Two days passed in uneasy peace.
The crooked clinic smelled of smoke, herbs, and hope.
The little elf girl — fragile as frost, but stubborn as life — had finally opened her eyes. Her fever broke, her wounds closed, and color crept back into her pale cheeks. She was small, maybe ten, her voice soft and cracked like thin ice.
Ryn sat beside her bed, trying to look casual while pretending not to worry.
"You're… all right now," he said awkwardly. "No more cages. No more chains."
She blinked at him. Then whispered, "Thank you… Father."
Ryn froze.
His brain short-circuited.
"W–Wait, what? No, no, no," he stammered. "I'm not— I mean, I am a guy, yes, but not your— I mean—"
Her small hand reached for his sleeve again. "Father," she said firmly, and smiled — faintly, but with the warmth of someone who'd decided it was true.
Ryn just sat there, eyes wide, mask tilted slightly as if that would hide his confusion.
And then, from the doorway, came the sound of soft laughter.
He turned. Lysandra leaned against the frame, arms crossed, smirking like a cat who'd just found the world's funniest mouse.
"Oh no," he muttered.
"Oh yes," she said, trying not to laugh. "The mighty Ice Fox — thief, outlaw, and… doting father."
"Don't start," he warned.
"I never thought," she continued, ignoring him, "that someone younger than me would kidnap me and adopt a child within the same month. You're truly a prodigy in chaos."
He blinked. "Wait— younger? How old are you—"
Something whizzed past his face — a thrown spoon.
He decided not to finish the question.
"Thought so," he said quietly.
Lysandra chuckled, crossing to the girl and brushing her hair gently. "She'll need rest. But she's strong. She'll recover fully."
Ryn nodded. "Good. Maybe she'll forget the whole 'father' thing."
The little elf yawned, curling beneath the blanket. "No," she mumbled sleepily. "Father stays."
Ryn dropped his head into his hands. "I'm doomed."
By dawn, they were ready to leave Veyrahn. The doctor, paid in far too many coins and even more sarcasm, wished them luck — mostly to get them out of his shop before they broke something else.
Ryn lifted the girl into Snowmuncher's saddle, wrapping her in a soft cloak. She giggled when the horse snorted and patted its neck. Lysandra climbed into the carriage with their supplies.
The city of trades was already waking behind them — merchants shouting, bells ringing, life returning to its loud, colorful rhythm. Ryn glanced back once at the rooftops.
For all its chaos, Veyrahn had given him something unexpected. A strange little family, even if temporary.
"Next stop, Lumeria," he said, taking the reins.
Lysandra looked at him from the carriage window. "Home," she murmured, half to herself.
"Let's hope it still feels like one," Ryn replied.
The road stretched wide ahead — dusty gold beneath a pale blue sky. The wind carried scents of far-off rain and pine. The girl hummed softly in the back, half-asleep against Lysandra's cloak.
For a moment, everything felt calm. Almost peaceful.
Then Lysandra frowned.
She turned, sensing something — a shift in the air, a weight behind the silence.
Ryn noticed her expression. "What's wrong?"
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows of the carriage interior.
Then she saw it.
A figure crouched in the corner, half-hidden beneath the crates. A glint of steel. A soft gleam of gold eyes.
The little elf stirred, murmuring.
Ryn's hand went instinctively to the frost knife at his belt. "Who—"
The intruder straightened slowly, wind stirring around her like invisible feathers. The faint shimmer of a hawk-shaped spirit flared across her arm.
The bounty hunter's voice was calm, but her eyes burned with quiet fury.
"You didn't think you'd leave the city without me, did you?"
Lysandra's breath caught.
Ryn's grin faded.
The carriage wheels rolled on through the empty plains — three fugitives and a hunter, all bound now by fate and the storm about to break.