She woke when others settled down to rest.

When the last trace of the sun had passed the horizon, the sky a dusky purple-blue-black, Ophelia decided she was tired of resting. Some ward or something on the tower was, while not actively pushing her out, giving her a killer headache, a low buzz deep in her skull. She descended the stairs, found the hidden catch for anyone other than Farryn to open the wall, and made her way to the base of the tower. She dodged desks, tables, and other furniture as she passed through room after room, then shouldered through the front double-doors.

On the marble stoop sat Rhyn, leaning against the tower, an unlabeled bottle of something dark and amber in hand, staring out at the past-dusk city of Lynndal. The dragon woman took a swig of her drink and tilted her head - not enough to look at Ophelia, but acknowledging her presence nonetheless. “Sit,” Rhyn said, gesturing vaguely with the bottle. “Don’t have anything better to do, I imagine.”

Ophelia did as instructed, sitting on the other side of the stoop, a good five or ten feet from Rhyn. “Why are you out here?” Ophelia asked.

“Couldn’t sleep. You?” Rhyn replied, still staring at the beginning night life. People were milling about, in smaller numbers but larger groups.

“Same. Something in there is subtly pushing at me.”

“Probably a forgotten anti-demon ward. Farryn has put up dozens of different protections through the year or so I’ve worked for her. Probably forgot to allow you through them all.”

“After the, what, six hours? My head is killing me. I just need some air.

Rhyn set the bottle on the stoop and pushed it over. “Drink up.”

Ophelia picked it up. “Whiskey?”

“Something like that.”

Ophelia sniffed it, noted how it smelled strong and dark, then drank it. It was thick and overpowering, and it burned like nothing else, a fiery liquor meant to be mixed and diluted rather than drank straight. She didn’t quite cough - she had manners - but she did wince and sputter as soon as it was down. “Fuck, woman, what is that?”

Rhyn laughed, loud and raspy, tipping her head back. “Dragonspittle. It’s a, uh, it’s a distilled liquor. Heavily concentrated. I think they make it with cinder berries and ash from burning the wood of those big-ass black oak trees over near Dawnhold, but they import it fucking everywhere.”

“I take it you enjoy this stuff?” Ophelia asked, braving another swig and grimacing. It was still booze, but it was bordering on undrinkable.

“I do. The burn doesn’t bother me as much. Honestly, I’m a little shocked that it’s hitting a demon so hard.” Rhyn took the bottle back and shifted how she was sitting, facing Ophelia more.

“Well, for your information,” Ophelia said, doing the same, “I’ve spent the last eight… no, ten months in the new world, with nothing even close to that. My tolerance has dropped a little bit. Gods, that shit might straight-up kill a human.”

“Nah, some of the fuckers out at the Golden Curtain down it like water. They’re insane, and always fuckin’ wasted. Some folk back home are the same, and they’ve been drinking Dragonspittle every night for decades, and they’re still kicking.” Rhyn took another swig and slid the bottle back.

“Humans should not be consuming this,” Ophelia said as she took the bottle again and tipped it back. “Gods know we probably shouldn’t be consuming this.”

“Yeah, but it gets you wasted and it’s pretty cheap.” Rhyn interlaced her fingers and put her hands behind her head. “Drink aside. What brings you here? And I mean… for real.”

“Thought we went over it with you in the room, but maybe not.” Ophelia rubbed the heel of her palm against one eye, sliding the bottle of Dragonspittle between herself and Rhyn. The booze was already starting to fog her mind - or it was the lack of sleep. “Got teleported here in a freak accident with some kind of badly-made portal. Got split up from my friends. Had to team up with someone I thought was an enemy to get here and get help.”

“Who’re you trying to get back to?”

A warmth in her chest and in her gut, Ophelia felt the slightest blush rise to her cheeks. “Well, y’know. Tyler, Aoife. Friends. Allies, more like. Jade. More of a… lover. My brother, Torik. And my… partner. Isaac.”

“Partner? That’s a boring word. Not ‘boyfriend?’ Husband, even?”

“Fuck no,” Ophelia laughed, and Rhyn joined her. “Not husband. We are not married, by this world’s standards or the other world’s. Boyfriend… feels childish.”

“Do you fuck him or love him?” Rhyn asked abruptly. Her eyes flicked to the liquor, but she didn’t take it. “Or both?”

“Both.”

“Hm.”

“What? What does ‘hm’ mean?”

Rhyn looked at Ophelia with half-lidded eyes, tipsy or tired or both. “Dunno. He sounds like a lucky guy.”

“I think that’s what he thinks, too. But I’m more lucky to have him than the other way around, honestly.” Ophelia looked up to the stars. “What a shock,” she drawled, sarcastic, “demons aren’t too popular.”

“I get the other end of the stick.” Rhyn’s raspy voice gained a new quality, a low growl as she sneered at someone or something. “People in the new world loooove dragons, apparently.”

“I imagine.”

“But getting a partner? Gods, might as well be looking for a tree in the fucking ocean. Everyone wants the dragon, no one wants to be part of the horde…” Rhyn smirked, shaking her head. “Nevermind all that. What’s got an evil motherfucker on your ass?”

Ophelia scoffed. “Honestly? I don’t really know. He’s after me because I’m part of the Unchained. He… he used to be in charge of some of us, when we were hired swords. I guess he just wants control again.”

“Fuck that,” Rhyn said, reaching out to take a swig from the bottle of Dragonspittle. “No one controls you but you.”

“Damn right.”

They lapsed into silence, both looking out at the city and the stars. It was peaceful, and far nicer than the wriggling buzz that she’d had to endure inside. Eventually, Rhyn began to hum, tuneless and meandering, but pleasant nonetheless. Ophelia closed her eyes and listened, letting Rhyn’s low, raspy humming lull her to a place of rest. She couldn’t go back to sleep, but it was nice to be able to turn her brain off and just exist.

Then Rhyn stopped, after a what felt like only a few minutes. “The fuck?” Muttered the dragon woman.

Ophelia cracked an eye open. “Huh?”

Rhyn pointed. “You know him? He’s walking up kinda quick.”

Ophelia rubbed at her eyes and was a bit shocked to see the reaching fingers of dawn on the sky. She had slept, apparently. More presently in front of her, however, was the dark-haired, bearded visage of an elf - no, fey - man, hands in pockets as he sauntered toward the tower at a good speed. He cracked a grin and lifted a hand to wave.

“Thank fuck,” Ophelia said as she stood. “Hey! You survived!”

Rhyn chuckled as she stood. “Answers my question. I’ll go tell Lady Elnore.” She slipped inside, her quick footsteps fading.

As he approached within normal speaking range, Tyler bowed. “Against all odds, yes, I did survive. It's good to see you, Ophelia.”

“It’s good to be seen.” Ophelia approached him and took his outstretched hand, then pulled him into a hug. “How’d you know I was here?”

“A little magic bullshit, a little gut feeling, and a little privileged info.” He shrugged, hugging her back. “Also heard you’re here with the Grimm woman. I- there’s more, but…” He pulled away, rubbing at his temple.

“Let’s head inside. We have stuff to talk about.” Ophelia released him, patting him on the shoulder.

“Always business, never pleasure,” Tyler agreed with a nod, following her into the tower. “Let’s get to work.”