Viktor rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes and groaned. "Ugh… morning already?"

  "Sort of," came Mira's voice, low but alert, somewhere to his left. "Sun's not all the way up yet, but the birds seem convinced."

  He blinked blearily at the pale light bleeding through the branches and winced as a familiar buzz stirred inside his skull. Still there. Not as bad as yesterday, but lingering—like a bad idea with nowhere better to go.

  By now, the others were stirring—bedrolls folding, cloaks being pulled over chilled shoulders. Soren stomped his boots half-awake, while Jax muttered to himself about someone stealing his blanket in the night. Typical.

  Mira crouched beside Viktor, one hand pausing near his forehead. "You look better."

  He gave an exhausted little shrug, not quite ready to commit to the lie or the truth. "Head still buzzes, but I'm upright. I'll take it."

  "Upright is an improvement," she said. Her eyes lingered on his brow like they didn't quite believe him.

  Fenric chose that moment to groan dramatically as he rose from the ground, stretching upward with theatrical suffering. "Alright, claims time! Wagon duty is mine today. I call it, I earn it, I suffer for it."

  "You rode yesterday," Jax grumbled, rubbing the sleep from one eye as he sat up. "I saw you. Kicked your boots up like some river prince while the rest of us blistered."

  Fenric grinned, unbothered. "And I made it look damn majestic. Besides, Viktor rode too."

  Mira stiffened slightly and turned her head toward him. "He needed it."

  Viktor made a lazy swatting motion in the air. "I'm fine to walk today. Swear."

  "You say that now," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

  "I mean it," he insisted, sitting up straighter. "We've got less distance to cover today. I'll pace myself. Might even enjoy it."

  Fenric squinted at him like he couldn't quite decide whether to applaud or tease him. "You heard him. He's fine to walk like the rest of you peasants. Makes him feel less like a nobl, uh… no bother."

  Soren, who had been quietly brushing dirt from his sleeves, straightened. "I don't mind riding," he offered, voice softer than the rest. "If there's an open seat, that is."

  Fenric raised an eyebrow. "You trying to rob me of my divine right?"

  "I'm preventing a civil war," Soren replied, deadpan.

  Jax snorted. "Prevent the real one while you're at it."

  "I'll ride with him," Maggie cut in as she tightened her cloak. "Unless anyone else wants to pretend their legs are broken."

  Nobody did.

  Fenric sighed and gave the cart a mournful pat. "Goodbye, sweet throne. We had two beautiful days."

  "Actually, it was just a few hours," Jax reminded him.

  "It felt longer," Fenric said wistfully. "So much peace. So much legroom."

  "You curled up like a cat and snored like a dying rooster," Mira said.

  "And I would do it again," Fenric replied brightly.

  They made quick work of packing after that—bedrolls tied down, bread and dried meat passed around with resigned chewing. It wasn't long before the makeshift camp became nothing more than flattened grass.

  Soren climbed into the back of the cart with stiff legs, and Maggie swung up beside him, tossing her pack under the bench.

  The rest fell into familiar positions: Arelos took point, always watchful. Mira and Viktor near the middle. Fenric and Jax brought up the rear, exchanging melodramatic complaints that filtered forward like background music.

  "Seriously," Fenric complained. "Could you stop breathing like the world's got it out for you? It's grating on my nerves."

  "You're lucky I don't have a hangover," Jax drawled. "Or you'd be hearing more than sighing."

  It didn't take long for the talking to die down. The road stretched on like a slow yawn between the trees. Birds carried on in the higher limbs above, and wind cut across them in brisk waves. Viktor found his rhythm with each step. Not fast, but steady.

  Slowly, carefully, he reached for that thread of awareness within him—the tug of his magic, the echo beneath thought. He extended it a little forward, testing.

  Just a glance. Nothing more.

  He felt the air shift, the wind breaking against a nearby bend. He sensed the road's slight curve before it revealed itself—but just as he leaned into the sensation, the pulse behind his eyes flared.

  A dull ache. Not sharp, but enough. A reminder.

  He winced and released it, rubbing at his temple.

  "Too soon?" Mira's voice cut through the quiet beside him.

  He nodded, not looking at her. "Seems like it. I'll try again tomorrow."

  "You're pushing too hard," she said softly.

  He gave a lopsided smile. "Never learned another way."

  She didn't argue. Just kept walking with him, matching his pace.

  The wind picked up again, nipping at their hoods.

  Now and then they passed an old fence half-swallowed by weeds, or a collapsed stone wall—ancient, forgotten. Hints of what had been lives, long before.

  Viktor's head settled into a low, tolerable hum. Still there, but manageable. His mind drifted to warmth, to food.. and mostly, to a proper bed.

  "I swear," Jax said from behind, "if I round that next hill and don't see a town, I'm setting up my own. Call it Not-Lanwrik."

  "Is that a barn?" Fenric squinted ahead, shielding his eyes. "No, wait. Just a dirt pile."

  "There's chimney smoke," Soren said, lifting his head. "There. Just over the ridge."

  "Of course," Jax called out. "They're hiding the damn town underground."

  Maggie pointed with a gloved hand. "There. That's Lanwrik. Hour out. Let's not dawdle."

  "I'm practically flying with motivation," Fenric said.

  "You're shuffling like a dying tortoise," Mira murmured.

  "I told you I should've rode the cart!"

  Viktor chuckled quietly. "I can't wait to lay down in a proper bed."

  "With pillows," Mira added dreamily.

  "And food with a name," he said.

  "Or at least seasoning," Fenric said. "I'll take flavor over identity."

  They made it by late afternoon.

  The town gates were unimpressive—one sagging beam braced with rusted hardware.

  The lone guard leaning half-dozed by the post just waved them through.

  No challenge. No curiosity. Just a nod and back to his daydream.

  "Friendly place," Mira muttered.

  Jax turned slowly, taking in the dusty road and angled roofs. "Is ‘quaint' a compliment?"

  "Could be," Viktor offered.

  Soren sat straighter in the wagon, clearly undeterred. "I like it. Doesn't pretend to be more than it is."

  "I wouldn't mind at least a bit of pretense," Jax muttered.

  They rolled into the heart of town where a cracked stone fountain marked the square, its dry basin gathering leaves instead of water. The few who watched them pass offered nothing more than a glance, disappearing quickly behind worn doorframes. A dog barked from somewhere unseen.

  Nora was the first to speak, stepping off to the side. "This is it," she said softly.

  Maggie drew her cloak tighter as if the wind had grown colder. "We'll head straight to the market," she said. "Should make it back to the campsite before night."

  The others gathered in something like a circle.

  Arelos inclined his head toward them. "Be careful on your way back."

  Nora just nodded.

  "You didn't have to help us," Maggie said, looking between them. "But I'm glad you did."

  Viktor raised a hand in a modest gesture. "We're glad, too. Even if my head currently disagrees."

  "You've given more than enough thanks," Soren added gently with a smile.

  A breath of stillness passed through the space—a silence that didn't try to fill itself.

  Then Nora stepped forward and wrapped Viktor into a tight, steady hug. He blinked and caught the slightest hitch in her breath near his shoulder.

  "Stay safe, alright?" she whispered.

  He nodded, more touched than he expected. "You too."

  She moved to Mira next. Mira accepted it, stiff at first, then soft with familiarity. Soren took his in silence, with a quiet little smile. Arelos nodded stoically when she approached, but let her wrap her arms around him just the same.

  Fenric got a sideways head tilt. Jax received a look that said don't bother.

  "I'll try not to take that personally," Fenric grumbled.

  "You should definitely take it personally," Jax deadpanned.

  "Then so should you."

  Which earned matching eye rolls from both Mira and Maggie.

  As the others buried last-minute goodbyes into handclasps and quiet nods, Maggie turned to Mira and gently took her hand. "If you ever pass through again…" she said, voice soft but hopeful, "stop by. You'll always be welcome."

  "That means more than you know," Mira replied, sincere and steady.

  The farewell didn't end in a moment. It simply unwound. Nora and Maggie turned wordlessly, stepping down the side road. The last sunlight caught their cloaks, and then they were gone—past a bend, into shadow.

  Arelos clapped his hands together, dispelling the gravity with motion. "Alright. Let's find the inn Maggie mentioned."

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  "Gods, yes," Jax said, stretching his arms with exaggerated relief. "Hot stew. Warm bread. Roasted potatoes."

  "I want a meal with so much flavor," Fenric said, "that it physically slaps me."

  "Or at least something that doesn't taste like regret," Viktor mumbled.

  "To the west quarter then," Arelos said, already leading the way.

  They stepped toward the rust-colored rooftops flanking the narrow street ahead.

  The inn wasn't hard to find, tucked just off the main road like it had been waiting for them. As they neared, Mira slowed, shifting Viktor's weight higher against her shoulder.

  "Almost there," she muttered. "Try not to collapse in the threshold. I don't want a scene."

  Viktor groaned faintly. "No promises."

  Arelos reached the steps first and stopped in front of the porter stationed by the door. "Private room," he said, voice worn thin. "No animals with us."

  The porter didn't so much as blink. "Two copper per head," he said with a grunt. "Four for a private room. That'll get you six beds and a proper lock on the door."

  Arelos exhaled slowly. "That's fine."

  "Gilda's your barkeep—over by the counter." The man jabbed a thumb at the interior. "You'll want her for food, drink, and anything else worth coin."

  No one said anything. They were too tired for pleasantries. Even Fenric didn't quip.

  Arelos gave a tight nod and ushered them inside.

  Inside, the air warmed instantly, pulling groans from more than one of them. Smoke curled lazily along the rafters. The crackle of logs on the hearth mingled with the low, jittery hum of voices. Tension writhed in the room like smoke—undeniable, but no one named it yet.

  Arelos led them to the counter. Behind it stood a heavyset woman with ruddy cheeks and sharp eyes that had seen a thousand travelers pass through.

  "Maggie sends her regards," he said quietly. "From the village north."

  Gilda looked up, her face brightening. "That so?" She set a mug down a little too hard, foam splashing over the rim. "Well, bless her road. That woman's got a good head on her shoulders and a tongue like a whip. Always told me I needed more pepper in the stew."

  "Did you?" Mira asked, taking a seat at the nearby bench.

  "Still not enough for her taste," Gilda said, grinning. "But I got better."

  From the other side of the counter, a deep voice said something sharp. A man slammed down his mug, face pinched.

  "What's goin' on?" Arelos asked, keeping his tone low.

  Gilda's smile dimmed as she leaned in.

  "You haven't heard?" she asked softly. "You lot been walking for days or what?"

  "Something like that," Jax muttered, shifting on sore feet. "Feels like weeks though."

  "Well." She glanced toward the door, checking for new arrivals, and then leaned slightly closer. "It's begun. The old dogs are barking."

  Mira frowned. "Beg pardon?"

  "House Jularios of Lycona has called the banners," Gilda said, voice low but firm. "The duke declared the king a pretender. Says his claim is false and corrupted. Word out of the north is, the other two dukes are considering a coalition. Maybe already moving their men."

  Jax's eyes widened. "Wait, for real?"

  "We're at war," Gilda added, and let the words settle between them like a brick dropped into hot stew.

  Mira stiffened. "You sure that's not just tavern gossip?"

  "I've had five travelers through since noon," Gilda said, "each from different routes—each saying the same."

  "Gods," Soren murmured.

  No one moved.

  Jax let out a sharp exhale, not quite a whistle. "Well, fuck."

  "Exactly," Gilda muttered. "Seems we'll be in for a long winter."

  Mira shot a glance from Arelos to Viktor to Jax.

  "Now about that stew—" Fenric started.

  Mira pressed her fingers to her face, sighing. 'Gods, give me patience.'

  Gilda barked a laugh. "Hungry, are we?"

  Arelos sighed, shaking his head with a weary smile. "That we are."

  "Figures. So, what can I get you all?"

  "Something with heat, flavor, and reckless intent," Fenric said without hesitation.

  Gilda arched a brow. "Something spicy, then?"

  He nodded. "Please. And cider. Lots of cider."

  "Done," Gilda said, already reaching for the mugs and heading to the cider keg. "Go sit. You lot look like you've walked through twelve kinds of hell."

  They shuffled to a table near the fire. No one spoke as they sank into the chairs. The heat was immediate and disarming, the kind that made you realize how cold you'd been.

  Fenric dropped into a chair near the fire and sprawled out, arms draped over the sides, legs stretched like he might never move again. "If I die here, let it be from comfort. I've earned this chair."

  Jax clasped his hands together like a man in prayer. "Please. Let him die here. Quietly."

  Mira shot him a look as she guided Viktor into the seat beside her. "Don't say stuff like that, Jax."

  Viktor let out a soft grunt as he sank down, head tipping back, eyes closed.

  After a short while, Gilda returned with a tray of mugs, setting them down with practiced ease.

  "Cider," she said. "Stew's just behind it. It's definitely got a bite to it."

  Fenric raised his eyebrows. "Bite like flavor, or bite like danger?"

  She gave them a sly smile as she turned back toward the kitchen. "Guess you'll find out."

  They drank quietly. The cider was warm, comforting. It went down easy.

  Soren eventually broke the silence. "So you think it's all true? About the duke?"

  Mira didn't look up. "I don't think five separate travelers all made up the same lie."

  "We always knew something was coming," Jax muttered.

  Arelos nodded. "This just means we can't afford to dally."

  Viktor set his mug down, fingers curling loosely around it. "It was always going to be Jularios."

  Mira glanced at him. "You say that like you know him."

  "I've met him," Viktor said. "And his son."

  Jax gave a low whistle. "Of course you have."

  Mira leaned forward slightly. "Wait—you're serious?"

  Viktor didn't look at her. "The duke wasn't the kind to forget a slight. Always wanted more than he had, even when he had more than most."

  "And the son?" Jax asked.

  "Pieter." Viktor's jaw worked for a second, then stilled. "He always assumed he was the smartest person in the room. Even when he wasn't."

  "Sounds charming," Mira said.

  Viktor didn't answer.

  Jax raised an eyebrow. "So what—family friends?"

  "No." Viktor shook his head. "We ended up in the same places. That's all."

  Mira frowned. "What places?"

  Viktor didn't reply.

  That silence stretched, solid enough that no one felt like pushing it further.

  Gilda returned a moment later, balancing two large bowls, steam rising thick from each. She set them down and disappeared again without a word. The smell hit instantly—rich, sharp, spicy enough to sting the nose.

  Fenric leaned over his bowl and took a bite before anyone else touched theirs.

  His face went red immediately. He coughed once. Then again. Then took another bite.

  Mira stared. "Are you—"

  He waved her off. "Fine. It's good."

  "You're sweating."

  Fenric wiped at his brow with his sleeve. "Worth it."

  More bowls arrived, placed in front of them with a quiet thump. The bread came last—still warm.

  For a few minutes, they focused on eating. No one rushed, but no one spoke, either. Just food and the steady rhythm of spoons scraping against clay.

  Fenric, without breaking stride, slipped a roll into his coat.

  Jax caught him. "Really?"

  "It's called thinking ahead," Fenric said, voice slightly muffled. "You wouldn't understand."

  Arelos stood up and moved to the window. He pulled the curtain aside just enough to glance out into the dark street beyond, then let it fall.

  "We're going to need more supplies," he said. "Soren, you're with me."

  Soren paused mid-bite. "Now?"

  "Yes. Market won't stay open forever."

  Jax looked up. "You sure you don't want an extra pair of hands?"

  Arelos shook his head. "The rest of you get some rest. Especially Viktor."

  Viktor didn't argue. He gave a half-salute without lifting his head. "No rooftop duels tonight. You have my word."

  Arelos gave a dry look, then turned for the door. "We'll be back shortly."

  Soren pushed back from the table with a quiet groan and followed.

  The door clicked shut behind them.

  Mira tracked their exit with her eyes. "He's got a soft spot for Soren."

  Viktor, still half-sunken in his chair, murmured, "Yeah. I've noticed."

  Fenric raised a brow. "I don't see what's so special about him."

  "He's not insufferable, for starters," Jax said.

  "He's dependable," Mira added.

  Fenric snorted. "So's a shovel."

  Mira didn't smile. "He's kind. Thoughtful. Smart."

  Viktor stared into his mug. "Do you think he's handling it okay? Shooting that man."

  That quieted the table.

  Mira let out a slow breath. "I don't know."

  Jax gave a half-shrug. "Hard to tell. He hasn't said much."

  Fenric leaned forward to grab his cider, the movement slower than usual. "He's fine. Trust me."

  He took a sip, then set the mug down with a soft clink.

  "My brother might seem soft at times, but he's anything but."

  No one disagreed.

  Eventually, Mira stood with a quiet groan and stretched her back. "Alright. Upstairs. Before we all fall asleep in these chairs."

  Chairs scraped as they rose, slow and reluctant. They gathered their things and climbed the stairs in tired silence.

  The room was tucked under the eaves, small and dimly lit. Six narrow beds, one flickering lamp, and just enough space to breathe.

  Fenric collapsed onto the nearest mattress. "I claim this one by divine right."

  Viktor eased down beside him, grimacing slightly. "Still better than the ditch we woke up in."

  Mira sat on the edge of her bed and tugged at her boots. "Low bar."

  Gear hit the floor in dull thuds. They moved slowly, without much need for words.

  Then Fenric stirred. "So. Dice?"

  "No," Mira said immediately.

  "Absolutely not," Jax added.

  "You cheat," Mira muttered.

  "I win creatively," Fenric replied. "Big difference."

  "You roll creatively," Jax said. "Usually when no one's looking."

  Fenric grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Well, look harder."

  Viktor gave the faintest smirk but said nothing.

  The door creaked open a few minutes later. Arelos stepped in with Soren behind him, both carrying bundled supplies—dried meat, cheese, pears, flint, a few wrapped tools.

  "We've got what we need," Arelos said. "Two extra copper for breakfast. We leave at first light."

  Jax, already horizontal, gave a vague thumbs-up. "Nice work."

  Soren set the bundle down at the foot of a bed and rolled his shoulders.

  A knock came at the door shortly after.

  Arelos opened it. A young maid stood there with two buckets balanced at her sides.

  "Clean water," she said. "Private washroom's just down the hall. Not hot, but not cold either."

  "Left at the bend?" Arelos asked.

  She nodded. "That's right."

  "Thanks."

  She gave a small curtsy and stepped away.

  "One at a time," Arelos said, eyeing the group. "Let's clean off and call it a night. Who's first?"

  "We are," Mira declared—no hesitation—and reached without ceremony for the nearest bucket.

  Then she grabbed Viktor by the sleeve.

  "What? Wait—"

  "Up."

  He barely had time to blink before she dragged him upright and half out the room.

  Fenric watched them vanish down the hallway and looked at Arelos.

  "Think she didn't hear you say one at a time?"

  "I think she heard me just fine," Arelos said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

  Mira clicked the door closed behind them, the latch catching with a soft snick. "They'd better not follow."

  Viktor gave a tired chuckle. "Don't think I could stop them if they did. Might have to ask nicely while I collapse at their feet."

  "Please don't," Mira said, stepping forward, her voice dry. "I'm not dragging your limp body back to the room."

  He let out a long breath, then leaned back against the wall just beside the basin. "Pretty sure I could fall asleep standing."

  "Then sit. Before you test that theory."

  Viktor didn't argue. He dropped onto the narrow bench like gravity had finally won some long-fought argument. His coat bunched awkwardly behind him, but he didn't move to fix it.

  "You look awful," she said, eyeing him with something halfway between worry and amusement. "Like a scarecrow after a thunderstorm."

  "Feel worse," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

  "Arms up," she said, stepping in front of him before he could get too comfortable.

  He blinked up at her, bleary-eyed. "You're bossy when there's no one around to witness it."

  "That's because someone," she said, leaning in, "needs bossing."

  "I should argue that," he said slowly, raising one arm with effort. "But I'm too tired to come up with anything clever."

  She snorted softly, beginning to ease his coat off with care. "I'll pretend you said something witty."

  "Thank you," he intoned sleepily, "something that put you properly in your place."

  She didn't answer right away. Beneath his coat, his tunic clung to his back, damp with road sweat and streaked faintly with grime and old blood. She tugged at the fabric carefully, peeling it upward and off over his head.

  "Ow," he mumbled, wincing.

  "You're fine," she said, but her voice softened near the end.

  "I'm falling apart."

  Once his shirt was gone, she squinted at the state of him: bruises under both shoulder blades, a long scrape just beneath one rib.

  "Gods," she muttered. "Looks like you already did."

  "Yeah."

  Mira dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out, the faint slap of it bringing a touch of silence to the room. She stared at the motion for a moment longer than necessary, then stepped closer and pressed it lightly to his shoulder.

  He hissed softly. "Cold."

  "Good for you."

  "Evil woman."

  Her lips twitched. "Quit whining."

  He glanced at her sidelong, a lazy smile inching up. "You always get this gentle when I'm shirtless?"

  "Only when there's an audience of one."

  "Well, lucky me."

  Mira rolled her eyes. "Flirting just looks sad when your face is this grey."

  "Damn. So close."

  Her hand stilled for a moment halfway down his back. "You'd tell me if something else was wrong, right?"

  He blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. "What?"

  "I mean... more than this." She didn't meet his eyes. "Not just the bruises, the exhaustion, the headache."

  "I would," he said softly. "Promise."

  She nodded once. Then, after a beat, traced one knuckle along a faint bruise. "You're warm."

  "That doesn't sound like a complaint," he murmured, eyes half-lidded.

  "It's not—shut up," she muttered, though her voice caught slightly at the start.

  She handed him the second cloth, brushing his fingers with hers. Neither of them moved back.

  "Your turn," she said, not looking at him.

  Viktor took the cloth, the contact stealing a little more strength from his already-sagging limbs. Still, he leaned forward and dipped the cloth into the bucket. "Brace yourself," he said.

  "I can handle it just fine—unlike you."

  He started at her forearms—gingerly cleaning off road dust and the faded red scrape near her elbow. His touch was clumsy, certainly not practiced, but something about it felt intentionally careful. Reverent.

  "If I—" he started, but she cut him off.

  "You didn't."

  He glanced up.

  Her eyes were on him now. Lantern light flicked across her pupils, gold bright on brown. He hesitated. She didn't move. Her breath came slower than before.

  His hand stilled at her wrist.

  Her voice was very soft. "Viktor…"

  He swallowed. "Yeah?"

  She closed the space between them.

  The kiss was tentative at first, light as drifted ash, but it deepened—grew more sure—an unspoken question slowly being answered. Her hand found the side of his neck, his slid up her waist. Neither moved with hurry.

  She rose up slightly, pressing into him, her balance shifting. One of his arms pulled tighter around her, the other resting flat at her lower back, grounding instinct more than intention.

  But as she leaned into him further, brushing her lips once more along his, she felt it—his weight shifting, not in desire, but in fatigue.

  He sagged forward, his forehead resting against her shoulder. His arms held her, then sagged slightly.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't—I'm barely… I'm trying—"

  Her hands came up, bracing his back. "Vik," she whispered. "It's okay."

  "I didn't want to stop."

  "I know."

  His breathing slowed against her collarbone, each exhale dragging some invisible shame with it. She kept her arms around him for a moment longer.

  "Let's get some sleep," she said.

  He nodded wordlessly.

  Slowly, regretfully, she began to ease away. He let her go, reluctantly. She reached for his shirt and helped him put it on, not bothering to fasten anything.

  "You're lucky you're cute," she muttered once they were dressed.

  "I'll take that compliment," he mumbled, eyes closing again.

  She snorted once, turning just in time to catch his face—slumped gently against the wall near the basin, eyes closed, still faintly smiling.

  Her expression softened. Her lips parted like she might say something more, but no words came.

  A moment passed.

  Then she turned back, opened the door quietly, and stepped into the hall. Viktor followed, slow and quiet behind her.

  Neither of them spoke.