The door opened just as the morning quiet was starting to settle.
Ember noticed immediately. Sitting across from the entrance, her hands froze over the table, fingers still gripped around the weirdly shaped mug.
Ashthorne stepped inside.
His armor was a mess—fresh scrapes, bark, and dark soil clinging to the metal edges. His hair was loose now, no longer tied back with the military neatness of the night before. His jaw was set in a way Ember recognized without needing words.
Something was wrong.
His eyes found her. He stopped.
It wasn't a dramatic pause, just a sharp, controlled hitch in his movement. Ember felt it anyway—that familiar, prickly feeling of being caught somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Elara cleared her throat.
"Ash," she said, her voice like a calm hand on a restless shoulder. "We're still eating."
His jaw tightened. "Mother—"
"Sit," Elara said. It wasn't a request; it was that firm, familiar tone of a parent who knew better. "You haven't eaten."
"Something is wrong. I need to ask—" His voice was low, vibrating with restraint. "The forest—"
"The forest is always wrong," Elara interrupted gently. "And it will still be there after breakfast."
Ashthorne exhaled sharply through his nose. He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he pulled out a chair and sat. The wood scraped loudly against the floor—a small act of rebellion.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Cutlery clicked softly. Ember kept her hands folded in her lap, unsure if she should finish her meal or just disappear into the floorboards. Ashthorne didn't look at her again, but his presence felt heavy, coiled tight with things he wasn't saying.
Elara broke the silence.
"So," she said, turning toward Ember. "We never finished introductions."
Ember looked up, startled. "Oh. Right."
"Who are you, Ember?"
The question was simple. The answer felt like a mountain.
"I'm… from a small town," Ember said, her voice a little thin. "Not far from where I grew up."
Ashthorne's gaze flicked toward her, sharp as a needle. Elara just waited.
"I was adopted," Ember continued. She let out a dry, breathy laugh. "Sort of."
Elara didn't react—no pitying nod, no frown. She just listened.
"It was a tiny place. Everyone knew everyone. I was found in a field. My parents' cornfield, actually."
Ashthorne's hand stilled around his cup.
"They said they couldn't just leave a baby there. And there wasn't anyone else to take me. So… they kept me." She paused, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "They did everything they were supposed to. Fed me. Clothed me. Sent me to school. They weren't cruel."
She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
"They just never loved me like I was theirs."
Elara's eyes softened, though her face remained composed.
"They never wanted kids," Ember added, pushing the food around her plate. "They told me that. More than once."
She looked up quickly, her voice picking up speed. "I don't blame them, honestly. I get it. I showed up without warning. I changed a life they never planned for."
Her fingers tangled together in her lap.
"But I loved them," she said quietly. "I really tried. I was always trying."
The room felt smaller now, the air a bit thicker.
"They didn't ask for much once I moved out. They didn't call. Didn't ask me to visit. I still go back for holidays, though. I bring gifts. I try to be… good." She let out a short, hollow laugh. "It sounds stupid, saying it out loud."
"It doesn't," Elara said.
Ember glanced at her, surprised by the weight in the woman's voice.
"You were a child," Elara said evenly. "Children shouldn't owe gratitude just for being kept alive."
Ember nodded, though the words felt too big to swallow all at once. "I know that. Most days, anyway."
She straightened her back, suddenly realizing how much she'd leaked out to these strangers. "I'm sorry. I don't even know why I'm telling you all this."
Ashthorne looked at her then.
There was no suspicion in his eyes. No judgment. Just a quiet, steady look that made Ember want to look away. She'd always hated being pitied, but this didn't feel like pity. It felt like being seen.
"Talking isn't something to apologize for," Elara said.
Ember forced a faint smile. "Thank you. For the food. For everything."
Elara inclined her head. "You are welcome."
Ashthorne pushed his chair back. "Mother. The forest—"
"I know," Elara said. "And you'll check it. After."
He hesitated, then gave a single, stiff nod.
Elara turned back to Ember. "You said you're from a small town. Do you have work there? A life to go back to?"
Ember shook her head. "Not anymore."
She didn't explain about the betrayal or the empty apartment. She didn't have to.
"I see," Elara said. She studied Ember for a heartbeat, her gaze thoughtful. "Then you'll come with me today."
Ember blinked. "Come with you?"
"To the village. You can't stay inside these walls wondering what to do with yourself."
Ashthorne looked sharply at his mother. "Mother—"
"She'll be seen eventually," Elara replied, her tone final. "Better it happens on our terms."
Ember bit her lip. "I don't want to be a problem."
"You already exist," Elara said, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "In this world, that's trouble enough."
The honesty was refreshing.
Elara stood up. "Finish your breakfast. We leave soon."
Ashthorne stayed in his seat, his gaze distant, jaw still tight.
Ember picked up her cup. Her hands were steady for the first time since she'd fallen through the earth. For once, she didn't feel like a burden to be managed. She felt like someone who was actually allowed to be there.