The Princess and The Criminal [ CAITVI ]

18 | Thin Line Between Us

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Vi's POV
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The shower did its job. Mostly. My shoulder still ached like hell, but the hot water had dulled it to a low throb, enough to keep me moving without too much wincing. I grabbed a rag, wrung it out, and tossed it over my shoulder, stepping out—the cold air smacking me in the face like a wake-up call I didn't need.

The house was silent, save for the faint creak of the floorboards under my boots. My eyes flicked to Caitlyn's door as I passed. It was shut tight, not even a sliver of light slipping through the cracks.

Quiet.

I lingered for a moment, leaning my shoulder against the wall. Half of me expected her to come storming out, all righteous indignation and perfectly clipped words, ready to lecture me for using up too much hot water.

But nothing. Just silence.

I let out a low breath and pushed off the wall, rubbing the back of my neck as I headed toward the main room. The cold crept through the house like it had a personal vendetta, seeping into my skin and making the damp air feel even heavier.

The kitchen wasn't much better. The rusted sink still dripped occasionally, the sound echoing in the small, cramped space. I pulled open one of the cabinets, and it groaned in protest. Grabbing the same half-empty bottle I started earlier, I twisted off the cap with a satisfying crack.

The burn slid down my throat, settling into a warmth that cut through the cold. It wasn't much, but it was enough to take the edge off.

I set the bottle down with a dull thud and leaned against the counter, letting my head tip back. My thoughts drifted for a moment, aimless. To the fight we'd gotten into earlier. To the supplies we hauled back. To the princess and her damn attitude.

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. Who gets that worked up over a dress anyways?

Grabbing the bottle, I took another swig, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My gaze drifted back to the hallway. Caitlyn's door was still closed.

Good. Probably for the best.

I capped the bottle and shoved it back into the cabinet, letting the door swing shut with a creak. My boots thudded softly against the floor as I crossed the room, heading for the couch.

The living room wasn't much to look at. The couch was old and lumpy, its fabric worn thin in places. The window nearby was cracked, letting in just enough of Zaun's glow to make out the room's edges.

I dropped onto the couch with a grunt, the springs groaning under my weight. I stretched out, propping my boots on the armrest and folding my hands behind my head. The couch wasn't comfortable—not by a long shot—but I'd slept in worse places. Hell, this might've been one of the better spots I'd found in a while.

For a moment, I just sat there, listening to the house settle around me. The faint hum of Zaun outside mixed with the occasional drip from the sink. The kind of noise that shouldn't be soothing but somehow was.

The ache in my arm had dulled to a manageable throb, and the bottle I'd had earlier had left a faint, pleasant warmth in my chest. Sleep wasn't far off—just hovering there, teasing me.

And then I heard it.

Footsteps.

Soft and deliberate, like someone was trying real hard not to wake the dead. They creaked across the floorboards, slow and careful, but not careful enough to fool me. I didn't even need to turn my head. I already knew.

Caitlyn.

I cracked an eye open, the dim glow from the window just enough to make out her figure as she paused near the kitchen. At first, I thought maybe I was still half-dreaming, because there was no way she was wearing what I thought she was wearing.