Hajin woke on the hallway floor with cold porridge balanced on his chest, a spoon standing upright like a flag. Four feet away a horned girl crouched in the grey light, arms around her knees, staring at him without blinking.
"Morning, kid," he croaked, "did you bring me breakfast?"
Nyra nodded once, very gravely, then pointed at the bowl as though presenting evidence in a trial.
"Eat," she said.
He lifted a spoonful of the grey paste, chewing with the courage of a man defusing a trap.
"It's cold, it's lumpy... it might be the best thing I've ever tasted," he said, gagging politely.
At three that morning a scream tore through the manor, raw enough to wake every raven on the roof. Hajin was upright before his eyes opened, staring at a fresh black scorch mark crawling slowly across the doorframe.
"It's only me, kid, I'm sitting right outside and I'm not coming in," he called through the wood.
