the wedding ritual. I’m not listening to you make cracks about my wife’s tits for the rest of my life.”

Bryce’s grin widens. “I make no promises.”

Naima wanders over to our booth with a tray in her hand. “Making no promises is a wise choice for you. I’ve heard more than enough about how you’re going to someday pay your tab.”

“Naima, you wound me.” Bryce clutches at his chest. “You know I’m good for it.”

A smile lights in her eyes as she gathers our empty glasses on her tray and kisses Carter on the cheek. “I know you’re good for nothing but trouble. Keep an eye on my love tonight. You know how those brutes can be when someone is breaking up their fun.”

Since Naima and Carter are in a monogamous relationship, Carter often opts to police hunt night and make sure that everyone is abiding by the rules that keep participants safe. Most people have no issue following them to the letter, fearing Kennymyra’s wrath if they violate a sacred ritual. But sometimes people get lost in the frenzy and get especially aggressive and territorial. Being part of the safety patrol can be a rough job.

“What about you, Hen? Are you on guard duty, or will you be indulging?” Naima asks, absently running her fingers over the nape of Carter’s neck.

“Last chance before I’m a married man—not to mention I’ve been away too long to skip it,” I say.

Naima smiles warmly, her light brown eyes bright with mischief. “Carter tells me your wife is feisty. I think she’ll be good for you.”

“It’s not that kind of match. She’s just a part of my job,” I say.

Naima smirks. “We’ll see if you’re singing the same tune after you take her to bed.”

She and Carter have overly romantic notions, but what they have is rare.

Everyone who almost died ten years ago in the attack lost the ability to see color—the world shifting to monochrome in the gasp of a breath. Carter is one of the rare few who had his full color vision restored. He speaks about it like a holy experience—as if the moment he realized he was in love with Naima was the moment he was reborn, and the color returning was just a symptom of a new life beginning.

It’s nauseating.

In recent years in Mountain Haven relationships, waiting for color to appear has become a point of tension. I can’t be bothered to succumb to the hopeless notion, nor do I aspire to.

For ten years, I’ve had one plan: rebuild and revenge. I have been careful not to form attachments with anyone. The thousands of us left here who survived the attack split into two directions. Some survivors sought out the comfort of partnership and family—eager to put their second chances to use. The rest, like me, turned away from that entirely.

Watching Carter pine for his wife while we were away was enough to put me off it even more.