"Fire does not ask if it is wanted; it simply warms."
The night air bit sharper once the school doors closed behind them. Sephanie kept her eyes down, her white hair catching faint glimmers of moonlight as Henry guided her toward the treeline.
He grumbled under his breath.
"Still can't believe they made me leave my men all the way out there. Edge of the forest like I'm some kind of criminal. Would've been nice to have a torchbearer at least."
She glanced at him but said nothing. His stride was steady, confident, but not hurried. He noticed her silence and offered a crooked smile.
"Quiet type, huh? Cat got your tongue?"
Her gaze fell away, shoulders curling inward.
Henry sighed, then bent, snapping a branch from the underbrush. He handed it to her like an offering.
"If words are too much, you can write in the dirt instead. Fair trade?"
For a moment she just stared at the stick. Then, tentatively, she accepted.
They walked in silence broken only by his voice. Henry filled it with talk of the North—where snow draped the trees in white, where rivers froze thick enough to walk across, where nights stretched longer than days. She tried to picture it, but "snow" was an alien word. Still, something in his tone—a mix of wonder and belonging—made her chest tighten.
"It sounds…" She paused, fingers tightening on the stick. Her voice was barely more than breath. "…beautiful."
He stopped mid-step, surprised. A grin tugged at his mouth.
"See? I knew you had a voice somewhere in there."
They pressed on until the trees thickened and the cold deepened. Henry stopped again, crouching low to spark a fire. Sephanie watched as he coaxed flame to life, orange light spilling warmth across his jacket's gold tassels and the pale hollows of her face. She pulled her robe tighter, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn't shivering from fear.
Henry leaned back on his hands, studying her across the small blaze. His grin faded, replaced with something more solemn.
"Listen… about earlier. I'm sorry I—" He hesitated. "I'm sorry I bought you. Truth is, the North needs a mage badly. But that doesn't mean you're just… property."
Her heart thudded. The word property echoed like a chain. She wanted to look away, but instead her hand scrawled shaky words in the dirt with the stick:
I don't want to go back.
He read them. The guilt in his face softened into something else—something warm, steady, unflinching. He nodded once, firm.
"Then you won't."
They rested there until the fire dwindled, then continued deeper into the forest. When at last the faint glow of tents appeared ahead, Henry let out a breath.
"Finally. My men. You'll be safer here."
The camp was quiet, soldiers already asleep. He led her to an empty tent, pausing just inside. His hand hovered near the choker at her throat.
"Before bed… let's get this off. You'll rest easier without it."
The moment his fingers brushed the metal, heat roared through her veins. A violent surge burst outward. Sephanie cried out, flames crackling into the night. Henry recoiled, his palm blistered, eyes wide.
"George!" he shouted, panic slicing his voice. "George, wake up!"
The camp erupted—men stumbling from tents, confusion flooding the air—but Sephanie saw none of them clearly. Power blurred her vision red and white, and then—
Darkness.