The overlapping whispers in Leonard's ears are severed instantly.
A hand grips his shoulder, the weight of real fingers digging through his cloak.
The curdled yellow light shatters, rushing back into the dull, cold grey of the kitchen.
The table is no longer dusty; the steaming bowls of broth and dried fish sit right where they belonged.
Henry stands over him, his brow furrowed with deep lines of concern.
"Sir?" Henry asks, his hand steady on Leonard's shoulder. "Are you alright?"
Leonard's breath catches in his throat.
He looks around the table.
Grace is staring at him, her fingers still wrapped around Elsbeth's hand.
The princess is watching him now, her pale face tight with a silent, fragile dread.
Leonard lifts his hands, his palms catching the thick, hot moisture clinging to his cheeks. He rubs the front of his face, his skin burning beneath his rough palms.
"Oh... yeah," Leonard mutters, his voice a dry rasp. He forces a tight, hollow shape into his mouth that mimics a smile. "Everything's fine. I guess I... I zoned out for a bit."
Henry steps back to the counter, pours a plain clay cup full of well water, and extends it.
Leonard takes the vessel with a trembling right hand, the wood of the table scraping as his knuckles drag against it.
He drains the water in three heavy swallows, then sets the empty cup down and pushes his chair back.
"I just... I don't feel like eating right now," Leonard says, his eyes avoiding everyone at the table.
He reaches for his belt, checking the weight of his sword guard. "I'm heading out. I want to see if anything has shifted in the square."
Henry opens his mouth to speak, but Grace cuts him off with a quiet, firm gaze.
"Take care of yourself," Grace says, her eyes locked on the split on Leonard's lip. "Eat something the moment you get back."
Leonard gives a single, rigid nod and pulls the heavy door open, stepping out into the grey chill.
The door clicks shut, leaving the kitchen in an oppressive silence.
The three of them pick up their spoons, the metal clicking against the earthenware as they eat without a word.
Grace sets her spoon down first. She looks across the small table at Henry, her eyes narrowing into sharp, dark slits.
"There is something the two of you are hiding from us," Grace says, her voice flat. "Right, Henry?"
Henry's jaw hitches. He forces a strange, tight grin onto his face, his fingers fidgeting with the rim of his bowl.
"No... no, my lady! We're not hiding anything. It's just... Sir Leonard is under an immense amount of tension regarding the town. He's putting everything he has into finding a way out."
Grace clicks her tongue against her teeth, her posture hardening. "So whatever just happened to him at the table—that was a part of it? I don't think so."
Henry lowers his head, the fake smile sliding off his face. He stares into the grey remnants of his broth. "I'm afraid... even I don't know what that was, my lady."
Grace watches him for a long beat, the skepticism thick in the space between them.
"I'm trusting you, Henry," she says softly, her voice carrying a warning weight. "Don't make me regret it."
Henry scratches he back of his neck, his shoulders slumping under his black leather plates. "Don't worry about a thing, my lady. Sir Leonard and I... we will take care of everything."
Beside her, Elsbeth pushes her bowl away. Her fingers are still locked around the edges of the black book. She stands up, her eyes glued to the floorboards. "I'm going to the room."
Grace nods, her expression softening as she releases the princess's hand. "Go ahead. I'll be right up. Wait for me."
As Elsbeth's slow boots creak up the stairs, Henry rises from his seat, reaching for the empty bowls. "I'll do the dishes, my lady."
Grace immediately reaches out, her fingers catching his wrist, her other hand already turning back the wool sleeves of her tunic. "I'll handle the kitchen. You go out there and check on Leonard."
Henry pulls back, bowing his head deep until his chin hits his collar. "My lady, what are you saying? I cannot let you perform servant's work.
I'll go after Sir Leonard, and I will clear the basins the moment I return. Please, just go back to the room."
"Raise your head, Henry," Grace commands, her voice rising to a sharp, aristocratic snap that cuts through the house. "It's nothing. Do what I said. I don't want to hear another word from you. Just go."
Henry hesitates, looking at her bared forearms, then nods once. He turns toward the door, muttering under his breath, "You really don't have to do the dishes, though..."
"Just go, damnit!" Grace throws the words after him, her voice cracking under the weight of her own frayed nerves.
The door shuts behind the young man.
Grace sinks her hands into the cold water of the washbasin, her shoulders shaking as she stares at her own reflection in the ripples. "I can't just ignore this," she whispers to the empty room. "I hope he's just tired. Please, let it just be the exhaustion."
Upstairs, the small room is cold.
Elsbeth sits on the edge of the mattress, the black book resting heavy on her lap. The room is dead quiet, but as she leans her head down, pressing her ear flat against the cold hide of the cover, a sound rises from the pages.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The pulse inside the bindings is no longer a faint, distant flutter. It is loud, rhythmic, and heavy, vibrating directly against her jawbone.
Golden faint light begins to leak from the seams of the parchment, casting long shadows across her face.
She pulls the book from her lap, clutching it tight against her chest, her fingers digging into the leather corner pieces.
"Mercy..." she whispers, her throat tightening into a hard knot. "I don't know how to go through all of this. I'm hurting the people I care about. Every step i take, someone bleeds."
She squeezes her eyes shut, the image of Viktor's laboratory flashing behind her lids. "I saw Luan. He was in so much pain... it wasn't a dream, Mercy. It felt too real to be a dream."
A tear leaks from her eye, soaking into the dark grain of the cover.
"Help me, Mercy," she begs, her voice breaking into a fragile sob. "Just this once... please. Listen to my call and help us. Help Luan. I know... I know your silence is because of me. You paid the price in my place..."
The leather beneath her palms suddenly turns hot.
A deep, unnatural warmth blooms from the center of the book, spreading through her fingers and traveling up her forearms like a physical embrace.
It doesn't speak, but the weight of the heat settles into her chest, a phantom pressure that holds her steady.
It feels like a reassurance. It feels like a promise that the entity inside the pages hasn't abandoned her yet.
Elsbeth lets out a bitter, sweet sob, her frame relaxing against the mattress as she presses the glowing book harder into her breastbone.
"Thank you..." she whispers "Thank you."
Outside, the cold air hits Henry's face like a wet cloth.
He leaves the porch, his eyes tracking the deep, uneven boots prints Leonard had left in the mud.
The tracks don't lead toward the town gate; they veer off toward the northern boundary, where the grey trunks of the pine forest meet the red clay.
Henry finds him standing at the edge of the tree line.
Leonard's hands are buried deep in his cloak, his back rigid as he stares into the black, tangled depths of the woods.
Henry slows his pace, his boots crunching on the weeds. "Hey... Sir Leonard. Everything good?"
Leonard doesn't move for several seconds.
Then, with a slow rotation of his torso, he turns his head. His eyes are hollow, the skin around his sockets dark and bruised. "Henry? What are you doing out here?"
Henry stops five paces away. He drops his gaze to the mud, then crouches down, his knees clicking under his leather plates.
He picks up a dry branch, breaking it between his fingers with a sharp snap. "In the house... what was all that about, sir?"
Leonard turns his back to the woods, his face flattening into an expressionless mask. "It was nothing. Like I said earlier."
"It clearly was something, sir," Henry says. He stands up, his voice losing its deferential tone, turning hard and sharp. "Lady Grace thinks we're keeping secrets from them—which we clearly are. And on top of that... you're keeping things from me too."
Leonard opens his mouth to speak, but Henry steps into his space, his finger pointing toward his chest.
"What happened to that fucking vow, sir? 'We both have to take care of everything ourselves. That's what you said.
If you're going to start locking me out in the dark too, then we're already dead in this town."
Henry wheels around, his boots churning the clay as he takes three long strides back toward the house.
He stops, his back to Leonard, and hurls his voice over his shoulder, loud enough to echo off the timber walls of the square.
"If this keeps up, I might as well start digging our graves alongside those travelers."
Leonard moves. He bridges the gap between them in two heavy strides, his bandaged hand coming down hard on Henry's shoulder. "You have to stay strong, Henry. Clear your head. We'll get through this."
Henry wrenches his shoulder away, throwing Leonard's hand off his shoulder with a violent jerk of his arm.
"That's not the answer to my question!" Henry roars, turning to face him, his eyes wide and wild with frustration. "You're the only one keeping this whole slate together, Sir Leonard!
You're the strong one.
You're the reliable one. We depend on you. Lady Grace, The Princess... me. If you start breaking down like this, I don't know what's going to happen to us."
Henry stops, his breath rising in thick, white plumes. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, letting out a long, shuddering sigh that drains the heat from his chest.
"I know you probably have your reasons," Henry says, his voice dropping into a flat, exhausted whisper. He drops his hands, looking at Leonard one last time.
"I just hope you won't let us down. I hope whatever you're doing... it's to get us out of here."
He turns and walks away, his black attire blending into the gray shadow of the houses.
Leonard stands alone at the edge of the clearing. The cold wind catches his cloak, flapping the heavy wool against his greaves.
He watches Henry's silhouette vanish into the porch entryway before his head drops toward the red mud.
"I'm sorry, Henry," Leonard whispers to the empty trees.