I instantly shrank away, realizing this was foolish. To allow myself to be so close to him and enjoy it. His fingertips grazed my jaw as I retreated. I refused to acknowledge the confusion and chaos of my feelings then, but I knew I would have to later, like a sunburn appearing on my skin.

“We should go,” I said, successfully sliding off him this time. “Another battle awaits us.”

That sobered him. Maybe the knight would come, and maybe he wouldn’t. But lying in a garden entwined with Phelan Vesper was a bad idea, either way.

We returned to our original post, the streets empty and lamplit, gleaming with rain. I fixed my shield upon my arm, preparing for the second leg of the night. My adrenaline was beginning to ebb. I felt sore and weary, and my drenched clothes were chafing my skin.

It’s almost impossible to judge time on a new moon night. I don’t know how long Phelan and I stood there, our breath like clouds, our skin pebbled from the cold, our shields waiting on our arms.

But it felt like hours until the silence was broken by an unexpected sound. Someone was singing in the distance, a slurred chorus that echoed off the town houses.

Phelan and I both whirled to look behind us. In a ring of lamplight, I saw a man stumble. I could see he had a bottle of wine in his hand, and he continued to sing, defiant and foolish and utterly unaware of himself.

“Gods above,” Phelan said, exasperated.

“I take it he’s not part of the nightmare,” I said, but I felt a jolt of worry. It was always dangerous for residents to wander the streets on the new moon, even after a nightmare had broken. I had heard horrible stories of how magicians had inadvertently slain innocent mortals who had been in the streets, because the wardens believed they were part of the nightmare. Of course, this typically only happened to magicians who were unprepared, those who did not study and memorize their nightmare ledger.

“It’s Allan Hugh,” Phelan groaned. “And no, he’s not part of the nightmare. He’s very real.”

“You should do something,” I whispered, thinking it would be disastrous to have a drunk Allan wandering the streets if the knight appeared. “Can you take him home?”

But even that was a risk—to make Allan’s wife have no choice but to unlock her door on this capricious night.

Phelan sighed. “Yes, he lives one street over. I’ll take him there now. Will you—”

“I’ll wait here for you,” I said.

Phelan must have heard the resolve in me. I was not about to trail him and this drunk individual. He nodded and began to run up the street, splashing through puddles, calling for Allan’s attention.