Dawn crept across the hills, bleeding color into the mist-shrouded landscape as Dante and Rowena followed the winding country road, their boots sinking slightly into the rain-softened earth. 

Rowena adjusted the strap of her pack, stealing a glance at her tall companion. Dante's silver eyes were fixed on the horizon, his face an inscrutable mask. The cross Sister Agnes had given him glinted at his throat, bright against his dark attire.

"The village is just ahead," Rowena said, breaking the comfortable silence. "We could rest there for a bit before we part ways."

"Yes." Dante's silver eyes remained focused ahead, but weariness tinged his voice. "The daylight already weighs heavy."

As they crested a hill, a quaint village came into view, nestled in the valley below. Smoke rose from chimneys in lazy spirals, and the distant sound of a church bell echoed across the dew-swept fields.

They found a small tavern on the outskirts of the village, its aged sign creaking gently in the morning breeze. The wood bore a faded image of a rearing stag, its antlers entangled with vines.  Dante pushed open the heavy oak door, which groaned on its iron hinges. 

A mix of smells—wood smoke, bacon, and freshly baked bread—was immediate. Several patrons huddled over steaming mugs of tea, their conversations dying down as they eyed the newcomers with undisguised curiosity. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls.

Rowena approached the bar, where a portly man with a bushy mustache was polishing a glass with a threadbare cloth. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her attire, so different from the local womenfolk.

"What can I get for ye, miss?" he asked, his accent thick with local inflection.

"A hearty breakfast, if you please," Rowena replied with a smile. "Eggs, bacon, sausage, and whatever bread you have fresh this morning."

The innkeeper nodded approvingly. "Aye, that'll put some meat on yer bones. And for yer... companion?" His eyes flicked nervously to Dante, who loomed silently behind Rowena.

Rowena hesitated for a moment, then said, "A cup of coffee, if you have it."

The innkeeper's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Coffee? Aye, we've got some, though it's a rare request 'round these parts. Brought in special for the doctor who's been stayin' with us the last few months."

Rowena's interest piqued at the mention of a doctor. "Oh? What sort of doctor, if you don't mind my asking?"

Before the innkeeper could respond, a young serving girl with a freckled face and ginger braids appeared at Rowena's elbow. "I can take ye to yer table, miss," she said, bobbing a quick curtsy. "And I'll fetch yer breakfast right quick."

As Rowena and Dante followed the girl to a corner table, away from prying eyes, an old woman at a nearby table reached out and caught Rowena's sleeve.

"Beware, dearie," she croaked, her hazy eyes darting between Rowena and Dante. "There's a strangeness about yer friend. I can feel it in me bones."

The serving girl tsked and gently pried the old woman's fingers from Rowena's sleeve. "Don't mind old Mildred, miss. She's always seein' things that ain't there."

Rowena nodded politely to the old woman before settling into her seat across from Dante. The serving girl bustled off to fetch their order, leaving them in a bubble of relative privacy.

"You don't have to order for me," Dante said, his voice low. "I don't require mortal sustenance."

Rowena leaned in, keeping her voice equally low. "Perhaps not, but it might raise suspicions if you didn't order anything. Besides," she added with a small smile, "I thought you might enjoy the aroma, if nothing else."

As their order arrived, Rowena couldn't help but notice the way Dante's nostrils flared slightly, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he inhaled the rich scent of the freshly brewed coffee.

"Ah, coffee," he murmured. "It's been... a very long time."

Rowena watched as he wrapped his long, pale fingers around the cup, seeming to savor the warmth more than the drink itself. "Does it bring back memories?" she asked gently. 

Dante did not speak right away, past events likely racing through his mind. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Of Venice, in the late 1600s. I was... investigating a series of mysterious deaths."

Rowena nodded. "What happened?"

"It was a rogue vampire, one of the earth-born," Dante replied, his voice tinged with old regret. "He'd developed a taste for the blood of children."

He paused, taking a sip of the coffee. Rowena noticed his hand trembled slightly as he set the cup down.

"I dealt with him, of course," Dante continued. "But not before... not before he'd claimed more innocent lives. The matron of the orphanage, she offered me coffee afterward. I can still see her face, lined with grief and gratitude."

Rowena reached across the table, hesitantly placing her hand over Dante's. To her surprise, he didn't pull away.

"You saved those you could," she said softly. "That counts for something."

Dante's eyes met hers, centuries of pain and regret swirling in their silver depths. "Does it? Sometimes I wonder if I'm any better than the monsters I hunt. My hands are far from clean, Rowena."

Rowena squeezed his hand gently. "The fact that you question it, that you feel remorse... that's what sets you apart, Dante. That's what makes you more than just a vampire."

For a long moment, Dante was silent, his gaze fixed on their joined hands. “You remind me of her, you know. Perhaps that’s why I revealed my true nature to you and the church novices.”

Rowena raised a brow, but didn’t pry, her intuition telling her it was likely a sensitive topic. 

“My adopted daughter,” Dante explained, reaching for his coffee. He lifted the cup and stared into the reflective surface of the liquid. His face did not show up in it. “You would have liked her.”

“I am sure of that.” Rowena smiled, returning her focus to the meal in front of her.

Minutes later, the innkeeper approached their table, wiping his hands on his apron. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss, but I couldn't help overhearing ye ask about the doctor earlier. If yer lookin' for Dr. Thornbury, he's not here at the moment. Left a few days ago on urgent business, he did."

Dante's head snapped up, looking alert. "Do you know when he'll return?"

The innkeeper shook his head. "Can't say for sure. But his sister, Miss Adelaide, she might know more. Lives in the blue house just past the church. Keeps to herself mostly, but she's always been kind to those in need."

Rowena and Dante exchanged a glance. This was the lead they needed.

They stood, preparing to leave, when the old woman, Mildred, called out. 

"Wait," Mildred said, more forcefully than before. Her trembling hands fumbled with something at her neck—a tarnished silver disk hung on a worn leather cord.

"The mirrors, child," she said, her clouded eyes suddenly sharp with unsettling clarity. "They remember everything. Every face, every shadow that's crossed their surface." Her gaze flickered between Rowena and Dante, lingering on the vampire's reflectionless form. "And when the time comes, so will you."

Dante's hand closed around Rowena's arm, a gentle but insistent pressure. "We should go," he murmured, his voice tight with what might have been concern or recognition.

But Mildred wasn't finished. "Ask Adelaide about the oval portrait," she shouted after them. "Ask her what happened to the girl!"

The serving girl hurried over, clucking disapprovingly. "That's enough now, Mildred. Let these good folks be on their way."

As they stepped out into the village street, Rowena could still feel the weight of the old woman's knowing gaze between her shoulder blades.

She cleared her throat to distract herself from the unsettling feeling. "I suppose this is where we part ways," Rowena said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

"Indeed." Dante's gaze lifted toward the church spire. "Miss Adelaide may have the answers I seek."

Their eyes met briefly, volumes of unspoken words passing between them. Rowena touched the scars on her palms, which tingled faintly. "Good fortune, Dante."

His smile, though slight, held genuine warmth. "And to you, Rowena. May Millbrook's mysteries yield to your persistence."

With a final nod, Dante turned toward the village proper, his dark figure soon fading in the morning mist.  

As Rowena watched him leave, she felt a strange twinge of loss. Something about Dante had stirred memories she couldn't quite grasp, like words on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps their paths would cross again, she thought, when the mysteries of Millbrook were solved.

Adjusting her pack, she checked that the Purifier was secure at her side, and headed down the road that led out of the village. 

Behind her, the church bells began to toll, their sonorous peals accentuating the rising din of the village’s inhabitants going about their morning routines. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of Dante turning to look back, but when she blinked, he was gone, leaving only swirling tendrils of fog in his wake.