The fire had settled into something steady.
Not the wild, hungry blaze it had been when the camp was first set, but a quieter thing now—contained, controlled. The wood shifted inward as it burned, collapsing softly in on itself, sending brief spirals of sparks drifting up into the night. Embers pulsed beneath the surface in a slow, breathing glow, and the heat rolled outward in gentle waves that pressed back the chill just enough to make the clearing feel smaller.
Not safe.
But… held.
As if the darkness had been pushed to the edges and told, for now, to wait its turn.
Kael stood just beyond the reach of that light.
Not fully in shadow—but not within the circle either.
The fire caught only the edges of him: the line of his jaw, the faint shift of his shoulders, the glint of something watchful in his eyes. The rest of him remained half-hidden, where instinct felt more comfortable.
He hadn't moved in a while.
Hadn't spoken.
Hadn't relaxed.
His gaze moved constantly—across the wagons, the fires, the silhouettes of knights rotating watch, the scattered shapes of people settling into uneasy rest. Every sound found him. Every shift of movement. Every voice, no matter how quiet.
Even now—
Even here—
His body refused to believe it was over.
⸻
Closer to the fire, Bram sat cross-legged, hunched slightly over a piece of bread like it might vanish if he gave it the chance.
He took a bite.
Then another.
Then paused mid-chew, glancing up through the firelight toward Kael.
"…you gonna stand there all night like a guard dog or what?"
Kael didn't move.
Didn't look away from the camp.
"I am a guard."
Bram snorted, a quiet, breathy sound.
"No, you're a paranoid stick."
That got a reaction—barely.
Kael's eyes shifted to him, flat and unimpressed, like a blade turning just enough to catch the light.
"…eat."
Bram lifted the bread slightly.
"I am."
Kael didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Didn't engage.
So Bram sighed—loudly, dramatically, on purpose—and tore off a chunk before holding it out toward him.
"Take it before I eat this too."
Kael didn't reach for it.
Didn't step forward.
Didn't even look at the bread.
"I have food."
"Yeah," Bram said, wiggling the piece slightly, "and I took more earlier. Which means now you have more too. That's how sharing works."
Kael's gaze settled on him fully now.
Not annoyed.
Not confused.
Just… searching.
Like he was trying to find the angle of it.
The reason.
The catch.
Because there was always a catch.
There wasn't.
And that, more than anything, made it difficult.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The fire cracked softly between them, a log shifting inward as embers glowed brighter, then dimmed again.
Somewhere in the distance, someone coughed. A healer murmured something low and steady. The camp breathed around them—alive, but quiet.
Still, Bram held the bread out.
Still waiting.
Slowly—
Kael stepped forward.
Just one step.
Just enough to cross into the edge of the firelight.
The warmth touched him more fully now, brushing against skin that wasn't used to it without tension.
He took the bread.
No hesitation in the motion itself—but no softness either.
No thanks.
No acknowledgment.
Just acceptance.
Bram grinned anyway.
"Look at that," he said lightly. "Progress."
Kael sat down.
Not close.
Never close.
But closer than he had been.
For a while, they ate in silence.
The kind that wasn't empty—just… unfilled.
The fire popped and shifted. Sparks drifted upward and vanished into the dark. Voices carried faintly from other parts of the camp, blending into something low and constant.
Normal sounds.
Strange sounds.
Sounds that didn't belong to survival.
After a while, Bram spoke again.
"You remember that chicken?"
Kael didn't look at him.
"…what."
"The one you said attacked you."
Kael stilled.
It was subtle.
A tightening in his shoulders. A pause in his breathing.
Then—
"…it did."
Bram turned toward him fully now, eyebrows lifting.
"No it didn't."
"It had intent."
"It had feathers."
"It had both."
Bram stared at him for a second.
Then laughed.
Not loud.
Not forced.
Something real slipped out, rough at the edges but genuine.
"God, you're serious."
Kael didn't laugh.
Didn't smile.
But something shifted in his eyes.
Small.
Faint.
Like a ripple across still water that disappeared almost as soon as it formed.
"You chased it into a fence," Bram continued, still smiling.
"It started it."
"It was eating."
"It looked at me wrong."
Bram shook his head.
"You were yelling about becoming a knight."
Kael's grip tightened slightly around the bread.
"…I remember."
Bram leaned back on his hands, gaze drifting up toward the sky.
"You were loud."
Kael took another bite.
"…you were slower."
Bram scoffed.
"I was not."
"You tripped."
"I slipped."
"You fell into a bucket."
"That bucket attacked me."
Kael glanced at him.
Just briefly.
"…intent."
Bram laughed again.
And this time—
Kael's mouth twitched.
Just slightly.
Gone almost immediately.
But it had been there.
Across the fire, Garrick saw it.
That brief, flickering thing.
And something in his chest loosened—just a fraction.
Not relief.
Not yet.
But something close to it.
⸻
Bram rolled his shoulders, still grinning.
"See? You remember things."
Kael's expression settled again.
"…I remember everything."
The tone changed.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Something underneath it.
Something that didn't belong to jokes or firelight.
Bram caught it.
And, for once—
He didn't push.
Didn't joke.
Didn't try to pull him back out of it.
He just nodded.
"…yeah."
The fire shifted between them.
A log collapsed inward with a soft crack, sending a scatter of sparks into the air.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Then Bram nudged him lightly with his foot.
"Still weird, though."
Kael glanced at him.
"You're still annoying."
"Good," Bram said. "That means you're not completely broken."
Kael didn't answer.
But he didn't argue either.
The night deepened.
The sounds of the camp softened further, fading into something distant and low.
But Kael didn't move back into the shadows.
Didn't retreat.
He stayed where he was.
Near the fire.
Near another person.
Not alone.
It wasn't warmth.
Not comfort.
Not the boy he had once been.
But it was something.
A thin fracture in something frozen solid.
Small.
Barely visible.
But real.
And this time—
Kael didn't shut it down.
He let it sit there.
Quietly.
Without tearing it apart.
The fire burned lower.
The clearing settled.
And for a brief, fragile stretch of time—
Kael simply existed in it.
Not fighting.
Not fleeing.
Not surviving.
Just… there.
And that, more than anything else—
Was new.
The camp settled into a quieter rhythm as the night stretched on, the earlier tension thinning into something softer at the edges. Voices faded one by one, replaced by the low murmur of distant conversation and the occasional shift of movement as people adjusted in their sleep. The wagons stood in a loose line around the clearing, their shadows long and uneven against the ground.
Kael remained where he was, seated with his back against the wheel, one knee bent, the other stretched slightly forward. The piece of bread in his hand had gone mostly untouched now, forgotten somewhere between habit and distraction.
He wasn't watching everything anymore.
Not the way he had been.
His gaze still moved—but slower. Less sharp. Drifting instead of snapping from point to point.
Beside him, Bram had fallen fully asleep.
At some point, he had rolled onto his back, one arm thrown over his face, the other resting across his chest. His breathing had settled into an easy rhythm, steady and unbothered, like nothing in the world had ever taught him to expect otherwise.
Kael studied him for a moment.
Not with suspicion.
Just… trying to understand it.
He shifted slightly, resting his head back against the wood behind him. The position wasn't ideal, but it was better than before. Less strain in his shoulders. Less tension in his spine.
It took him a second to realize what he'd done.
Relaxed.
Even if only a fraction.
Across the clearing, movement caught his attention—not sharp, not urgent. Just one of the knights making his rounds, his pace unhurried, his posture loose in a way Kael still didn't fully trust.
The man paused briefly near another wagon, speaking quietly to someone Kael couldn't see, then moved on without incident.
Nothing followed.
No escalation.
No sudden shift.
Just… continuation.
Kael exhaled slowly, his grip loosening slightly around the bread that bram had given him awhile ago.
He brought it up again, taking another bite more out of necessity than hunger. The taste was plain, the texture rough—but it was warm, and it was his.
That was enough.
"…you're still awake."
The voice came low, roughened by sleep.
Kael didn't look over immediately.
"I don't sleep."
A pause.
"Yeah, you do," Bram muttered, not moving from where he lay. "You just pretend you don't."
Kael glanced at him then.
Bram hadn't opened his eyes. His arm still covered most of his face.
Silence settled between them again, but it wasn't tense this time. Just… there.
Bram shifted slightly, dragging his arm down just enough to squint at him.
"Camp's not so bad," he said after a moment.
Kael didn't answer right away.
His gaze moved across the clearing again—over the scattered figures, the slow movement of guards, the stillness that had settled over everything.
"…it's different," he said.
Bram huffed quietly.
"Different's good."
Kael didn't agree.
But he didn't argue either.
A breeze passed through the clearing, cool and steady, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and earth. It brushed against Kael's skin, tugging lightly at his clothes before fading just as quickly.
He followed it without thinking, eyes lifting briefly—then lowering again.
Not lingering this time.
"You ever think," Bram said, voice quieter now, "that maybe it just… keeps going?"
Kael frowned slightly.
"What."
"Everything," Bram said. "Like—this. Us. Not the pit. Not the fights. Just… whatever this is now."
Kael didn't respond.
Because he didn't have an answer.
Bram let out a slow breath and closed his eyes again.
"Feels weird," he muttered. "Not knowing what happens next."
Kael's gaze shifted slightly.
That part—
That part he understood.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The quiet stretched, but it didn't press in. It didn't demand to be filled.
It just… existed.
Kael adjusted again, just slightly, letting his head rest more fully against the wagon behind him. His shoulders eased a fraction, the tension in them no longer as constant as it had been hours ago.
He didn't notice it happening.
Didn't think about it.
It just… did.
Beside him, Bram's breathing deepened again, slipping fully back into sleep.
This time, Kael didn't question it.
Didn't study it.
He just let it be.
His eyes lowered.
Not closing entirely—but not fully open either.
The space between awareness and rest.
A place he hadn't let himself stay in for a long time.
The camp remained quiet.
Steady.
Unchanging.
And slowly—
Without forcing it—
Kael let himself settle into that stillness.
Not completely.
Not deeply.
But enough that, for the first time, the silence didn't feel like something waiting to break.
—-
Dawn came quietly.
Not with noise or urgency, but with a slow change in the world around them. The dark thinned, the sky softening from black to gray, then to something pale and uncertain. Shapes returned first—the wagons, the figures, the outlines of people beginning to stir—before the light followed fully behind them.
Kael was already awake.
He stayed where he was for a moment, back against the wagon wheel, letting his breathing settle into something even. The night had passed without incident. No sudden movement. No interruption. No reason to wake sharp and ready.
He shifted.
And the stillness broke.
The pain didn't come all at once.
It surfaced.
Slow.
Layered.
A quiet reminder of everything his body had been forced through the day before.
His shoulders tightened first, muscles sore from strain he hadn't felt at the time. Then his ribs—bruised, deeper than surface-level—pulled uncomfortably as he drew in a full breath.
But when he pushed himself up further—
That's when it hit properly.
His chest.
A sharp, dragging burn stretched across his skin the moment his shirt shifted against it. His hand moved instinctively—not to touch it, but to brace, like his body already knew where the damage was.
The burns from the fire mage.
They hadn't hurt like this yesterday.
Yesterday they had been heat and adrenaline and survival—something to push through, something to ignore.
Now—
They had settled.
And they hurt.
Kael straightened anyway.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His jaw tightened just enough to hold everything in place as he adjusted his posture, easing the pull across his chest and shoulder. The movement sent a faint echo of pain across his back too—less sharp, but there.
Not enough to stop him.
Nothing ever was.
Then came the other feeling.
Subtler.
Deeper.
His arm flexed once at his side.
Not the skin.
Not the muscle.
Something underneath it.
A faint, lingering strain that ran through his forearm and up into his chest, like something had been forced open and hadn't fully settled back into place.
The lightning.
Not the burns.
The cost of it.
Kael stilled for a second.
Not reacting.
Just… registering it.
His mana pathways felt raw.
Not broken.
Not unusable.
But worn thin.
Like something that had been pushed too far, too fast, and hadn't had time to recover yet.
He knew what it was.
Didn't need it explained.
He'd forced it.
Forced something that hadn't been ready.
And now his body was reminding him.
He rolled his shoulder once.
Tested it.
The response came slower than he liked.
He ignored that too.
Beside him, Bram groaned into the dirt.
"…I'm dead," he muttered.
Kael glanced at him.
"You're moving."
"That's the afterlife," Bram said. "This is punishment."
"You snored."
Bram froze.
Then slowly lifted his head.
"I do not snore."
Kael didn't respond.
Bram squinted at him.
"…you're lying."
Kael looked away, trying to hide his facial expressions.
Bram rolled onto his back with a long exhale, blinking up at the sky.
"Why is it so bright already…"
"It's morning."
"I hate that."
Kael pushed himself fully to his feet.
And immediately felt it again.
The ground was steady.
But his body wasn't.
Not completely.
The soreness had settled deeper now that he was upright, the burns along his chest pulling with every small movement. His shirt brushed against them just enough to make it worse—not unbearable, but constant.
Annoying.
Restricting.
His hand hovered briefly near his side, then dropped again.
He didn't touch it.
Didn't check.
Didn't acknowledge it beyond the slight tightening of his jaw.
The camp was waking.
Knights moved first, already working through their routines—checking wagons, adjusting harnesses, preparing for departure. Healers followed, quieter, moving between the injured, rewrapping bandages, checking wounds that hadn't had time to settle properly overnight.
One of them started toward him, the one that had been talking to his father.
Kael noticed instantly.
He didn't move.
But something in him closed off slightly.
"Let me see your chest," the healer said gently as she approached, keeping her distance.
"I'm fine."
Her gaze flicked to his posture—the stiffness, the way he held himself.
"No, you're not."
"I said I am."
Footsteps approached from the side.
Garrick. The one who had sent the healer.
"You're getting it checked."
Kael didn't turn toward him.
"It's handled."
"It's not."
"It will be."
Bram pushed himself up onto his elbows, watching with interest.
"Yeah, no," he said, glancing between them. "He looks like he got dragged through a fire."
Kael shot him a look.
Bram shrugged. With a sly look.
Garrick stepped closer.
Not aggressive.
Not forceful.
But solid.
"You're not in the pit anymore," he said, voice steady. "You don't ignore injuries and hope they don't get worse."
Kael's expression didn't change.
"That worked so far."
Garrick's gaze hardened slightly.
"No. It didn't."
Silence stretched.
Tight.
Brief.
The burn along Kael's chest pulsed again as he shifted slightly, sharper this time, like it had been waiting for him to stop pretending it wasn't there.
His jaw tightened.
Bram leaned back a little.
"Look," he added, more casually, "if you pass out later, I'm not dragging you anywhere."
Kael didn't look at him.
"I won't."
"Cool. Then prove it. Let her fix it so we don't have to hear you lie about it all day."
Another pause.
Short.
Measured.
Kael exhaled once, sharp through his nose.
Then reached for the edge of his shirt and pulled it aside just enough to expose the worst of it.
Not offering.
Not comfortable.
Just… allowing.
The healer stepped in carefully, her expression tightening slightly as she saw the burns more clearly.
"These should've been treated last night," she murmured.
Kael didn't answer.
Her hands were steady as she worked, reapplying salve, adjusting the wrappings across his chest and shoulder with practiced care.
"This will slow you down if you don't let it heal properly," she added.
"I'm not stopping."
"I didn't say stop," she replied calmly. "I said make it worse."
She finished quickly.
Didn't linger.
"Try not to tear it open," she said.
Kael dropped his shirt back into place.
"Noted."
-—-
The wagons were ready soon after.
Kael climbed in without hesitation.
Same place.
Same posture.
Ready.
The moment the wagon started moving—
His stomach dropped.
The first shift wasn't bad.
Then the wheels hit uneven ground.
And the motion rolled through him again.
Kael's hand shot out, gripping the side of the wagon.
His breathing hitched—just slightly—before he forced it steady again.
"…oh no," Bram muttered.
Kael didn't look at him.
"I'm fine."
"You said that yesterday."
"I meant it yesterday."
"And today?"
Kael didn't answer.
The wagon dipped again.
Slower.
Worse.
The motion dragged through him, deep and twisting, something he couldn't brace against or predict.
His jaw clenched.
His free hand pressed briefly against his side.
Bram leaned away slightly.
"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to not die on me in this thing."
Kael shot him a look.
"I'm not dying."
"Good," Bram said. "Then just don't throw up on me."
Kael didn't respond.
Because this—
This wasn't something he could fight.
Kael adjusted his posture again, trying to move with the motion instead of against it.
It helped.
A little.
Not enough.
The wagon rolled on.
And Kael—
For all the fights he'd survived, all the pain he could ignore, all the control he forced over his own body—
Sat there gripping the wood,
breathing carefully,
quietly realizing
this wasn't something strength fixed.
And that made it worse.
The wagons did not rush to a stop.
They slowed the way everything had been slowing since they left the arena—gradually, as if the world itself had decided to ease its grip instead of letting go all at once. The rhythm of the wheels softened, the pull of the horses gentled, and the long line curved slightly off the road into another clearing.
Smaller than the last.
Quieter.
Held in by trees that leaned just enough to make the open sky feel… less endless.
⸻
Kael felt the change before the wagon fully stopped, as the sun dipped down once more.
Not the slowing.
The aftermath.
The moment the wheels settled, his body lagged behind, after hours of staying seated on the wagon.
The motion didn't end cleanly inside him. It dragged, a dull, rolling pull that twisted low in his stomach and climbed up through his chest in a way that had nothing to do with injury. His hand tightened faintly against the wood at his side as he waited it out, jaw set, breathing measured.
It passed.
Not completely.
But enough.
He stepped down from the wagon without looking at anyone, boots hitting the ground with more care than usual. The earth held steady beneath him, solid and unmoving, and he stood there for a moment longer than necessary, letting his balance settle.
He exhaled slowly and moved.
The camp began to form around him, the same quiet rhythm as before. Knights moved in practiced lines, setting watches, marking space, building fires. People followed, slower, uncertain, choosing places to sit or stand like they were still waiting for permission.
Kael didn't linger in the open.
He moved to the edge of one of the forming fires, not close enough to be surrounded, not far enough to be alone.
A place where he could see.
Where he could leave.
"—you look like you lost a fight with the wagon."
Kael didn't need to turn.
Bram dropped down beside the fire with a quiet grunt, stretching his legs out in front of him like they might stop working if he didn't. He glanced sideways at Kael, eyes narrowing slightly as he took him in.
"You did, didn't you?" Bram added. "Im telling you. The wagon wins every time."
Kael lowered himself to sit, slower than usual, careful in a way he didn't acknowledge.
"It's stupid," he muttered.
"The wagon?"
"The thing shouldn't move."
Bram snorted.
"Yeah, well, it does when you're not the one doing the moving."
Kael didn't respond.
His hand rested briefly against his side before dropping again, like he'd forgotten it was there.
Bram watched that.
Didn't comment.
Not yet.
They sat in silence for a moment while someone passed out food. Bread again. Rough, but warm.
Bram grabbed two pieces before anyone could argue and shoved one toward Kael without looking at him.
"Eat."
Kael took it this time.
No hesitation.
The first bite pulled faintly across the burns on his chest when he shifted, the movement small but enough to remind him again.
Still there.
Still not healed.
"…you're slower today," Bram said after a moment.
Kael didn't look at him.
"No."
"You are."
Kael exhaled through his nose.
"Everything's sore."
Bram paused mid-bite.
Looked at him again.
Longer this time.
"…yeah," he said after a second, quieter. "That happens when you don't die."
Kael didn't answer.
Before Bram could push further, something—someone—bumped lightly into Kael's shoulder.
Not hard.
Just enough to be noticeable.
"Sorry—!"
The voice came fast, words tripping over themselves like they were trying to outrun each other.
Kael turned.
She stood too close.
Not by much.
But enough.
Small.
That was the first thing.
Not small like a child.
Small like someone who hadn't been given enough food to grow.
Her frame was narrow, her clothes hanging slightly loose, the fabric cleaner than most but worn in a different way—finer stitching, better material, now dulled by dirt and time.
Her posture, though—
That didn't match.
She held herself like she had once been told how to stand.
Straight-backed.
Composed.
Even now.
"…sorry," she said again, quieter this time, brushing at her sleeve like the contact had been something she needed to fix.
Kael looked at her.
Not just a glance.
A full look.
"You're not paying attention," he said.
She blinked.
Then, unexpectedly—
"I was," she said. "Just not to you."
Bram let out a quiet huff of amusement beside him.
Kael's gaze didn't shift.
"…go away."
She didn't.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying him in a way that should've been irritating.
Strangely, it wasn't.
"You're Kael," she said.
Not a question.
He didn't answer.
"I heard them say your name," she continued. "Earlier. After the arena."
A small pause.
"…you're the one with the lightning."
Kael's eyes flicked slightly.
"That's what they said."
She nodded to herself like that confirmed something.
"I watched that fights," she added.
Something in Kael's posture stilled.
"You looked like you meant it," she said.
He held her gaze for a second.
Then—
"I did."
She considered that.
Not disturbed.
Not impressed.
Just… thinking.
"…I didn't fight much," she said after a moment.
The shift in subject came so naturally it almost didn't register.
"They didn't put me in often. I'm not built for it."
A faint, almost apologetic shrug.
"I cleaned. Carried things. Sometimes they made me watch."
Kael didn't interrupt.
Didn't comment.
"I didn't like that part," she added, quieter.
Then, after a beat—
"I thought you did."
Kael's expression didn't change.
"I didn't."
She nodded again.
Like she believed him immediately.
That was new.
"I'm Alice," she said, like she'd just remembered something important.
Kael didn't respond.
"That's usually where you say your name back," she added.
"…Kael."
"I know."
She smiled.
Small.
Contained.
Still… there.
Bram leaned back slightly, watching the exchange with open curiosity now.
"…where'd you come from?" he asked her.
Alice glanced at him.
Then back at Kael.
"I'm from the capital," she said.
The words came different.
Lighter.
Something else threaded through them.
Kael's attention shifted, just slightly.
"My family's there," she continued, fingers fidgeting faintly with the edge of her sleeve. "Or—they should be. They'll know I'm gone. They'll have looked."
A small pause.
Then, quieter—
"They always do."
There was something fragile under that certainty.
But she held onto it anyway.
"I'll find them," she said again, more to herself than anyone else.
Then she looked back at Kael.
"I'll go back when we get there."
Kael studied her for a moment.
The way she said it.
The way she believed it.
"…maybe," he said.
She didn't like that answer.
It showed, just a little.
"They will know me," she corrected.
Kael didn't argue.
Because he didn't know.
And she needed to.
The fire crackled softly beside them.
Voices carried low across the camp.
And for a while—
They just sat there.
Alice talked.
Not constantly.
But enough.
Small things.
Fragments.
Memories of a place Kael had never seen, spoken like they still existed exactly as she left them.
And Kael—
Listened.
Not because he wanted to.
Not because he trusted it.
But because something about her—
Small, stubborn, still believing—
felt like something he couldn't push away.
Alice did not seem to notice how little he gave back.
Or if she did, she didn't press against it.
She spoke the way someone speaks when they've gone too long without being heard—not in a rush, not desperate, just… steady. Words came in pieces, not all connected, but all belonging to the same place she carried somewhere in her head.
"The gates are taller than anything here," she said at one point, glancing vaguely toward the trees as if trying to place them where stone should be. "You can see them before you even get close. There's guards at all hours, but not like this." She nodded faintly toward the patrols circling the camp. "More… formal."
Kael sat with his forearms resting loosely on his knees, the bread forgotten again in his hand. He didn't look at her directly, but his attention had shifted in that quiet way that meant he was listening.
She noticed that too.
Not the way he avoided her gaze—but the fact that he hadn't dismissed her.
"There's banners," she continued, brushing a bit of dirt from her sleeve. "Different colors, depending on the district. My mother used to point them out."
A small pause followed, not heavy, just a natural break in thought.
"I don't remember all of them," she added, almost casually. "Just the blue ones near our house."
Kael's fingers tightened slightly around the bread at that, a faint pull through his chest when his posture shifted with it. He adjusted without thinking, easing back just enough to take the strain off the burn beneath his shirt.
Alice's eyes flicked to the movement.
Again, she didn't comment.
She just… noted it.
"You should sit differently," she said after a moment, her tone thoughtful rather than instructive. "You keep leaning to one side."
Kael's gaze slid to her, sharper now.
"I'm fine."
She held his look for a second, then nodded like that settled it.
"Alright."
And just like before—she let it go.
Bram, who had been half-listening from where he lay, cracked one eye open.
"You're not fine," he muttered, voice rough with sleep. "You look like you got folded wrong."
Kael didn't even look at him.
"Go back to sleep."
"I am asleep," Bram said, already closing his eye again. "This is a dream. You're still ugly in it."
Alice blinked once, then let out the smallest breath of a laugh—quick, quiet, gone almost immediately.
Kael didn't react to that either.
But he didn't shut it down.
The fire shifted again, lower now, the heat softer as the wood gave in to embers. Someone farther across the clearing added another log, and the flames stirred briefly before settling again.
Alice tucked her hands into her sleeves this time, shoulders drawing in just slightly against the night air.
"I think I'll know the road when we get closer," she said, almost to herself. "There's a turn before the outer walls. It curves left first, then straightens out."
Kael frowned faintly.
"You haven't been there in years."
She glanced at him.
"No."
"But you'll remember that."
"Yes."
There was no hesitation in it.
He held her gaze for a second longer this time.
Then looked away.
"…roads change."
"Some don't," she replied, just as simply.
That could have been argued.
He didn't.
Silence settled again, but it wasn't empty. The kind that sits between people without pressing against them. The kind that allows breathing space.
Alice shifted slightly where she sat, adjusting her position without getting any closer.
"You don't talk much," she said after a while.
Kael's answer came without delay.
"No."
"I noticed."
That almost sounded like amusement.
He didn't respond.
"You don't have to," she added, not looking at him now, her attention drifting toward the fire instead. "I talk enough."
That earned the smallest glance from him.
Just a flicker.
Then gone.
Bram let out a quiet huff from where he lay. "That's true," he mumbled. "She's been talking since she got here."
Alice turned her head slightly toward him.
"I wasn't talking to you."
"You are now."
"I didn't mean to."
"Still counts."
She looked back at the fire, deciding not to continue that.
Kael's mouth twitched again—barely there, gone before it could be called anything.
The night pressed a little deeper around them, the edges of the clearing fading further into shadow. More people had settled. Fewer sounds carried now. Even the guards moved quieter, their steps more spaced out, more routine.
Alice drew in a slow breath, then let it out.
"I don't think I'll sleep," she said.
Kael didn't ask why.
Didn't offer anything.
He simply shifted slightly against the wagon, adjusting his weight so the pressure on his chest eased again.
She noticed that too.
Still said nothing.
For a while, she didn't speak again.
Not because she had run out of things to say.
But because she didn't need to fill it anymore.
The fire crackled softly between them, steady and contained.
Bram's breathing evened out again, slipping back into sleep like it came easy to him.
And Kael—
remained where he was.
Not in the shadows.
Not fully in the light.
Listening to the quiet presence of someone who did not demand anything from him.
And for reasons he didn't try to name—
he stayed there longer than he needed to.