Jason left Thalion alone with his thoughts.
The elf was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his silver hair hanging over his pale face, his hands folded in his lap. The tears had stopped. The shaking had stopped. But something else had taken their place—something Jason couldn't quite name.
He didn't want to be in that room anymore.
So he walked.
The streets of the adventurer's district were quieter now, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Jason shoved his hands into his pockets and let his mind wander.
This world had sex as a major component. He had learned that quickly. Tauriel. Ylva. Even Mira, with her deliberate nakedness.
But Jason knew he needed strength.
Real strength. The kind that didn't come from being charming or lucky or good in bed. The kind that came from adaptation, from experience, from surviving things that should kill you.
