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Her smile was small and gentle when she replied. “I fear that’s a bit of an understatement.”

A bitter laugh rumbled out of him. She didn’t know the half of it. The memory of the creature—an inky black cloud beneath the surface of the water—pulling Tommick’s limp body into the dark flashed before his eyes.

Swimming wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. He’d barely reached the boy as his lungs screamed at him to breathe. If the fire hadn’t exploded out of him and shoved them both to the surface, Orzen wasn’t sure he’d still be standing here.

Then he’d gone and nearly lost control of his weaving when he confronted Silas…He’d certainly had worse days, but this was a top contender.

“If you need to talk, I’m here,” she offered. When he didn’t say anything more, Wren briefly brushed his hand with hers. He flinched and that only seemed to worry her more.

She turned to leave, but he caught her hand.

She stopped, eyes searching his face.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly. “I’ll uh, I’ll think about it.” Then he let go of her hand. His fingers hesitated briefly before gently brushing the smudge from her cheek. Her breath was warm against his palm. He tried to ignore it as he pulled his hand away.

“You had a bit of dirt there…”

She pressed her lips together. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn color rose in her cheeks. Without a word, she slipped away, walking between Jessa and Calen.

It wasn’t his fault he noticed her tail flicking quickly behind her. He bit the edge of his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut. I really am doomed, aren’t I?

The stream at the top of the rise ran thin but clear, feeding into the waterfall below. They chose to camp early. No one wanted to push farther after the fight—not with Tommick’s narrow escape still thudding behind their ribs. Garin suggested boiling the water, and no one argued. It was good to do something simple, something safe, even if only for a moment.

Once the bedrolls were laid out and the fire crackled, Wren knelt across from Calen, her hand steady on his shoulder. Jessa sat cross-legged beside him, gripping his other hand. He winced but didn’t cry out as the threads sank into him. With a loud pop, his shoulder set. The yelp tore free before he could stop it.

Jessa squeezed his hand, smiled encouragingly, and the pain eased from Calen’s face like fog burned off by sunlight.

It must be nice to show affection so easily.

Wren drew her festival cloak across her knees. The silver thread that had glittered under lanterns a lifetime ago was dulled now by dirt and smoke. The knife in her hand caught the firelight as she pressed it to the fabric.

She cut without hesitation. Three clean slices.

Orzen couldn’t look away. He remembered the first time she wore that cloak—standing in front of Garin’s cottage, silver catching the glow, radiant despite every weight she carried. Had it really only been a week? It seemed like cycles ago. Gods…he’d told her it looked like her when he could’ve said literally anything else in response. But he couldn’t exactly tell her he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. Certainly not in front of Marrowen…

The way she tore it apart now to brace Calen’s arm was strangely disorienting. If she kept giving herself away piece by piece, what would be left of her when all this was done?

“There,” Wren murmured, tucking the knot of the shining fabric. “The weaving pulled you together, but this will keep the movement down.”

Jessa’s eyes sparkled. “Well, look at you. Fancy.”

Calen blinked. “Is that…good?”

Jessa grinned. “Very. A brave, extremely noble-looking sling.”

Calen’s cheeks flushed. He ducked his head, mumbling thanks to Wren, while Jessa’s smile lingered on him like daylight flickering over stone.

Across the fire, Orzen pulled the last of the seeds from the pocket of his mended pack. Tommick sat hunched close to the flames, stick-sword in his lap. The boy looked older than when Silas first led him into their camp days ago. Shadows lived on his small face now. The anger he’d hurled at Silas still pinched his features, lingering like a bruise that wouldn’t fade.

Orzen crossed the camp and lowered himself beside the boy, offering the seeds in his palm.

“You eat anything today?”

Tommick blinked at him, the stiffness in his shoulders easing at the sight of food. But his eyes were still hollowed, exhaustion clinging to him like the water that had dragged them under. Orzen couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been irrevocably stolen from Tommick down there. Something the fire couldn’t have burned away.

Tommick took a few seeds and chewed slowly, staring into the flames. “Thank you, Orzen,” he whispered, voice small. “I was really scared. I thought…maybe I wouldn’t see Momma again.” His face crumpled, and he wiped his eyes with his knuckles.

“You want to know the truth?” Orzen shifted closer and wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I was scared, too.”