CHAPTER 227: CHAPTER-227

He turned away and left, his footsteps echoing until they vanished down the stone hall. One by one, the others who had lingered followed suit, each pair of eyes brushing over Kaya with a mixture of disdain, curiosity, and thinly veiled hostility. She stood there until the chamber was empty, her gaze locked on the place they had been, her chest tight.

That man’s words still clung to her like a stubborn shadow. He knew. He was certain. That Veer... loved her like crazy.

Love.

The word burned in her chest, foreign and fragile. She could understand fear, anger, survival—those were languages she’d lived with her whole life. But love? She never held it, never trusted it, never believed it could exist for her. And yet, in this world, she seemed to be colliding with it again and again.

Exhaling sharply, Kaya turned away and walked toward the room Veer’s brother had pointed out. Her steps were steady, calm, but inside, her thoughts churned like a restless tide.

The moment she stepped in, she froze.

The room was nothing like she expected. Against the rough stone walls stood a proper bed, layered with furs and cloth, its frame carved from wood. A wardrobe stood in the corner, not ornate, but solid, carefully made—functional yet beautiful. The kind of detail that carried care, not luxury.

Her brows knit as she walked toward it, fingers brushing the smooth wooden surface before she pulled it open.

Her breath caught.

Inside were clothes. Not scraps, not stitched hides—but clothes. Real ones.

Her eyes widened. The shirts hanging there reminded her instantly of the pair she’d worn when she first stumbled into this world. The cut was eerily familiar, but instead of metal, the buttons were carefully shaped from polished wood. Still, the resemblance was unmistakable.

She crouched, running her fingers over folded pants placed neatly on the bottom shelf. They lacked zippers, of course—replaced with wooden buttons and leather ties—but the structure was the same as the jeans she once owned. They shouldn’t have existed here, not like this.

Kaya picked one up, holding it against herself, the fabric surprisingly well-tailored. Her throat tightened. It fits me. Exactly.

Her eyes flicked instinctively toward the entrance of the room, suspicion prickling her skin.

How?

How could these people—vultures living on a barren mountain—know of these things? Things from her world?

She stared at the clothes in her hands, her mind spiraling.

She could not understand Veer’s family. Could not understand this man. The way he looked at her, the way he acted as though he knew too much.

And now this wardrobe.

Kaya’s fingers tightened on the fabric. How does he have so much knowledge of things he should never even know?

After setting down the clothes, Kaya wondered something else. If there’s a wardrobe and a proper bed... then maybe...

She scanned the room again, curiosity tugging at her feet until she found a small wooden door tucked beside the wall. She opened it—and blinked in disbelief.

A bathroom.

Not exactly like hers, of course. There were no taps, no porcelain sinks, none of the shining metal fixtures she was used to. But the room was clean, surprisingly so. On a polished stone shelf lay a folded towel—thick, white, and soft, its fibers reminding her of fur that must have come from some animal. She pressed it between her fingers. Luxurious, warm, and nothing like the rough cloth she’d been using these past days.

Her eyes darted to the side where small tools lay neatly arranged. Instead of soap, there were hardened mixtures pressed into round disks, faintly fragrant with herbs. Beside them, a stone dowel with a wooden handle and a small press—tools to grind and roll the mixture into smooth bars. Primitive, yes, but ingenious.

Kaya let out a soft breath. They even made soap.

She had not washed her hair in days—long, too many days—and the weight of dirt and grease clung to her scalp like a second skin. She filled a large bowl with water, testing the coolness with her hand. There wasn’t much. Was the water supply endless, or limited? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to waste it.

Carefully, she poured the bowl over her head, wincing as the cold water trickled down her neck. Dark streaks ran down her hair, not white froth, but yellowish-brown—the color of soil, dust, and grime that had settled after too many nights in the wilderness. She worked the herbal soap against her scalp, its coarse texture scratching pleasantly, before rinsing again with another careful bowl of water.

When she was finished, her hair felt lighter, cleaner, as though some of the weight of her journey had been lifted away with the dirt.

She dried herself with the soft towel and reached for the clothes she had seen earlier. A gown first, light against her skin. Then she tried on one of the pants—cotton, real cotton—and a long-sleeved shirt that fit her just right. Comfortable. Strangely familiar.

For a moment, Kaya just stood there, running her fingers over the cotton fabric, marveling at how normal it felt, despite being in a world that was anything but.

When she finally stepped back out, the hallway was silent. No one was waiting, yet on the stone table outside her door, a tray of food had been set down, steaming gently. It hadn’t been there before. Someone must have come and gone without a sound.

Kaya glanced at the food but ignored it for now. Her feet carried her instead toward the room where Veer rested.

He was still lying on the bed, his breathing more even than before. His face, though pale, carried more color than it had earlier.

Quietly, Kaya walked over and sat beside him. She reached out and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. Then her hand hovered, just briefly, before brushing against his cheek.

Better... but not enough.

Just as Kaya was about to rise, she felt a sudden tug at her wrist.