They walked for a while before anyone spoke.
The road was quiet, bordered by low grass and scattered trees, the kind of path that invited conversation simply by being empty. Klen kept his eyes forward, hands resting near his weapons out of habit, listening to the rhythm of boots on dirt.
Marna broke the silence first.
"So," she said. "We passed out. Woke up clean. No injuries. No answers."
Lyra exhaled slowly. "I don't even remember falling asleep."
"Neither do I," Klen said. "Last thing I remember is running."
They let that sit.
Marna shrugged after a moment. "Could've been exhaustion. Or some kind of trap. Or dumb luck."
Lyra nodded, accepting it a little too easily. "I feel fine, though. Better than fine."
Klen glanced at her. She was walking without strain, posture straight, breath steady. No tremor. No weakness.
"…We'll still get you checked," he said.
She smiled faintly. "Yeah. Just in case."
By midday, the road widened and traffic increased—wagons, merchants, travelers heading both ways. And then the city came into view.
Hearthford.
From the outside, it hadn't changed much. Stone walls, banners advertising trade and lodging, guards watching the gates with bored eyes. Busy. Practical. Alive.
Klen slowed without realizing it.
The moment his eyes traced the streets beyond the gate, something tightened in his chest. The layout. The spacing. The way buildings leaned just enough to steal light from the alleys between them.
He knew this place.
Not by name.
By feeling.
A thin sheen of sweat slid down his back. His breath hitched for half a second—then steadied.
Focus.
He forced his steps to remain even, his face neutral. No hesitation. No reaction.
Marna didn't notice. Lyra didn't either.
But memories stirred anyway.
A wagon.
A tarp pulled low.
Voices counting coin, not children.
Two girls beside him. Older than him. Terrified in different ways.
His vision blurred for a heartbeat.
"Klen?"
He blinked and found Lyra looking at him. Concerned. Present.
"…I'm fine," he said. And this time, it wasn't entirely a lie.
They entered the city.
The streets were crowded, loud with negotiation and movement. Traders called out prices, inns advertised warm meals and clean beds, guards watched with practiced indifference.
As they walked, someone bumped into Klen hard enough to knock the breath from his chest.
"Oh—! S-sorry!" a girl said quickly.
She was already moving away as she spoke, head down, steps fast and uneven. Klen barely got a look at her before she vanished into the crowd.
"…That was rude," Marna muttered.
Klen looked down.
A small pouch lay on the ground near his boot.
He picked it up. The weight told him immediately what it was.
"Wait," he said, turning. He scanned the street—but the girl was gone, swallowed by people and noise.
He hesitated, then slipped the pouch into his bag.
"We'll give it back if we see her," he said.
Lyra nodded absently. "Let's get this over with first."
They found a clinic tucked between two trade houses—clean enough on the surface, smelling of herbs and alcohol. The healer examined Lyra carefully, asked questions, pressed, listened.
Finally, he stepped back.
"She's healthy," he said. "No signs of lingering illness. Strong pulse."
Lyra let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Good," Marna said. "That's good."
They paid and left.
The inn they chose was cheap but serviceable. Two rooms. One for Klen, one shared. They rested briefly, washed the road from their faces, then regrouped.
As evening fell, hunger won out.
They headed out for food, choosing a modest restaurant near the main road. Klen and Marna set their weapons close as they sat. Old habit. No one commented.
They ate quietly.
Halfway through the meal, the door opened and a girl stepped inside.
Klen noticed her out of reflex. Not because she stood out—but because she didn't.
She took a table alone, ordered quickly, ate without lingering.
By the time he looked again, she was gone.
They paid and stepped outside, discussing where to find a place to buy supplies in the morning.
That's when Klen saw her.
She was crouched near the edge of the street, hands shaking as she searched the ground, eyes darting around in growing panic.
He approached slowly and held out the pouch.
"You dropped this."
She froze.
Then looked up.
Her eyes widened. "Y-you—thank you. Thank you so much."
She took it with both hands, clutching it to her chest. "I—I have to go."
And she ran.
Marna frowned. "That felt important."
Klen watched the direction she disappeared. "Yeah."
They returned to the inn not long after, talked quietly about their route for the next day, then turned in.
The city settled into night.
In a narrow alley far from the main roads, the girl stopped running.
Two figures waited for her in the dark.
She handed over the pouch with trembling hands. "That's everything. This should be it. I paid what they owed."
One of them laughed softly.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said. "You paid today."
Her shoulders slumped. "You said—"
"We say a lot of things."
They leaned in close. "There's new work."
She shook her head. "Please—"
"We saw a noble girl come in today," the other said. "Traveling. Healthy. Valuable."
The girl's breath caught.
"No," she whispered.
They smiled.
Elsewhere in Hearthford, Klen slept restlessly, dreams just out of reach.
Morning waited.