“You carry silence like it’s a sword.”I froze mid-step, one hand still on the basket. The stall keeper had just finished wrapping a bundle of dried winterroot for Salla. Behind me, the voice hung like a breath that had been waiting too long to speak.“You don’t belong to the road, or the house, or the wind,” the voice continued, lilting and off-kilter. “You belong to nothing. Isn’t that something?”I turned slowly.Yvaine.Wrapped in mismatched layers of silk and homespun wool, her white hair was piled in a tower of pins and thread. A tiny glass teacup swung from a chain around her neck. Her eyes—cloudy and bright at once—fixed on me like she’d just caught a glimpse of her reflection in something she didn’t trust.“I didn’t see you there,” I said.“No. Of course you didn’t. That’s the trick of the thing. Eyes are only good for seeing what’s allowed.”She stepped closer. People made space for her like they always did. Not out of respect. Out of habit. Like she might bite or sing or st

"That's mine."I barely heard Bunny over the hiss of the forge.The moment I stepped into the clearing behind Torren’s shed, I saw the way the air had changed. Something brittle in it, sharp like iron cooling too fast. The crowd wasn’t large yet, just a half-circle of farmers, the butcher’s son, and old Branik leaning on his walking stick like it was part of his spine. But more feet were arriving, drawn by that scent of trouble.And Bunny—He stood near the stack of scrap metal, panting. Hands half-clawed. Smoke-black hair sticking out in sweaty tufts. His eyes weren’t human right now. Yellow, narrowed, glowing like there was fire under his skin."He was taking from the back rack," Torren said, not quite angry yet, just tense. His hammer rested against his hip like he couldn’t decide if he needed it or not. "Didn’t even ask.""Wasn’t stealing," Bunny snapped. "Didn’t ask because no one listens."Torren looked at me then. Just a flicker of confusion before his gaze shifted back to Bunn

"Let’s just bind the beast and be done with it."That was the first thing I heard when I slipped into the meeting hall, back against the wall, trying not to be seen. But half the room was already looking at me.The stone hall was full. Packed tighter than a harvest sermon, except no one brought bread or smiled. Faces were drawn, mouths pinched. Cold light from the high windows filtered through smoke trails from the braziers, and everything stank of damp wool and fear.Elder Brann was the one who’d spoken, his hand wrapped around his walking staff like he was itching to use it for more than standing. His eyes burnt holes into the floor as if he didn’t want to admit they might drift my way.Torren stood near the front, arms crossed. Salla sat beside the hearth, her fingers pressed together in her lap. Mira had wedged herself in near the side benches, too small to draw attention. Yvaine was in the back, barely more than a shadow, her face half-covered by a net of gold-threaded cloth, mutt

"How much longer are you planning to walk like you know where you're going?"I glanced over my shoulder. Bunny was crouched at the base of a tree, arms folded, breath fogging in the cool air. His hair had gone wilder over the past few days—twigs stuck out in knots, and dried mud streaked one cheek. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He looked like me."I don’t", I admitted."Well, that’s reassuring. Keep leading, then.""Do you want to pick the trail?"He muttered something that sounded like "fucking humans" and pushed himself to his feet, joints cracking like dry branches. He wasn’t limping, exactly, but he wasn’t walking clean either. Last night, he’d disappeared for hours and come back with a gash on his thigh and something’s teeth still stuck in his shoulder. He hadn’t said what it was. I hadn’t asked.The woods pressed in on all sides. Ancient trees, thicker than anything near the village, leaned into each other like they’d been whispering secrets since before our bloodlin

“You sure this place isn’t cursed?”Bunny’s voice echoed off crumbling stone as he stepped through the broken archway. His claws clicked faintly against the old tile floor, half-buried in moss and rot.“It’s not cursed,” I said. “Just abandoned.”“Same thing, sometimes.”Rain whipped sideways outside, needling the trees. Lightning flashed in the sky behind us, turning the ruins to bone for a second—just enough to see how badly time had gutted the place.The tower had once been tall. Guarding something, maybe. A border, a trail, a secret. Now it barely rose above the forest canopy, one wall split open like a rotten tooth. But it had a ceiling. And dry corners. And right now, that was more than we’d seen in days.Bunny stalked the perimeter, sniffing, shoulders tight. His ears kept flicking back, like he was waiting for the walls to close.“I’ll check upstairs,” I said.“If it collapses, I’m not digging you out.”“Fair.”The stairs groaned but held. Just one turn led to a broken platfor