Sunny shied away from her touch, disguising it as a motion to retrieve her washcloth and resume cleaning the blood from Shim’s chest and abdomen.

A sound from the tavern’s main room put them both instantly on high alert, pushing back their chairs as they rose to their feet. Glass crunched and then there was a scuffling, crashing sound followed by a grunt. And then—

Seela Sky’s face appeared in the doorway. She looked haggard, her cheeks smudged with dirt and blood, while her clothes had evidently survived the worst of whatever she’d suffered and were clean and dry. Her forehead, on the other hand, had been powdered with a brownish makeup that nearly matched her own skin tone. Strange that she took the time to apply it while not bothering to clean her cheeks, Soraya thought. “Sunny? We need to—oh,” she said when she spotted Soraya. “You’re still here.”

The way she said it felt strange, but then again, it was a strange night. “Her friend was badly wounded by the nightdemon. They’ll be staying here a while until he recovers.”

“He’s alive?” Seela said, unable to hide the shock that pulled at her lovely features.

“It appears the Zibanejadi are made of sterner stuff than us humans,” Sunny said with a grim smile, as though trying to make light of it all. “Are you alright? Did you see the nightdemon?”

Seela’s expression turned grave. “I spotted it just as I left my meeting. I tried to duck into the shadows, but it spotted me. I had to burrow myself into a crawlspace beneath a building to escape. At first it pawed at me as though trying to dig, but then gave up. I waited a while to be safe, and when I emerged, I spotted it slinking away into the forest.”

“It’s a wonder your clothes didn’t get dirtier then,” Soraya said. “What with all that crawling about in the dirt.”

“Oh, my clothing got plenty dirty, but I was wearing a dark cloak so I wouldn’t get caught breaking curfew. It got stuck on a nail when I pulled myself free, so I had no choice but to leave it.”

“Was that before or after you powdered your forehead?” It was perhaps too direct of an approach, but Soraya was getting rather tired of being lied to.

“I—I am embarrassed,” the woman said, hanging her head. “The men of the town expect me to look a certain way, whether within these walls or in public. Though the chances were slim that I would run into anyone considering the curfew, but old habits die hard, eh?”

To Soraya’s ears, at least, the answer sounded rather rehearsed, so she continued to press. “Did you procure your cheap booze?”