But of course, Tirran served everyone else first. The process was efficient, precise, devoid of unnecessary conversation, but to Yu, it stretched into eternity. Each name called ahead of his chipped away at his patience, layering exhaustion with simmering aggravation. He stared at Tirran’s claws as they passed key after key, anticipation dull and maddening.
And then – because the universe never allowed him the luxury of just one singular source of misery – his stomach started to cramp. Hard, deep, twisting cramps. Yu inhaled sharply through his nostrils, beak clamped shut, every muscle locking down to keep his face neutral. The only silver lining was that the pain kept him from passing out where he stood.
Finally, finally, after the last key was handed over, Tirran turned to him. The omira’s yellow eyes flicked over Yu and over everyone and everything else. “Here’s your key.”
He held it out. Yu snatched it up with his wings, careful to avoid direct contact. His damp feathers pressed the delicate object in place, the cold bite of metal briefly grounding him.
“I’ll return outside now.” Tirran flicked an ear toward the far end of the common room. “Es will show you to your room.”
While Tirran still looked everywhere, Yu followed the motion. He glanced past Harrow and a few others already trudging toward the stairs. From there, his gaze landed on the two wiry guards emerging from the kitchen. The flickering light orbs silhouetted them, their elongated forms shifting with an unsettling fluidity, like shadows peeling away from the walls. Or maybe that was just his vision blurring. Yu blinked. Once. Twice. Repeatedly. Focus. It did not help.
“Sorry,” he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion. “Which one is he?”
Tirran paused mid-step, then exhaled through his nose. “The one with the silver streaks on his wings.”
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