The storm had passed by morning, leaving the village washed in brittle light. Snow crusted the rooftops and lay heaped against doorframes, sparkling like crushed glass in the pale sun. The fjord groaned softly under its armor of ice, a sound that seemed to echo through the marrow of Håvardby itself.
Sara walked the narrow path between cottages with a basket of bread tucked under her arm. The baker's wife had pressed it into her hands earlier, asking her to take loaves to the widows on the northern edge of the village. The woman's gratitude had been thick with warmth, and Sara had sipped at it carefully a taste no one noticed, a kindness folded into her own hunger.
Yet her thoughts were elsewhere. Every step she took, she felt Jonas's presence lingering like a light in the dark. She had spoken so little to him, but the memory of his voice, his earnest eyes, his set jaw clung to her as though stitched into her skin. She couldn't understand it, couldn't help it and it frightened her.
By midday, the chores were done and there were many. She cut back through the square, where Jonas stood by the well, his gloved hands braced on the stones as he filled a pail. He looked up at her approach, and his face warmed.
"Sara." He spoke her name as though it were familiar already.
She paused, her breath catching. "Jonas."
"Would you walk with me?" He lifted the pail and straightened, his shoulders squared against the cold. "I've been told there's a path along the cliffs. They say it gives the best view of the fjord and I would very much like to see it."
For an instant she hesitated. To walk alone with him would be noticed. But something in his voice the quiet hope disarmed her. Against her better judgment, she nodded.
The path wound upward, crusted with ice. Jonas walked carefully, speaking of his travels as they climbed. He told her of Bergen, of the sea that never froze, of the libraries where he had first learned of old folktales whispered in places like Håvardby. His words carried a light that warmed even the brittle air.
At last they stood at the cliff's edge. Below, the fjord stretched vast and silent, its frozen surface etched with cracks that glimmered under the pale sun. The mountains rose on either side like great black sentinels, their peaks wreathed in frost.
"It's beautiful, so very beautiful and peaceful" Jonas murmured. His breath curled white in the stillness. "It feels… untouched. As if time doesn't move here."
Sara gazed out across the fjord, her hands tightening around her shawl. "Some say it never sleeps. That it remembers all who have crossed it, their footprints forever carved in its memory."
Jonas glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "You believe that, don't you?"
She met his gaze, and for a heartbeat her guard slipped. "Yes", she replied "Yes I do".
There was no judgment in his expression, only curiosity and something gentler, quieter, that made her pulse quicken.
That night, the nest gathered again. The cellar beneath the inn was damp with melted snow, the stone walls sweating in the candlelight. Ingrid stood at the head of the table, her silver-streaked hair bound tightly, her eyes sharp as glass. Erik loomed nearby, silent, his broad shoulders shadowing the flame. Astrid sprawled in her chair, tapping restless fingers against the wood, while Nils sat with his hands folded, watching everything with unreadable calm.
Sara felt the weight of their gazes as she entered. It was crushing.
"You walked with him." Ingrid's voice was flat, cold.
Sara did not deny it. "Yes."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because he asked.
The silence that followed was as heavy as stone. Astrid smirked, her lips curling. "Perhaps she's hungry for something sweeter than sorrow and fear."
"Quiet," Erik rumbled, though his eyes flicked toward Sara with a shadow of suspicion.
Ingrid stepped closer, her gaze never leaving Sara's face. "You risk more than yourself when you entertain him. Outsiders see too much. Ask too many questions. If he learns what we are"
"He won't," Sarah said quickly, too quickly. Everyone turned.
Ingrid's eyes narrowed. "Your confidence is dangerous." She leaned closer, her voice a low blade. "I see the way you look at him and I'm concerned."
Sara's throat tightened, but she held Ingrid's gaze. "He is only curious about stories. That is all."
"Stories can be sharper than knives." Ingrid straightened, her expression unreadable. "Be careful, Sara. Or your weakness will undo us all and that, we will not forgive."
The words cut deeper than Sarah let show. She lowered her eyes, her hunger thrumming in her veins, a restless thing that Jonas's warmth had stirred beyond her control.
Later, when the nest dispersed, Nils lingered by the stair. His voice was soft, almost kind. "She fears for us all, you know. But sometimes…" His dark eyes flicked to her face. "Sometimes I think she fears you most of all."
Sarah looked at him, startled, but he had already slipped away into the shadows. She liked Nils. He was like a brother. Always ready to help.
That night, Sarah stood at her window, staring out over the silent village. The fjord moaned beneath its ice, and she thought of Jonas's eyes, bright with belief. She pressed her hands to the glass, trembling with the ache inside her.
She was hungry. Hungrier than she had ever been.
And she no longer knew if it was for life itself or for him