The cave was not much to look at.
From a distance it appeared as nothing more than a fracture in stone, half-hidden by moss and low-hanging roots, the mouth narrow enough that it could be missed if one didn't know where to look. The lake nearby reflected the sky in muted silver, its surface disturbed only by the slow, deliberate movement of water against rock.
Derek did not allow the boys inside immediately.
He circled the entrance once, then again, his hand brushing along the stone as though reading something written only for him. His fingers pressed into cracks, tugged gently at loose rock. He crouched low, examining the ground for signs of old nests, claw marks, tracks too deliberate to be coincidence.
Then he stopped.
He listened.
Not with his ears alone - but with a stillness so complete it made Vernon uneasy. The forest did not go silent for him. It merely... acknowledged him.
After a long moment, Derek straightened and nodded.
"It'll do," he said.
The words were not comforting - but they were permission.
Bruce stepped inside first, curiosity outweighing caution. Cool air washed over his skin, carrying the scent of damp stone and old water. The cave was shallow but wide, its ceiling arching just high enough that it didn't feel like it was pressing down on him. Light from the lake filtered in faintly, softening the shadows clinging to the walls like sleeping things.
Vernon followed more slowly.
He noticed how the temperature dropped only a little inside, how the ground sloped just enough to drain water away from the back of the cave. He noticed the absence of bones - no predator had claimed this place recently. He noticed how Derek stood near the entrance instead of entering fully, positioning himself between the cave and the forest without seeming to think about it.
They were not hiding.
They were settling.
When Derek finally set the satchel down, he did so carefully.
The leather had been repaired more than once. Vernon recognized the stitching - his mother's. Bruce did too, his hands hovering as though afraid the bag might vanish if he touched it wrong.
Derek reached inside and withdrew folded clothing.
"At first glance they look plain," he said, handing them over. "But don't treat them that way."
The fabric was soft, darker than their old clothes, threaded with patterns so subtle they nearly vanished when viewed directly.
"Clean," Derek continued. "Fourth-circle magic. Activates over time. Dirt, blood, grime - it won't remove them instantly, but it won't let them stay either."
Bruce blinked. "That's... really convenient."
"And this," Derek added, hesitating before lifting the next garment, "is seventh-circle adjustment magic."
The silence that followed carried weight.
"They'll grow with you," he said quietly.
Bruce swallowed. "She... made these?"
Derek's grip tightened for just a moment.
"She made them late at night," he said. "When you were asleep. Said children grow too fast - faster when the world is cruel."
Bruce's voice came small. "Did she know we'd need them?"
Derek folded the remaining clothes slowly, placing them back into the satchel like something fragile.
"She planned for possibility," he said at last.
They ate sparingly that evening.
Not out of fear - but out of habit Derek had learned long ago.
Bruce wandered to the lake while Vernon stayed near the cave, watching the forest edge. The trees seemed taller here, their branches knitting together in uneven patterns that filtered light into shifting fragments. Birds darted between them, but never stayed long in one place.
Bruce picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water.
It bounced once.
Then sank.
"I swear it curved," he muttered.
Vernon snorted before he could stop himself.
Bruce turned sharply. "You saw that, right?"
"I saw it drown," Vernon said evenly.
Bruce huffed, offended - but the corner of his mouth twitched upward anyway.
For a moment, the forest felt less heavy.
As night crept closer, Vernon became aware of things Bruce didn't seem to notice.
How insects avoided certain patches of ground. How the birds fell quiet when shadows passed overhead - not all shadows cast by clouds. He watched Derek move through the trees, never stepping twice in the same rhythm, never brushing the same branch twice.
Vernon tried to mimic it.
Quietly. Imperfectly.
His body felt capable - strong in ways he didn't understand. Every movement felt like it should lead into something else. Like his muscles remembered a language his mind could not speak.
And yet there was nothing.
No warmth. No pull. No response.
A blade without an edge.
He clenched his hands, then relaxed them, staring at his palms as if the answer might be written there.
Much later, after the boys had settled in the cave and Derek helped them make makeshift bedding, exhaustion finally pulled Bruce into sleep, Derek stood alone at the edge of the treeline.
Smoke still drifted faintly in the distance - remnants of fire, scattered and thinned by the wind. The forest had already begun to reclaim the damage, but he knew better than to trust that.
He touched the pouch at his side.
The last Qi pills.
Alice's remaining notes.
The weight of choices already made.
Forty chapters of safety, he thought grimly.
Or as close as the world would allow.
Behind him, the lake reflected the stars - quiet, unassuming, patient.
For now, that would be enough.