On the walk home, her thoughts wandered—not to the lake this time, but to her scones.
Had Nana managed to bake them properly this time? The last time she'd handed over baking duty, Nana had gotten caught up gossiping with the neighbors and left them in the oven until they turned into golden bricks. Alina had nearly broken a tooth trying to pretend she wasn't disappointed.
She smiled at the memory, brushing a loose curl from her face as the trees lining the path thickened. The sun had dipped lower now, casting long, dappled shadows across the trail. Birds chirped lazily in the branches overhead.
Just ahead, the path curved sharply between two old willow trees—and the moment she stepped around it, she froze.
Two figures stood in the middle of the road. One was tall and wiry, the other shorter and broad-shouldered, both cloaked in mismatched travel clothes and leaning far too casually against the trees. They looked like they'd been waiting.
"Evenin'," the tall one said, his voice light, almost cheerful. "Nice day for a walk, isn't it?"
Alina didn't answer. Her fingers curled slightly around the strap of her satchel.
The shorter man grinned. "We're not here to cause any trouble. Just figured we'd help lighten your load a bit. You know—less weight on your way home."
Alina took a step back, heart thudding. Her first instinct was to run—but the path behind her was narrow, and the forest too dense. She lifted her chin. "I don't have anything worth stealing."
The tall one smirked. "Oh, now, that's rarely true."
From the countless times she'd made her way to the lake, Alina had never met robbers on the path. Deer, yes. Frogs, often. Once, even a very judgmental goose. But never robbers.
She didn't expect to meet them here—not on her favorite trail, not with the sun still bleeding gold through the trees. And yet, there they were.
The tall one straightened from where he leaned against the tree, brushing a bit of bark from his sleeve like this was all terribly routine. The shorter man cracked his knuckles with theatrical flair, though the motion only made him look like he was trying a bit too hard to be threatening.
Alina's breath caught, but she kept her spine straight. "Well," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "This is new."
Alina didn't have much on her—just a few copper coins, a bit of lavender in her pouch, and an old pocketknife that could barely cut through bread, let alone trouble. But she wouldn't let anyone rob her of her possessions. Not when her teeth were strong enough to bite and her fists hard enough to throw a punch.
The tall one took a step forward, close enough that Alina could smell stale leather and something sour on his breath. The man stared down at her, trying to look threatening.
Alina only dipped her chin and laughed softly, tugging her hair back from her face.
If anyone was going to be in trouble today, it wasn't her.
She didn't wait for him to make another move. Her knuckles curled into a fist, and her punch landed squarely on his jaw with a satisfying crack.
The man stumbled back, arms flailing like a poorly balanced scarecrow. He tripped over his own feet and hit the ground with a grunt, more surprised than hurt.
Alina shook out her hand, wincing slightly. "That's what you get for underestimating a girl with good arm strength and no patience," she said, glaring at the man still sprawled in the dirt. "Just so you know, I do heavy gardening."
The shorter one hesitated, clearly reassessing the situation. "You punched him," he said, like he couldn't quite believe it.
She crossed her arms. "And I can do it again."
That seemed to knock what little sense they had back into them. The shorter man muttered something under his breath as he hauled his companion upright.
"You got lucky," the taller one growled, pressing a hand to his jaw. "I wasn't ready."
They backed away together, pride bruised far worse than his face, before turning and slinking off into the trees, muttering curses as they went.
Only then did Alina let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She flexed her sore fingers and winced.
"Gardening strength, my foot," she muttered. "That really hurt."
As the last echoes of their retreating footsteps faded into the trees, a shadow stretched long across the path behind her.
Alina's stomach twisted, tension snapping back into place. She spun around, fists tightening on instinct.
And there, just beyond her line of sight, was Killian.
His towering figure cast a long shadow over her, his arms crossed, watching her with a calmness that made her breath catch.
Alina blinked. "How long have you been standing there?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Long enough."
Her eyes narrowed. "And you didn't say anything?"
He shrugged. "You seemed like you had it handled."
Alina opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn't know whether to feel proud… or mortified.
"…You didn't help because you thought I had it handled?" she asked slowly.
Killian's mouth twitched—just barely. "They thought you had it handled."
Only then did it hit her—how the robbers had looked past her. How their bravado had suddenly dissolved.
Heat crept up the back of her neck. They hadn't been afraid of her. They'd been afraid of him.
The realization only made Alina more annoyed. What was he doing here, anyway? Why was he always everywhere?
She huffed, arms crossing tightly over her chest. "Are you following me?"
Hearing her question, Killian looked at her incredulously, as if her words had made no sense at all. He simply pointed to his back, and Alina's gaze followed his gesture, landing on a huge pile of firewood tied securely to his back like an oversized backpack.
"Tell me if you need some firewood," Killian said, completely unfazed by her glare. He then turned and started walking ahead, his long strides quickly leaving her behind.
Alina stood there, blinking in disbelief for a moment. She snorted. "Like I need him to think I need anything from him."
She huffed, her frustration bubbling up. Without another word, she picked up her pace, stomping past him with a little more force than necessary. She wasn't about to let him think she was grateful for anything—least of all firewood.
Alina stomped all the way home, taking her anger out on every loose pebble and crunchy leaf that dared cross her path. Her thoughts were loud, tangled, and insistent. She had a lot of questions—and not a single answer.
Had he been there from the start? Why hadn't he said anything? Why didn't he help—at least then her fist wouldn't be throbbing. And honestly, didn't he have a job? Why was he always around? Lurking in the woods, hauling firewood, showing up wherever he pleased.
She kicked another stone hard enough to send it skittering into the underbrush.
"Hey," Killian called from behind her.
But Alina didn't stop. She was too wrapped up in her thoughts, too angry to hear anything over the roar of her own frustration.
"Hey," he called again—louder this time.
She halted mid-step, shoulders stiff. Slowly, she turned, jaw tight, her patience worn thin.
"Are you angry because I didn't help you?" Killian asked, his tone unreadable.
"No," Alina snapped, a little too quickly. She turned back around, resuming her assault on the unsuspecting pebbles and leaves along the path.
There was a pause.
"Then… are you angry because I took the pastry?"
Alina's head snapped back around, her eyes wide in disbelief. "What?"
She stared at him, certain she'd misheard.
Killian didn't blink. "You were too slow."
She gaped at him. "I had my hand on it."
"Should've held it tighter," he shrugged, as if that settled the matter. "It was good, by the way," he added, and the hint of a grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
Alina stared, equal parts scandalized and furious. "You—you thief!"
She let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a growl, turned on her heel, and resumed her leaf-stomping campaign with even more dramatic flair.
Then a fat raindrop landed squarely on her nose.
She looked up just as the sky broke open. Rain poured down with sudden ferocity, drenching her hair within seconds.
"Oh, come on," she muttered, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
She turned—and found Killian already heading toward the edge of the trees, motioning her forward.
"This way," he called, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the downpour.
She didn't want to follow him. She really didn't. But wet shoes and an aching hand were a miserable combination.
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then stomped after him, slipping and cursing under her breath.
They ducked into an old gardener's shed tucked off the path, half-swallowed by ivy and moss. The roof leaked in places, but it was dry enough to breathe again.
Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with old pots, trowels, and various tools. The faint smell of damp earth and wood hung in the air. It wasn't comfortable—but it was shelter.
Killian shrugged the heavy bundle of firewood from his back with ease. Without a word, he crossed the shed, dragged the only chair across the floor with a loud scrape, and set it down in front of her.
"Sit," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Alina blinked, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, ready to protest—but the chair looked far more appealing than standing in the damp cold.
"I don't need a chair," she muttered.
Her feet betrayed her.
She took a few steps, hesitated, then sat with a soft huff.
Killian said nothing—but she caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
An almost imperceptible grin, gone as quickly as it appeared. It left her wondering if she'd imagined it.