Chương 33: Chapter 32: Forward [END]

Tessa stood in Larry's stall, one hand braced against his side, the other holding a bent feather she'd just carefully extracted. The musky scent of feathers mingled with the sweet, earthy aroma of hay, enveloping her senses. The massive white bird shifted his weight again, leaning into her with all the casual indifference of a boulder deciding to roll downhill.

"Larry. Move!" She shoved back, boots sliding in straw.

"Not helping." He made a low, rumbling sound that might have been an acknowledgement or a commentary. Hard to tell with him. She huffed and circled to his other wing. She eyed the damage. Several feathers were bent at odd angles from whatever he had done. Others were simply misaligned, twisted in their follicles in a way that would drive him mad if left uncorrected.

"Hold still," she muttered, reaching for a crooked feather. Larry immediately leaned into her again. Tessa grunted, digging her heels in and pushing back. It was like trying to move a wall.

"You know this helps. Stop being difficult." He turned his head to look at her, one eye fixing on her with what she could only describe as mild amusement.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" He blinked slowly.

"Unbelievable." She wedged her shoulder against his side and reached up, fingers moving carefully to straighten the twisted feather. Too much force could damage it; too little and it wouldn't seat. Larry still seemed determined to rest as much of his bulk on her as he could without toppling her.

"You're getting worse," she grumbled, finally coaxing the feather into alignment. She ran her fingers along the barbs, smoothing them back into place.

"At least have the decency to look guilty about it." Larry rumbled, shifting his weight off her so she could breathe.

"Thanks," she said, her voice dry, moving to his tail feathers. The tail was always the worst. He couldn't see what she was doing back there, which made him uncooperative. Sure enough, the moment she touched the first bent feather, he swung his rear end away from her, nearly clipping her.

"Larry!" He glanced back at her, feathers ruffling slightly. She put her hands on her hips.

"I'm helping you." He turned his head forward again, pointedly ignoring her. She sighed and tried again, this time keeping one hand on his flank to sense when he'd shift. The feather had a nasty kink—likely from him sitting wrong. She'd have to remove it entirely.

"This one's coming out," she warned him.

"It's not salvageable." Larry's tail twitched.

"I know, I know. It'll grow back." She gripped the base of the feather firmly and gave it a quick, clean pull. Larry squawked—an indignant, high-pitched sound that was entirely too loud for the enclosed space—and shuffled forward, his talons scraping against the stall floor.

"Oh, don't. You barely felt that." She grinned at him. He turned to glare at her, ruffling all his feathers in a display of offence.

"Yes, yes, I'm very cruel." She held up the damaged feather.

"See? It was bent. You'd have hated it," she went on. Larry huffed—actually huffed, a sharp exhalation through his nares—and turned his back on her. She laughed, tucking the feather into her braid.

"Okay. Head feathers now, then you can sulk," she teased. She moved to his front, running her hands over the downy plumage on his head and neck. These were harder to assess. The feathers were smaller and more delicate. She found a few crooked and matted, covered in mud or sweat, and carefully worked them apart. Larry, to his credit, stood still for this. His eyes half-closed, and that low rumble started up again—the contented one.

"There we go," she murmured.

"Not so bad, is it?" He leaned into her touch, just slightly, and for a moment, everything felt normal. Like they were just a girl and her Companion, going through their usual routine. She could almost forget. Almost forgot the fear, the running, the blood. Almost. Tessa finished smoothing the last of his head feathers and stepped back, wiping her hands on her trousers.

"Alright, you're all set." Larry opened his eyes fully and turned to look at her. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered himself down into the straw and stretched out, taking up every available inch of the stall.

"You're welcome." She shook her head. He closed his eyes, his breathing already evening out into the slow rhythm of rest. She watched him for a moment longer, then quietly slipped out of the stall, latching the door behind her. She grabbed the pitchfork leaning against the stall wall and headed back outside to the supply area. The wheelbarrow was right where she'd left it, half-full of fresh straw. She wheeled it back to Larry's stall; the wheel creaked slightly on the uneven stable floor.

"Incoming, big guy," she called, manoeuvring the wheelbarrow in. Larry cracked one eye open, watching her with vague interest before closing it again. She stabbed the pitchfork into the straw and spread it. The old layer was thin and compressed, especially in places where Larry paced before settling. She worked methodically. Shaking out and fluffing the fresh straw created an even layer. Of course, working around a bird the size of a small wagon was easier said than done.

She stepped over his tail twice, nearly tripped on a wing, and squeezed between his bulk and the wall to reach the far corner. Straw stuck to her shirt and hair. Dust tickled her nose.

"You could make this easier by moving," she said as she spread more straw near his head. Larry's response was to exhale slowly through his nares, ruffling the straw she'd just laid down.

"Thanks. Very helpful." She circled to his other side, shaking out straw and padding it around him. He needed plenty of cushion—his weight could cause sores if the bedding was thin. She didn't want to add that to her worries. Tessa stepped carefully around his neck, arms full of loose straw, when suddenly— Larry lifted his head. Just slightly. Just enough. Her boot caught on the curve of his skull, and she went down hard, landing face-first in the fresh straw with a muffled oof.

For a moment, she just lay there, sprawled on her stomach, arms outstretched, straw tickling her nose and cheeks.

"Really?" she muttered into the straw. She felt the shift of weight, the rustle of feathers, and then—gently, deliberately—Larry lowered his head and rested it squarely on her backside. Tessa sighed. She could push him off, scold him, or make a fuss. What was the point? He'd just find another way to be inconvenient. That was basically his entire personality now. So instead, she just... stayed there. Face down in the straw, arms sprawled, with a giant white bird using her as a pillow.

"You're lucky I like you," she muttered. Larry made a small, satisfied sound—almost a chirp, but deeper. Smug, even. She turned her head so she could breathe easier and stared at the stall wall. From this angle, she saw a crack in the wood, a few stray pieces of hay caught in a knot, and the way afternoon light slanted through shutter gaps. It was absurd. Completely ridiculous. But pinned here by her oversized Companion, it somehow felt like the most normal thing that had happened in days.

"Five minutes," she said.

"Then I'm getting up whether you like it or not." Larry's only response was to settle more comfortably, his breathing slow and even. Tessa closed her eyes. Maybe ten minutes. The weight on her back was warm. Outside, she heard the distant sounds of the stable: creatures shifting in their stalls, stable hands chatting quietly, and wood creaking in the heat. As she listened, her mind edged from comfort toward the thorn of memory. She was still angry. At her sister. At her father.

The anger sat in her chest like a stone, heavy and cold. The comfort of Larry's weight faded, replaced by frustration at how they'd left. Just... left. Packed up and gone without looking back, without caring what that meant for her. Without caring that she'd needed them. Her jaw tightened. But at least she still had family. The anger dimmed, replaced by a quiet certainty. Larry was family. More family than they'd been, in the end. She opened her eyes, staring at the straw inches from her face.

And she was all Larry had. She was the only constant in his world. When he'd been small enough to fit in her arms—small enough to curl up in her lap or perch on her head—he'd lived with them in the house. He'd slept in a basket by her bed. He'd followed her from room to room, chirping and stumbling on oversized feet, investigating everything with fearless curiosity. He'd been part of the family then. Part of the home. And now? Now he had the stables—four walls and a pile of straw.

No matter how much fresh bedding she gave or how carefully she tended his feathers, or even brought the best cuts of meat, it was still just this. Guilt twisted in her stomach. She hadn't considered his mental well-being. Not really. She'd been so focused on keeping him safe, fed, and sheltered that she hadn't stopped to wonder if he was happy. Tessa swallowed hard. When they'd started taking jobs together, he'd come alive in a way she'd never seen before.

The way he moved when he ran, legs stretching out in long, powerful strides, wings half-spread for balance. The fierce, almost joyful energy that radiated from him during a fight. He'd enjoyed it. Tessa bit her lip, heat rising in her cheeks. She'd told herself it was just instinct. He liked running. He liked fighting. He liked being out in the world, moving, doing something. And she'd brought him back here. Back to standing still. Back to waiting. Because it felt safer.

Larry shifted slightly, adjusting his head on her back, and made a small, contented sound. Tessa closed her eyes again, throat tight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think about it. About you." He didn't respond. He just kept breathing, slow and steadily, trusting her completely. She stayed there a while longer, pinned beneath the weight of him and the weight of her own guilt, staring at nothing. The stablehands had checked on her three times. The first time, she'd waved them off without looking up. The second time, she'd mumbled something about Larry needing extra care.

By the third visit, the young apprentice had simply poked his head in, seen her still lying there with a giant bird using her as furniture, and quietly retreated without a word. She stayed until the light through the shutters turned gold, then amber, then faded altogether. Finally, with a sigh, she pushed herself up. Larry lifted his head obligingly, blinking at her with sleepy confusion as she brushed straw from her clothes and hair.

"I have to go," she told him, running a hand along his neck.

"I'll be back tomorrow." He watched her leave, silent as always, his dark eyes following her until she closed the stall door behind her. The evening air was cool as she stepped out of the stables. The streets were alive with movement—people heading home after long days, others spilling out of inns and taverns, their laughter carrying on the breeze. Lanterns were being lit along the storefronts, casting warm pools of light across the cobblestones. She walked slowly, hands in her pockets, taking it all in.

A group of off-duty guards sat outside, mugs in hand, arguing good-naturedly about something she couldn't quite hear. A woman passed by, carrying a basket, and called out a cheerful greeting to someone across the street. Somewhere, a street musician was playing a fiddle, the melody bright and quick. Normal. Everything was so unbearably normal. She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Two weeks ago, there had been a dungeon in the middle of the capital. And now?

Now they were drinking and laughing and going about their lives as if nothing had happened. She stopped by a corner vendor and bought a meat pie—still hot, with a flaky and golden crust. The vendor, an older man with oil stains on his apron, gave her an extra napkin and a wink.

"Long day?"

"Something like that," Tessa said, managing a smile. She ate as she walked, the warmth of the pie seeping into her hands. By the time her street came into view, the sky had deepened to a rich indigo, with the first stars beginning to appear. Her house stood quiet, its windows dark. And there was someone standing in front of it. Tessa froze. Her heart kicked into a faster rhythm, her hand instinctively moving toward the knife at her belt.

The figure was tall, broad-shouldered, standing with a stillness that felt deliberate. Waiting. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. She slowed her pace, every muscle tense, her mind racing through possibilities. The hidden guard Rellen had mentioned? Someone else? Someone worse? Then the figure shifted slightly, turning toward her, and the lamplight from the neighbouring house caught his face. Relief flooded through her so fast it made her knees weak.

"Rellen!" She hurried forward, her voice louder than she'd meant it to be. He turned fully toward her, and even in the dim light, she could see the faint smile that crossed his face.

"Tessa." She stopped a few steps away, slightly breathless, one hand pressed to her chest.

"You—what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to check on you. Is it a bad time?"

"No, not at all." She shook her head quickly, stepping toward her door and fumbling for her keys.

"Come in." He hesitated, his gaze flicking upward briefly.

"Were you with Larry?"

"What?" She paused, key halfway to the lock. He gestured toward her head with a faint smile.

"You have a feather." Her hand flew to her hair, fingers finding the white down feather tucked in her braid. She'd put it there earlier without thinking—a habit from when Larry was smaller, and she'd collect his moulted feathers like little trophies.

"Oh." A self-conscious laugh escaped her.

"Yes, I was at the stable for most of the day."

"How is he?" Rellen asked as she finally opened the door. She stepped inside, holding the door for him.

"Subdued, mostly. He's been quiet. I think..." She paused, choosing her words carefully as Rellen followed her in.

"I think he misses being out there. He seemed happier when we were working." He nodded thoughtfully, closing the door behind them.

"Energy needs an outlet."

"Yeah." She set her keys on the small table by the entrance, suddenly hyperaware of how she must look. Straw in her hair, dust on her clothes, smelling like stables and birds. She glanced down at herself and winced.

"Actually—give me just a moment? I need to freshen up and change. And, um, remove the rest of the hay situation." She gestured vaguely at her head, where bits of straw remained tangled in her hair alongside the feather. Rellen's expression softened.

"Of course. Take your time."

"Make yourself comfortable," she said, already backing toward the hallway.

"It will take only a few minutes." She disappeared down the hall before he could respond, her heart beating a little faster than it should have been. In her room, she yanked off her stale-smelling clothes and tossed them toward the laundry basket. When was the last time she'd had a visitor? Actually had someone over who wasn't Dren? She couldn't remember.

It had always been her sister who filled the house with people—friends sprawled across the sitting room, laughter echoing through the halls, the constant hum of conversation. She had usually retreated to her room during those times, content to let her sister have her space, her social circles. And now the house was empty. Except for tonight. She pulled on a clean shirt, ran her fingers through her hair to dislodge the worst of the straw, and was reaching for her brush when a sharp knock sounded at the front door.

She froze. Who would visit this late? Her neighbours?

"Rellen?" she called out.

"Could you get that?" She heard his footsteps cross the room, then the door opening. Voices drifted down the hallway—muffled at first, indistinct. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone was clear enough. One voice rose, agitated and sharp. She set down her brush; the voices grew louder. More insistent. She didn't like the sound of this. Abandoning the idea of rebraiding her hair, she strode out of her room. Her bare feet were silent on the wooden floor as she hurried down the hallway toward the entrance.

"What's going on?" she asked, stepping into view. Both men turned. Rellen stood planted in the doorway, one hand on the frame, casual as a guard dog who'd already decided who wasn't getting in. And beyond him—flushed, sweating, clutching far too much—was Dren. Her stomach didn't drop this time. It just… sighed. Of course, it's him again. His eyes skimmed over her: loose hair, bare feet, comfortable clothes instead of the neat outfits she used to put on just to avoid comments.

Then his gaze flicked to Rellen and back to her.

"Tess," he said, voice stretched thin.

"Who is this?" He was standing on her doorstep with a bouquet of ridiculous, overpriced flowers and a heavy woven basket stuffed with tools she used to daydream over. He held them as if they were some grand offering. Gods, he really thought this would work.

"It doesn't matter," she said, and she didn't bother smoothing the edge out of her voice.

"What do you want, Dren?" His jaw clenched.

"I came to talk. I brought—" He lifted the flowers with a shaky gesture.

"I wanted to apologise properly. To show you I'm serious."

"About what?"

"About us." The word came out raw and hopeful in the sad way a wounded animal looks hopeful.

"About fixing things." She felt nothing. Not nostalgia. Not even irritation. Just a tired, distant pity.

"There is no 'us,' Dren," she said.

"And there won't ever be one."

"There could be." He stepped forward, but Rellen didn't move an inch. Dren shot him a glare, then twisted back to her.

"If you'd just listen—I'm ready to tell Meela about my mom buying my place in the Guild. All of it. Tess, we could—""I don't care." He froze.

"What?"

"I. Don't. Care." She held his gaze, a surprising sense of calm washing over her. She hadn't anticipated the relief she would feel in declaring this so decisively, and an unexpected flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

"Joining the Maker's Guild. Workshop dreams. The life I thought I wanted. None of it fits me anymore."

"Doesn't fit you?" he repeated, voice pitching higher.

"Tess, that's all you ever talked about! What else is there? Running courier jobs? Letting strange men into your home?" His eyes flicked at Rellen, ugly and accusing.

"Is that your type now? Men who—""Stop." Her voice cut in cleanly. He went silent on impact. She exhaled slow. Enough.

"Dren," she said, "you're not seeing me. You're seeing the girl from 3 years ago." She shook her head.

"She's gone. I outgrew her. And I outgrew you." He swallowed, eyes wide, bouquet trembling slightly in his hand.

"And if you can't respect that?" she added, voice low and final.

"Then take your gifts, turn around, and walk away. Because this—" she gestured between them "—is over. Completely." Dren didn't move at first. Then the flowers sagged. Something in him did too. Dren left. Not a word. Not a glance back. She closed the door behind him without ceremony. The click of the latch felt better than any apology he could have brought. Beside her, Rellen shifted his weight, shoulders loosening.

"Well," he said, tone light, "I still think my banner idea has potential." She blinked at him.

"You're what?" He lifted a hand, sketching the air as if he could already see the fabric unfurling.

"Giant letters. Bright colours. Delivered straight to his house or workplace.

'Tessa and Dren Are Over—Officially, Irrevocably, Please Stop Showing Up.' Maybe with those little decorative tassels on the corners." A laugh punched out of her—short, surprised, more like a snort.

"Absolutely not."

"Shame," he said, deadpan.

"It would've had real emotional impact."

"I'm done thinking about that pest," she muttered, rubbing a hand through her hair until it fluffed wildly. Old dream, old mistake. Not my problem anymore.

"No banner."

"Fair enough." He shrugged, unbothered, giving her the space to breathe. What now? She dropped her hands, blinking at the room as if it might offer some kind of guidance.

"So…" she said, slower, "have you eaten already?"

"Yeah." His answer came with a small reassuring nod. Then, after a beat, he cleared his throat.

"But… if you're not tired yet, we could… I don't know." His voice stumbled into something almost shy.

"Go out for a drink? Or just—hang out. If you want." A drink sounded… honestly, perfect.

"Yeah," she said, a breath easing out of her.

"A drink sounds good." Rellen brightened—not dramatically, just a small lift around his eyes. He opened the door for her, and they stepped into the cool evening.

"So," he tried, awkward but sincere, "is there a good tavern around here?" She blinked.

"I… actually have no idea." They stopped in the middle of the street, staring at each other as the realisation hit them at the same time. Gods, we're useless. A laugh slipped out of her. Rellen followed half a beat later, lower and a little embarrassed.

"Alright," he said, hands sliding into his pockets.

"We just walk until something looks promising?"

"That's as good a plan as any." They went. Not far—just enough to drift past the rowdy places spilling music and shouts into the street. Those felt too loud for tonight, too bright, too… filled. Tessa's nerves already hummed; she didn't want to drown in other people's noise. Then they saw it—a warm-lit, quieter tavern tucked between two shops, its doorway framed with old wood and lanterns burning low.

"This one?" Rellen asked.

"This one," she agreed. Inside, the hum was gentler. Low conversation and clinking glasses. They found a small table near the back. Drinks arrived quickly—amber liquid in simple cups. Tessa lifted hers, took the first swallow. Cold and sweet. A little burn on the way down. Gods, she needed that. She set the glass back on the table. Rellen shifted in his seat, fingers drumming once against his cup before he stilled them. She watched him gather himself, recognising the look of someone trying to find the right words.

"So," he started, then paused. Cleared his throat.

"The weather's been... decent lately." Tessa's eyebrows climbed. She couldn't help it.

"Has it?" she said, taking a deliberate sip of her drink to hide the grin threatening to break through.

"Yeah. Not too cold. Not raining much." He took a drink, and she could see him realise how ridiculous he sounded halfway through.

"Good for... walking. And such."

"And such," she echoed, setting her glass down with a soft clink.

"Truly riveting conversation, Rellen. I'm on the edge of my seat." He had the decency to look sheepish.

"I'm a little out of practice." She picked up the wooden cub from the table, turning it between her fingers.

"You just tried to small-talk me about the weather." The admission settled something between them. They were both disasters at this, and at least they could be disasters together.

"How have you been?" she asked, genuinely curious now.

"The past weeks."

"Busy," he said, and she heard the relief at having a real question to answer.

"But thankfully not very eventful." Tessa nodded, her fingers still playing with the cub. The questions sat on her tongue—about the cubes, about what happened, about all of it. But she knew better. Knew exactly where those boundaries were. But also—fuck it. What was the point of having a friend if she couldn't even ask? She lifted her head and met his eyes.

"So… what happened to the cubes?" Rellen stilled. His fingers tightened around his drink, and something wary slid across his expression.

"There's not much I can tell you," he said finally, choosing his words.

"It's still fresh. I'm not allowed to talk about it outside the network." She waved a hand, unfazed.

"Yeah, yeah. Classified. Need-to-know. Got it." She took a sip, then flashed him a crooked grin over the rim.

"Worth a shot, though." Some of the tension eased from his shoulders.

"Can't fault you for trying."

"Damn right you can't." She set the cub back down with a decisive click. A laughed—a real one this time, surprised out of him. Rellen leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment.

"How have you been?" She considered the question, rolling it around with the last sip in her cup.

"Relatively good, actually." She gestured for another drink when a server passed.

"I've been spending a lot more time in the stables with Larry. Turns out mucking stalls is surprisingly therapeutic. Other than that, not much. Eat. Sleep. The usual thrilling existence." Rellen waited. She could tell he knew there was more. She picked up her fresh drink when it arrived, buying herself a moment.

"I'm still considering Mariane's offer." She traced a finger along the rim of her cup.

"It would take care of a lot of my worries, you know? Give me structure and something to work with. All those things I'm supposedly terrible at maintaining on my own."

"But?"

"But..." She huffed out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh.

"It feels like too large of a decision to make at nineteen. Like—I barely know what I'm doing day to day, and she's offering me a path that could define the next decade of my life. Properly longer." She looked up at him, something vulnerable creeping into her expression despite her best efforts.

"What if I choose wrong? What if I commit to this and realise six months in that I hate it, or I'm terrible at it, or I've just locked myself into something because I was scared and directionless?" Rellen held up a hand.

"At six months, Mariane should still be able to break any contract with little fuss. There should be a trial period to even see if your personalities are compatible." He paused, his voice softening.

"But I understand what you mean. It's not really only about the contract, is it?" Tessa shook her head, grateful he got it.

"Has Mariane given you a deadline?" he asked.

"No," she admitted.

"Then wait." He said it simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Maybe tell her you want to experience the world a bit more before deciding on a position like that. You're nineteen, Tessa. You're allowed not to have everything figured out yet." She groaned, letting her head tip back dramatically.

"But I also don't want to go back to courier jobs." She leveled him with a look of pure suffering.

"I'm a bit jealous of you, you know. Always having a direction to head towards. Must be nice." Rellen just smiled at that.

"Actually, I'm taking a vacation for the rest of the year." Tessa's head snapped back up. She stared at him.

"You can take vacations?"

"Apparently." His smile turned wry.

"I was as surprised as you are."

"But—" She gestured vaguely at him, at all of him.

"You're.... Don't you have seventeen urgent cases and an emergency happening at any given moment?"

"Probably." He shrugged, unbothered.

"I can still be asked to work. And I'll still stick my nose into anything interesting, naturally." The admission came with a sheepish duck of his head.

"But I feel like I need to clear my head. Maybe work on my levels." The last part was said quietly, almost embarrassed.

"I'll still follow the current investigation as much as I can," he continued.

"But other people have thankfully taken the lead for now." Tessa leaned forward, genuinely curious.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Honestly, I have no idea where I'm headed." He shrugged, palms up in surrender.

"Maybe I'll just tag along with a caravan and see what happens."

"You?" Tessa said, delighted.

"Are just going to... wander?"

"Apparently, that's what vacation means, yes."

"Looks like you're joining me in the grand identity crisis." She lifted her glass in a playful salute.

"Oh, a real thrill," he replied, his tone bone-dry. His expression shifted, becoming more thoughtful as he rolled his drink between his palms.

"Actually..." He paused, then met her eyes with that look she'd learned meant he was about to be carefully casual about something that wasn't casual at all.

"I may or may not be heading southwest. Following a few rumours." Her breath caught. Southwest. Her hand tightened on her glass.

"Which may or may not be near where that expedition is working," he continued, his tone studiously neutral.

"The one mapping the region." He didn't say her name. He didn't need to.

"They're probably deep into the territory by now," he went on, watching her reaction.

"But I'm more interested in the villages near the border of the region. There's been some... interesting chatter." Tessa's mind raced. Southwest. Near where Mollie was. Not at where Mollie was, but near. Close enough to maybe get word. Close enough to— She realized she was staring and tried to school her expression.

"You're investigating something."

"I'm on vacation," he corrected, but his smile was knowing.

"I'm just... curious about some things. And if you wanted to come along..." He shrugged, the gesture deliberately careless.

"It's just an offer. Nothing more." The words hung between them, deceptively simple. Her heart hammered. Go southwest. Toward Mollie. Even if she couldn't reach her, even if the expedition was weeks deeper into unmapped territory, just being near felt like something. Like she'd be closer to doing something instead of sitting in the capital, drowning. But—"How would I get information from your informants if I'm not here in the capital?" The question came out sharper than she intended.

"It can be delivered to a town," Rellen said easily.

"Border settlements have regular courier service. Or..." He waved a hand.

"It'll just wait here until you return. I doubt anything concrete will surface immediately. These things tend to simmer." He took a sip of his drink, giving her space to process.

"It's only an offer," he repeated, softer now.

"Nothing more." She worried her bottom lip, a dozen thoughts colliding. Southwest sounded perfect and terrifying in equal measure. But—"Would you be going alone?" The question came out more worried than she intended. Rellen's expression flickered with something that might have been fondness before he shook his head.

"Thankfully, no. I have—" Tessa's heart stopped. Someone was sitting beside her. She hadn't heard footsteps. Hadn't heard the chair move. Hadn't heard anything. One moment, the seat was empty; the next, a presence so close she could feel the warmth of another body, smell leather and something sharp, like winter air. Tessa yelped—actually yelped —and jerked sideways so hard she nearly overturned her chair. Her hand flew to her chest, where her heart was trying to batter its way through her ribs.

"Gods!" she gasped." What —" A woman sat there, perfectly relaxed, as if she'd been there the entire time. She was perhaps in her thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a practical braid and eyes that were doing an absolutely terrible job of hiding amusement. She wore traveling leathers, well-maintained but broken in.

"Apologies," the woman said, not sounding sorry at all.

"Didn't mean to startle you."

"You—" Tessa's voice came out too high. She cleared her throat and tried again." Where did you come from?" Rellen was grinning into his glass.

"Tessa, this is Yū. Yū, Tessa." The woman inclined her head, with a hint of amusement still dancing in her eyes.

"It's good to meet you officially, Tessa." Officially. Something about her voice—its melodic quality, the particular cadence—struck a chord in Tessa's memory. She'd heard that voice before.

"You're—" Her eyes widened.

"You're the Rogue. The one who helped save me." It wasn't quite a question, but Yū's expression shifted into a small smile. She didn't answer directly, just held Tessa's gaze.

"Yū will be joining me," Rellen interjected smoothly, though his tone carried genuine warmth.

"She's graciously agreed to make sure I don't get myself killed while I'm supposedly on vacation." Yū made a small sound—not quite agreement, not quite acknowledgement. Just a soft exhale. Then she settled into stillness again. There, undeniably present, but so perfectly still you could almost forget her until she moved.

"I'm glad," Tessa said, meaning it. Her heart was still settling from the shock, but relief threaded through her words.

"I'm glad you won't be alone." The thought of him wandering off by himself, poking at rumours and "interesting situations" with no backup, had sent a spike of anxiety through her. At least with Yū—with someone who could apparently appear and disappear like smoke—he'd have someone watching his back. But now the offer sat between them, waiting. Southwest. With them. Tessa's thoughts spiralled in a dozen directions at once. What would that even look like?

Travelling with Rellen and Yū, following rumours to border villages, being near where Mollie was, even if she couldn't reach her... Larry would love it. The thought struck her suddenly, vividly. Her poor familiar had been cooped up in the capital. He deserved better. He deserved open roads and new territories to explore, wild spaces where he could really run. And she could leave whenever she wanted. It wasn't like she'd be trapped. She could always come back. But maybe—maybe she didn't need to be here for a while.

Maybe she needed to move. And there was another thing nagging at the back of her mind. Her skills. They'd been surprisingly useful. More than useful—they'd been powerful in ways she was only beginning to understand. But she hadn't practised them, hadn't pushed them, hadn't really explored what they could do. She needed to level. Needed to get better. She realized both Rellen and Yū were watching her, waiting to see which way she'd move. She looked at Rellen, then at Yū, then down at her glass.

The amber liquid caught the light, warm and golden like possibility itself.

"When do we leave?" she asked. The words came out steadier than she felt, but once they were spoken, something in her chest loosened. Not relief exactly—more like the release of a breath she'd been holding too long. Rellen's smile was genuine.

"Two days. Gives you time to prepare, settle anything that needs settling."

"And if I need to come back—""Then you come back," he said simply.

"No questions asked. This isn't a contract, Tess. Just... movement. Sometimes that's what we need." She nodded, throat tight. Movement. Yes. That was exactly what she needed.

"The road teaches things that cities can't. Skills sharpen differently under an open sky." Yū said softly. Their eyes met, and Tessa understood what wasn't being said. This was an opportunity not just to move closer to Mollie, but to become stronger.

"Two days," she repeated, mostly to herself. She'd need to tell her neighbours, pack her things, make arrangements for—"Thank you," she said, meeting Rellen's eyes.

"For the offer. For... understanding." He raised his glass slightly.

"What are friends for?" Yū rose from her chair with the same silence she'd arrived with, though this time Tessa was watching and still couldn't quite track the movement.

"Let's meet at the south gate, dawn, two days from now." And then she was gone—not dramatically, not in a puff of smoke or shadow, just... not there anymore. Tessa blinked at the empty chair.

"Creepy," she muttered. Rellen laughed, warm and real.

"I've known her for years. You will get used to it." They finished their drinks in comfortable silence. Tessa thought about Mollie, somewhere in the unmapped southwest, pushing deeper into unknown territory with her expedition. And she thought about the road. Open sky. New villages. New skills to learn, new ways to grow stronger. She couldn't get answers from Mollie from here. She couldn't free herself from the guilt of having been abandoned by staying here. But she could move. She could learn.

When she stood to leave, Rellen stood with her.

"Two days," he said again.

"Two days," she confirmed. END