The rain broke by evening, leaving the air sharp and cold. Smoke rose from the village hearths, carrying the smell of stew and damp wood. The longhouse was crowded, villagers huddled close to the fire, talking in low tones.
Victor sat on a bench near the flames, staring into the shifting embers. His hands were wrapped around a wooden bowl, but he hadn't touched the food. His thoughts circled endlessly: the Skryth prowling near the marsh, the glowing ward, the figure of silver light.
"Your face looks heavier than your bowl," said a soft voice beside him.
Liora settled onto the bench, carrying her own stew. Her cloak smelled faintly of herbs, her hair loose now, damp from the earlier rain. The firelight played across her features, softening her serious eyes.
Victor managed a smile. "Maybe I'm carrying half the forest on my shoulders."
"Then you'd best set it down," she said gently. "No one can carry that much alone."
For a moment, Victor almost told her everything—the figure, the ward, Thorian's warning. But he remembered the way Thorian had silenced him, the fear Mira had hidden in her eyes. Secrets again, walls closing in.
"I don't know how," he admitted instead.
Liora studied him for a moment, then brushed her fingers against his hand, light as a whisper. "Start by not carrying it alone."
The touch lingered in his mind even after she drew back. Warmth spread through him, different from the fire's heat—softer, more human.
Before he could reply, the door of the longhouse swung open. Mira entered, her braid damp and her stride sharp as ever. Her eyes swept the crowd before settling on Victor. She crossed the room, stopping before him.
"Dawn. Training yard. No excuses." Her voice was clipped, firm. But her gaze lingered, just for a heartbeat, flicking to Liora before returning to him. Something unspoken tightened the air.
Victor nodded. "I'll be there."
Mira turned sharply and left, her cloak snapping behind her like a banner.
Liora exhaled softly. "She pushes you hard."
Victor chuckled. "That's her way. I'm starting to think she'll never be satisfied."
"She sees something in you," Liora said simply. "So do I."
Her words lingered in the quiet. Victor felt caught between them—the storm and the stream, the one who demanded and the one who soothed.
Beyond the longhouse walls, the forest lay in shadow. And somewhere out there, a Skryth moved unseen, slipping between the trees. Waiting.