Kael didn't breathe.
The barrel of the gun was small, almost delicate but its presence was absolute. It pressed against his skin with the weight of finality.
The old woman didn't blink. Her eyes, pale as morning frost, took him in with the same scrutiny one might give a dying animal on the side of the road—measured, distant, utterly unshaken.
She didn't need to speak. The silence was the warning.
Then the girl spoke, her voice disturbingly calm.
"Gran, he was just leaving..."
As if the moment had already passed. As if his choice had never mattered.
Only now—now, with cold metal resting against his skin—did her words truly register.
Was that what this was to them? A favor extended and now revoked? A debt he never asked for, suddenly called due?
Kael stood frozen, the door's handle still in his grip, rethinking every step that brought him here. To this house. To these people.
His pulse beat faster. Not just from fear. From something deeper. A sinking clarity.
The old woman didn't move the gun. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Calm. "Is that so?"
Kael swallowed. "I didn't mean—"
"Meanin' don't stop bullets," the old woman interrupted. "Intent's just perfume on a corpse. What matters is what you do, boy."
He lowered his hands slowly, warily. "I wasn't going to hurt anyone."
Her eyes narrowed. "No. But you were gonna walk out that door like none of this meant a damn thing. Like your blood didn't stain my floor. Like you weren't saved by hands that should've let you rot."
The silence stretched.
Kael's throat tightened. "I didn't ask to be saved."
"None of the worst ones do, boy," she murmured.
Then—finally—she lowered the gun.
"But you're here. And that means something. Even if you don't see it yet."
Kael stood still, his hands curled loosely at his sides, his heart pounding against bruised ribs. He looked past her for a moment, out into the evening haze beyond the threshold.
Then back into the room.
"Show her the wound," she said, her voice calm as water. "Or I'll make you."
Kael blinked. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious," she said, cocking the gun for emphasis. "I buried three men last month who thought they could out-stubborn infection. You want to be the fourth?"
The girl behind him gave a dry snort.
Kael raised both hands slowly. "Okay. Okay. No need for dramatics."
The old woman didn't blink. "Sweetheart, this is me being calm."
He hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder. The girl was watching him again, her arms folded, that wild glint still burning behind her eyes.
Defeated, Kael exhaled sharply and let the blanket fall from his side. The bandage was soaked through now, blooming with fresh red.
The old woman didn't say a word. She simply stepped back and nodded toward the girl.
"Fix him before he does something dumber than talking back to a loaded barrel."
Kael didn't move.
The girl approached slowly, her voice quiet this time. "Sit down."
He sat.
Not because he wanted to.
But because, between the steel-eyed old woman and the girl with the sword and unpredictable temper, he realized something very important:
He might've woken into the wrong house.
****
A few hours had passed. Shadows stretched long fingers across the room, brushing the floorboards in dark hues of dusk. Kael sat stiffly against the wall, unmoving, his arms draped loosely over his knees. Every breath pulled tight against his ribs.
The child was asleep in the corner now, curled around his stuffed animal like it was the only safe thing in the world. He snored faintly, his ears twitching now and then in dream.
Kael looked down at his leg again.
The bandage was fresh but the ache hadn't eased. If anything, it felt heavier. It didn't make sense. He'd survived far worse wounds before. Bounced back quicker than most others. He should've been healing faster.
Then why wasn't he?
Before he could sink deeper into the thought—
Clink.
A metal plate hit the table in front of him with a loud thud. A spoon followed a second later, spinning once before falling flat.
"There!" The girl chirped, all too cheerfully. "At least have something before you go."
Kael flinched slightly, startled by the sudden shift in energy. He looked down at the dish.
And just stared.
The contents looked like someone had boiled mud, regret, and a handful of questionable herbs into a chunky, unconvincing gray sludge. It steamed faintly. The smell wafted up and hit his nose, a mix of damp socks, burnt toast, and desperation…
The girl beamed like she'd just served a five-star meal.
She stood over him with her hands on her hips, her eyes wide with mock pride. "Go on," she said, her voice lilting and oddly theatrical. "Eat up. Don't be shy."
Kael blinked. "What… what's this made of?" His voice was hesitant, and his eyes lifted slowly to meet hers.
The girl had already flounced over to the windowsill, perching on the edge with one leg dangling, the other tucked underneath her. Her cloak pooled around her like a shadow. One boot tapped a slow rhythm on the wood.
"We're not exactly rich out here," she said, flicking invisible dust off her sleeve like she didn't care. "You should feel grateful to be fed. Some people would kill for a meal like that."
"It… doesn't exactly look like food," Kael muttered, suspicious.
She rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "It's root stew. Sort of. With moss. And maybe... a pinch of wild onion. I think."
"You think?"
Astra shrugged. "The old lady said it builds strength. Or character. One of the two." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Well, don't look at me. I don't know, I just stir the pot."
Kael poked at it with the spoon. It jiggled. He recoiled.
"What, don't trust me?" Astra asked, grinning now.
"I'm still recovering," Kael said, his tone dry. "Not suicidal."
Astra laughed. A real one this time. It was sharp and short, like it surprised even her.
"I like you," she said, tossing a small pebble at the wall and watching it bounce. "You're rude, ungrateful, and kind of pathetic right now. But at least you've got sarcasm."
He didn't answer.
His gaze had drifted again to his hands. They trembled slightly. No matter how tightly he flexed them, they wouldn't stop. What's wrong with me?
"You're not healing, are you?" Astra asked quietly, suddenly serious.
Kael looked up.
She was staring at him now, her expression stripped of mockery or anger. Just… curiosity. As though she already knew the answer, but just wanted to see if he'd say it out loud.
"I don't know," he admitted after a pause. "I've taken worse hits. I should be walking fine by now."
Astra hummed, then looked toward her sleeping brother in the corner. "Maybe whatever did this to you drew more than just blood."
Kael didn't answer. He didn't like how that sounded.
"Eat," she said again, but softer this time. "Even if it tastes like regret."
Astra froze mid-tap. Her eyes widened dramatically. "Oh? Or are you worried I might've poisoned it?" she asked, her voice playful but with an odd pitch as though she genuinely hoped he'd say yes.
Kael didn't answer.
His silence spoke louder than words.
The girl burst into laughter. It was short, sharp, and just a little too loud. With a spring in her step, she skipped over to him and snatched the plate from the table.
"Wow," she said, holding the bowl aloft like a trophy. "No trust. Zero. Zilch." she said with a grin far too wide. She lifted the bowl to her lips.
"Mmmm," she hummed, gulping theatrically. "Yummy!" Her eyes didn't leave his as she swallowed. "See now? Alive. No twitching. No bleeding from the eyes."
She bent low and slid the plate back in front of him with exaggerated care, the spoon slightly crooked. "You'd better not ask for seconds," she whispered, grinning like she had just made a dark joke only she found funny.
Kael stared down at the food. Then back at her.
His body said no.
His stomach, weaker, said maybe.
Against his better judgment, he muttered, "Thank you," and picked up the spoon.
Her voice went sugary sweet. "Oh, you're very much welcome," she said, tilting her head at an unnatural angle. Her eyes twitched with mischief. Maybe more than mischief.
He braced himself and took a sip.
It hit his tongue like betrayal.
His throat clenched. And he gagged.
The texture was like overcooked sandpaper. The taste? Rust, mold, and the memory of regret. His eyes stung with tears as he forced it down, barely resisting the urge to spit it back out.
He looked up, coughing—
—and she was still smiling.
Wide. Too wide.
The corners of the room twisted. The air got thick. His limbs felt like they'd been replaced with wet cement.
"Wha… what did you—" Kael slurred, but the words barely made it out. His tongue felt heavy and numb.
The spoon slipped from his hand.
And then—
He collapsed. A dull thud sounded as his body hit the floor, still and unmoving.
The plate wobbled, spun once... twice… then came to rest with a quiet clink, the spoon trembling beside it. The girl stood over him, her face calm and hard to read in the dim light. She looked almost peaceful.
She picked up the half-finished bowl and gave it a slow swirl, like someone savoring a glass of wine. Then she took another sip.
"Mmm," she whispered to herself. "Still tastes like tragedy… Maybe a pinch of salt next time."
From the corner, her brother stirred and yawned, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. "Did he like it?"
The girl turned slowly, the bowl still in her hands. "Oh, I think he adored it," she said, smiling as if this were a bedtime story. "He's sleeping now."
She crouched beside Kael and lightly tapped his forehead with two fingers. "Sweet dreams, Pattern Entity," she murmured.
Then she stood, casually tossed the empty bowl onto the table as if it were nothing, and turned toward the window, her silhouette framed by the fading light of dusk.
Outside, the wind howled.
Inside, Kael lay still.
And the girl… she just kept humming.