“So what happened yesterday?”

I settle into a chair in the corner of the dark room. Smells of cooking fat and stale beer waft up from the taproom. I don’t know why he stays in this pit. Wait. Yes, I do.

“You know what happened.” Jarod’s voice, cold, hard comes from the bed.

“You scared the tavern owner half to death and…?”

“Am I allowed time to recover? To get used to this?”

“You’ve had a day.” I stand and brush the dust and dirt from my clothes. I tug at the shutters and grey, morning light bursts into the fusty room.

“You enjoy this,” Jarod mutters.

“I’m a writer.” I shrug. “Making your life hard is what I have to do.”

I stare at the man as he shoves aside the covers. I can see why Shena screamed…

I ignore the twinge of guilt. It’s necessary. I thought Jarod had accepted that.

I have.