Riri woke to warmth.
Not the ambient temperature of the penthouse. Samael's body heat, solid and present against her back, his arm heavy across her waist, fingers spread wide over her ribs.
The Bond carried his deep sleep-contentment. No dreams. Just rest.
Pre-dawn gray pressed against the windows. Her internal clock, sharpened by seventy-six days of early dungeon runs, put it somewhere before six.
His breathing stayed steady against her neck. Slow. Even. He was completely out.
That was new. He was always up before her, coffee already brewing, moving through his morning with mechanical precision. But yesterday's dungeon clear had bled his MP bar down to nothing by the end. The boss fight alone had taken more sustained kinetic output than anything they'd run before.
He'd carried the heaviest load. Made sense that sleep finally won.
Riri extracted herself carefully. Inch by inch, testing each shift of weight.
His arm tightened when she moved. She stopped.
Waited. His grip loosened. He rolled onto his back, one arm thrown over his face.
Still asleep.
She slipped out, bare feet quiet on cool hardwood. Pulled on sleep shorts, tugged down the oversized t-shirt she'd appropriated from his drawer days ago. Dark gray, smelling like cedar and something warmer underneath.
At the foot of the bed, Loki's head lifted. The wolf tracked her with amber eyes, assessed, settled back down when he understood she wasn't leaving.
Kirin was still curled tight against Loki's bulk, small wings twitching. Static crackled softly across his scales with each breath, the penthouse air smelling faintly of ozone from his proximity. Vesper dozed on the vacant pillow. Three of Vermillion's butterflies were already awake, tracking her across the room.
She started coffee and pulled ingredients from the fridge.
Pancakes. Because they could. Because Samael had cooked every meal for a week and she wanted to return the favor before six days became five and then four and then none, and mornings like this stopped being something she could count on.
She mixed batter while the coffee brewed. Flour, eggs, milk, a splash of vanilla. Her hands moved through it automatically, muscle memory from before Integration when cooking had been the thing she did after four-hour editing sessions to remember she had a body.
The first pancake hit the griddle with a satisfying hiss.
Behind her, the shower started.
Riri smiled and kept flipping.
Eight pancakes. Four each, and she added protein smoothies to the plan before his internal nutrition calculator could object. Greek yogurt, protein powder, frozen blueberries and banana for his, strawberries for hers. Both blended until smooth. Everything arranged on the dining table with the pleased efficiency of someone who had a plan.
Then she fed the companions.
Loki had wandered out of the bedroom, drawn by the smell of raw steak. Three pounds, portioned and set on the floor. He ate with the focused dedication of something built for serious work.
Vesper got dried fish on the kitchen island where he preferred to eat. Vermillion descended on their honey dish at the windowsill, wings going soft and slow with satisfaction.
Kirin had followed Loki out on unsteady legs, still learning the mechanics of his own feet. He spotted the raw steak, and his golden eyes fixed on it with an attention that left no room for anything else.
"You want some?" Riri cut a piece and held it out.
His jaws snapped shut around it before she'd finished extending her hand. Gone instantly. He chirped, already wanting more.
She gave him another. And another after that. The drake ate nearly a full pound before his small stomach rounded out visibly and he dropped onto the kitchen floor with the boneless satisfaction of something full and warm and done.
Riri washed her hands and turned toward the dining table to check the plating one last time.
The bedroom door opened.
Samael stepped out, hair damp and pushed back from his face, water still clinging to his neck. Black sweatpants, sitting criminally low on his hips.
No shirt.
Riri's brain performed a full and complete stop.
She'd seen him in tactical gear for seventy-six days. Seen him in civilian clothes all week. But this was different. This was shoulders broader than the jacket had suggested, and a chest mapped with lean muscle and old scars, thin white lines scattered across skin that spoke of years before a System number or a penthouse or her. His core was the kind of functional strength that came from actual use, not display. And the line of his hip where the waistband sat low was genuinely unreasonable.
She was staring. She knew she was staring. She could not immediately stop staring.
Samael stopped three steps into the living room. His dark eyes found hers. Tracked down to the oversized gray t-shirt, which was his t-shirt, then back up.
The Bond pulsed between them. Her reaction going through it like a current with nowhere to go.
His mouth curved. Not the small, contained smirk she'd gotten used to. This one was full and deliberate and absolutely aware of itself.
"Morning." His voice was still rough with sleep, which did not help.
Heat crawled up her neck. "Morning."
He crossed to the kitchen counter with unhurried steps, picked up his coffee mug, took a sip. The movement did things to his shoulders. He maintained eye contact the entire time.
Showing off. Completely deliberate.
"You made pancakes," he said, gaze moving to the table.
"And smoothies. So you can't complain about the carbs."
"I wasn't going to complain."
"You complain every time I suggest pancakes."
"That was before I realized what you looked like when I walked out like this." His satisfaction came through the Bond before his smirk widened. "This is considerably better than complaining."
Riri's face went fully, catastrophically red. She turned to the counter and wiped it down with a cloth that did not need wiping.
"You're ridiculous," she muttered.
"You like it."
"I really—" She stopped herself. Turned back, armed with a glare that landed approximately nowhere against his expression. "Put a shirt on."
"Why?" He moved closer. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back. Close enough to smell soap and clean skin. "Does it bother you?"
Yes. Emphatically and in detail.
"The pancakes are cold," she said, stepping around him with as much composure as she owned, which was currently very little.
His quiet laugh followed her to the table. "Alright. I'll get a shirt."
"Thank you."
"For the record," he said, pausing in the bedroom doorway, "you're wearing my t-shirt." The smirk held. "Fair is fair."
He disappeared before she could answer.
Riri stood at the dining table, face hot, the Bond still carrying the echo of his amusement like he'd left it there on purpose.
He probably had.
He returned two minutes later in a black t-shirt that was fitted enough to still communicate the general situation but covered the worst of the damage. Her blood pressure began its slow return to normal.
They ate in comfortable quiet. The pancakes were exactly what she'd been craving, and the smoothies were good, and Samael finished his plate without once raising a tactical objection to the sugar content.
"Flooded Archives today," he said, pushing the empty glass aside. "Water environment. Conductive targets."
"Good for testing his lightning." Riri pulled up the dungeon list. "Time limit?"
"Four hours. More than enough."
Across the kitchen, Kirin had woken from his food coma and was attempting to climb Loki's back. The wolf sat with the patient tolerance of someone who had made peace with his new circumstances. When the drake finally scrambled up and perched between Loki's shoulder blades, Loki's tail thumped once against the floor.
Three of Vermillion's butterflies descended immediately to settle on Kirin's small horns.
The image of the tiny iridescent drake riding a massive black wolf like a throne, decorated with living jewelry, was genuinely a lot to process before seven in the morning.
"We're bringing Loki, Kirin, and Vermillion," Riri said. "Vesper's moveset is wasted on D-Rank content. We don't need his scouting."
Samael nodded. "Agreed."
She sent the intention through Vesper's Bond. The fox understood before she finished the thought. He yipped once, neat and clean, and dissolved into golden light.
[Active Companions: 3/3]
[Loki - Level 20]
[Kirin - Level 1]
[Vermillion - Level 20]
Three bonds settled into place beside her heart. Loki's mountain-weight. Vermillion's collective warmth. Kirin's lightning, sharp and young and restless.
They geared up. Crimson Fang at her thigh, Shadow-Weave equipped, Queen's Chitin Plate across her torso. Samael moved through his own preparation with the efficiency of someone who'd stopped thinking about each piece individually, dark gear assembled in under two minutes.
The elevator ride down was quiet. Loki stood between them, Kirin still perched on the wolf's back and apparently committed to making that a permanent arrangement. Vermillion circled near the ceiling.
The Bond pulsed between them. Shared focus. Underneath it, warm and unaddressed, the morning's shirtless incident, which Riri was absolutely not thinking about.
Except the Bond meant Samael could feel her not thinking about it.
She looked at the elevator doors. He said nothing. She could feel him not saying anything with tremendous satisfaction.
"Focus," she said.
"I am focused." His hand found hers. "The dungeon and the fact that you still haven't looked at me directly since breakfast are not mutually exclusive."
"I've looked at you directly."
"You've looked at my collarbone."
Her jaw tightened. He was not wrong. "Flooded Archives. Kirin's levels. That is what we're doing today."
"Agreed." His thumb moved against her palm. "And for the record, you can look wherever you want."
The elevator doors opened.
Morning light came through the lobby windows in long flat lines across the floor, pale and clean, the kind of light that only existed for twenty minutes before the day burned it off. Outside, the Prep City was already moving, early risers heading for Gates, vendors setting up along the main avenue.
Six days. But that was six days from now.
Kirin chirped from his perch on Loki's back, impatient, claws shifting.
"Ready, little terror?" Riri scratched behind his developing horns. His Bond-connection pulsed back with eagerness barely contained, 240 MP of lightning with nowhere to go yet.
They stepped out into the morning, hands linked, companions following.
She did not think about the scars or the muscle definition or the sweatpants waistband for at least thirty seconds.
Then Kirin zapped Loki's ear by accident, Loki turned to snap at him, Kirin squawked and nearly fell, and there was genuinely no mental bandwidth left for anything else.