Fight or Flight

CHAPTER TWELVE

I stood outside Finnian's door in the narrow hallway of the Murmuring Mug. The tray of morning cakes began to feel heavier by the second. After heaving a shallow breath, I gathered my courage and knocked gently on the door. I'd done my fair share of apologizing, but this? This was the fieriest form of torture sent directly from the Sun Father himself.

A muffled thud followed by a sleepy groan came from within. "Just a moment," Finnian's voice called, slow and slightly hoarse. His sleepy voice allowed endearment to envelope my worries. Even if he had decided to say the nastiest words to me, which I deserved, the drowsiness in his tone would have undermined their bite.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, wings aching nervously against the tight confines of the hallway. Perhaps I had come to apologize too early in the morning? Alas, after what felt like an eternity, the door swung open.

The sight that greeted me was far from the sleek captain I was used to seeing and I choked back an amused smile at the sight of him. Finnian's hair stuck up at odd angles, a testament to a restless night. His white undershirt was rumpled and hastily thrown on. Prying my eyes away from the top of his open buttons, which left his upper pectorals exposed, took effort. I had to remind myself that I was supposed to be regretful.

"Aria?" he mumbled, blinking in the dim light from the hallway's single window. His usually sharp eyes were clouded with confusion and lingering sleep and their dark circles matched my own.

"I brought breakfast," I asked more than offered. "And an apology." I held out the tray for him to gauge.

Finnian ran a hand through his disheveled hair, only making it stand up more. "Right. Come in, then," he said, stepping back to allow me entry. I felt lighter at his invitation.

The room beyond was small but cozy. Yet, even in the short time since our arrival, Finnian had unsurprisingly managed to transform it into a makeshift study. A map was spread across the small writing desk. The room smelled of the inn's signature coffee sachets, mixed with the familiar scent of leather and lavender that seemed to cling to Finnian. If the coffee here was anything like the coffee I had access to on the captain's ship, I would be very much enjoying my stay in Errals.

As my eyes continued their short rove over the room, I noticed a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass with a finger of amber liquid still in it, both sitting forgotten on the nightstand. His leather belt and holsters lay open at the foot of the bed. Next to it, his captain's overcoat and a satchel with various rolled parchments and logbooks spilling out.

Finnian cleared a space on the desk, carefully rolling up the map. "You can set it down here," he said, his voice gradually losing its sleepy rasp.

I placed the tray on the newly cleared space, then stood with tense wings, unsure where to look in the small room. My eyes kept drawing to a particular parchment peeking out from his satchel, marked with red ink in various spots.

Finnian followed my stare and spoke with an unamused tone that pinched at my heart. "Notes on my father's last known locations." He turned back to me, running his palms across his face as if to wipe away the last vestiges of sleep. "Now, you mentioned an apology?"

"I'm so sorry," I began instantly, words trailing ahead of my thoughts like they always did. "My behavior last night was cruel and completely uncalled for. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I repaid that kindness with... with whatever that was." I didn't have the word for it, but I felt no better than Eylan standing aside as I was cast away.

Finnian's remained silent, waiting.

"The truth is," I continued past the lump in my throat, "I've been carrying around a lot of anger and confusion since leaving Riem. But that's no excuse for lashing out at you. You didn't deserve that. I'm truly, deeply sorry."