When her mind finally returned to her, it came in slow waves—numb limbs tingling awake, lashes fluttering, lips twitching toward words she hadn’t formed yet. The rattle of the carriage was gone. For a moment, the stillness was comforting. Then her eyes snapped open.

Why weren’t they moving?

She realized there was something soft beneath her head. She pushed herself up slowly, confused by the strange sensation. When had she lain down? Something shifted beside her, and a tiny hand gently patted her head.

“Olive, she’s awake,” Via’s voice whispered nearby.

Scarlett turned. Via sat beside her, dress wrinkled and smile bright. Across the carriage, Olive marched toward them from the door, arms crossed in a very serious manner.

She blinked, adjusting to the carriage’s dimmer light. “What’s going on?”

“You fell asleep,” Via said softly. “I didn’t want you to get a headache, so I moved your head to my lap. Uhm… was that okay?”

Scarlett’s heart ached. How could such good, kind kids end up in a place like this?

“That was very kind of you, Via. Thank you.”

“We stopped a few minutes ago to set up camp,” Olive added, puffing out his chest. “So I’ve been guarding the door. I wasn’t gonna let anyone wake you up, Miss Scarlett.”

Scarlett smiled, amusement tugging at her lips. “How very noble of you.” She reached out, patting his head. His cheeks flushed pink as he pulled away.

On the opposite bench, Evelyn remained curled up, knees drawn to her chest. Her misty forest eyes studied Scarlett with a quiet intensity—watchful, calculating. Then her gaze flicked to the door, alert to something the others hadn’t noticed yet.

Scarlett followed her eyes just as the sound of rattling keys broke the silence. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open, revealing a guard backlit by the fading sun. He lingered a moment, awkward in the doorway, before stepping aside.

"You all can come out now. Campfire’s up."

Without hesitation, the kids stood. It was clear they knew the routine—one Scarlett hadn’t learned yet. She rose as well, letting them hop down ahead of her. Even Evelyn moved with more energy than Scarlett expected.

As she stepped forward, lifting her dress to descend, the guard reached out a tentative hand. Startled, she let him take it, allowing him to guide her down. Gods, she thought. They certainly didn’t offer me that much courtesy when they tossed me in.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a polite nod as she let go and smoothed her skirt.

He smiled sheepishly, clearly unsure of what to do next. He couldn’t have been any older than Harmon—maybe younger. The way he fumbled through his role made her almost want to laugh. Almost.

Suppressing a smile, she turned and followed the others around the wagon.

She found the campfire just in front of the carriage. All around it, guards were busy setting up tents and hauling supplies. There were more of them than she expected—at least twenty, with three additional carts loaded with gear.

By the fire, she spotted the kids. Olive and Via were chatting quietly, while Evelyn lingered nearby, watching the bustle of activity with wary eyes.

"You can sit down, Miss." The guard from earlier appeared behind her, making her stiffen. "Food’ll be out shortly."

She resisted the urge to flinch at the sudden voice and turned instead with a polite, slightly tight-lipped smile. "Thank you... I’ll go ahead then."

She took a seat on one of the logs arranged around the fire. A moment later, Via scurried over to sit beside her, Olive close behind. She barely had time to register their presence before something else pressed firmly against her other side. Glancing down, she found Evelyn seated next to her, shoulder resting solidly against hers.

Scarlett raised her brows, trying not to move as the girl nestled in. Slowly, her lips curved into a soft smile. She exhaled, tension slipping from her shoulders as she let herself settle into the gentle hum of campfire chatter.

She couldn't let her mind wander to what she'd be doing if she were back home.

Mr. Dominique would probably be reading by the fireplace, his pipe in hand, filling the house with the sweet, familiar scent of smoke. She might be sitting beside her mother, quietly working on needlepoint, or finishing a letter to Harmon.

Would Harmon notice when her letters stopped? Would her parents write to him, trying to explain what had happened?

She could picture her father pacing his study, running a worried hand through his hair as he stared helplessly at a blank sheet of paper on his desk. Her mother would be hovering near the door, pale and unsteady—like she always was at the slightest disturbance.

She blinked hard and shook her head, trying to scatter the thoughts before they settled too deep. Her eyes stung, and she told herself it was just the smoke from the fire.

“Uh, ma’am?”

A blurred figure stepped into her view, haloed by the flickering firelight. It took her a second to realize he was one of the guards. A lot of them had changed out of their armor and uniforms already. Out of uniform, dressed in a plain white undershirt, he looked far less imposing.

He held something out toward her—a bowl of stew and a piece of bread. When she looked up, his freckled face offered a small, genuine smile—more warmth than she’d seen from any of the others.

“Would you like some?” he asked, nudging the bowl closer. “If you don’t like stew, I can probably find something else.” He glanced around, already searching for someone to help.

“No, this is fine. Thank you.” She reached out, wrapping her fingers around the bowl. The warmth seeped into her hands, grounding her.

He grinned at her, revealing a gap-toothed smile full of boyish pride. He reminded her of an eager puppy, and despite herself, she smiled back. The reaction seemed to surprise him. He straightened up, hands on his hips, and puffed out his chest.

“Not to brag,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “but I helped make the soup tonight. And between you and me”—he cupped a hand around his mouth—“I’m the only one here who can actually cook, so it'll be pretty good tonight.”

Scarlett let out a soft laugh. Beside her, Via giggled too, clutching at Scarlett’s arm.

“These three know what I’m talking about,” the guard said, gesturing to the kids. “They know it always tastes better when I help out.” He held his hand out toward Olive for a high five.

Olive hesitated, glancing warily between the man and Scarlett.

“It’s okay,” Scarlett whispered to him. “Go on—give him a high five.”

Olive gave her a small look, then reached out and tapped his palm lightly against the guard’s.

The man lit up. “See? Told you I’m the best cook here!” He called over his shoulder to a group of guards clustered around a pot. “The kids said so!”

Olive flushed and ducked his head, staring down at his lap.

The guard looked back at Scarlett with a grin. “So? Best soup you’ve ever had, or what?”

She chuckled, taking a spoonful. “I suppose it’s not terrible.”

“What’d I tell you—best cook here.” He pointed at Olive. “Hang tight, little guy. I’ll get yours next.”

Olive beamed, sitting a little straighter.

“Well,” Scarlett said, raising an eyebrow, “he’s certainly... enthusiastic.”

“That’s Sir Chance,” Via chimed in, tugging at Scarlett’s arm. “He’s really nice. He talks to us.”

Scarlett followed the guard with her eyes as he made his way back to the fire. A flicker of amusement tugged at her mouth. She glanced down at her bowl—appetite slowly returning.

A moment later, the guard returned, expertly balancing three bowls. “Alright, here we go! Supper’s served.” He handed one bowl each to Via and Olive before crouching to offer the last to Evelyn.

The girl hesitated, shrinking closer to Scarlett and clutching her arm. Scarlett blinked, surprised—but only for a second.

“I’ve got it,” she said calmly, taking the bowl from Sir Chance and passing it to Evelyn. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” the guard said, straightening up with a shrug.

Scarlett gave him a brief glance, then returned her attention to Evelyn, who quietly took the stew and nestled closer.

He stood up with a small grunt. “Well, at least she likes someone here. Last time we tried to get her to eat, she bit us.”

“She bit you?” Scarlett glanced from him to Evelyn. The young girl lowered her head, cheeks flushing pink.

“It was more like a snap,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “Totally my fault. I startled her.”

He offered Evelyn a small smile before turning back to Scarlett. “If you guys want more, just let me know. I’ll get it.”

“Thank you, sir.” She nodded and pointed her spoon at him with a small smirk.

His ears turned pink as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh—you don’t have to call me that. ‘Sir’ makes me sound important or something.” He gave an awkward laugh. “Just Chance is fine. Or Artur.”

“Artur?” Her brow lifted. “That’s a very Moshtainian-sounding name. Are you from there?”

He grinned, looking a little surprised. “Yeah, I am. No one ever guesses that from the name—usually they say they hear it in my accent. Sometimes it slips through.”

Something twisted in her chest, and her smile faltered. “I have friends from there. Their bakery specializes in Moshtain desserts. No offense to your bread, but theirs would be better.” She tapped the edge of her bread against the bowl, trying to brush off the weight in her chest.

“Were they located in town? Shame I never got to try it—I miss the real stuff.” He leaned in slightly, cupping a hand around his mouth like he was sharing a secret. “And don’t worry. I don’t make the bread.”

She laughed despite herself, the heaviness lifting a little.

He rocked back on his heels, eyes darting around. “Well, I… I better get back.” His voice trailed off as he turned, cheeks pink.

Scarlett watched him go. A few guards elbowed him playfully, and he shouted something back, his face still red. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Some academy recruits could join as young as fifteen, if she remembered correctly.

Her eyes drifted over the camp again. Now that she was paying attention, most of them looked young—barely more than boys in uniform. The only older ones she’d seen were the guards who had grabbed her at the bakery, the driver, and the man seated beside him—the one whose face she still hadn’t gotten a good look at.

“Is something wrong?” Via looked up from her soup, a red spot of broth dotting her nose.

Scarlett let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to wipe it away with her thumb. “Everything’s fine.”

She was so observant for her age—those riverstone eyes seemed to see right through her. Olive had the same eyes, but his gaze held caution, calculating everything with an unnerving precision. Via’s, though… hers looked at the world like she wanted to carry its problems on her shoulders.

She sighed, catching herself as Via bore into her with her piercing gray eyes. Maybe it was the way Via’s quiet gaze held her like a mirror, but she somehow hadn’t broken down—hadn’t unraveled the way she thought she would. Maybe it was the kids. Maybe she didn’t want them to see her come apart.

What kind of person would I be to let kids deal with my broken pieces?

They were just children—just strangers caught in the same strange nightmare. So why did she care so much? Why did they feel like more than strangers already?

Maybe it was because they reminded her of Marie.

Gods, she missed her. Missed the way she’d light up a room, missed the warmth of the Covets. Missed home.

A tear slipped down her cheek and fell into her soup. She wiped any traces of it away quickly, before anyone could see.

As her bowl emptied, so did her energy. Her limbs grew heavy, her eyes fluttering between open and closed. The earlier nap clearly hadn't been enough.

Something warm leaned against her arm. She glanced down to find Via resting her head on her shoulder, clutching her empty bowl like a stuffed toy. Beside her, Olive was losing a battle with a yawn, his droopy eyelids snapping open with effort. Even Evelyn seemed more subdued, gaze unfocused, body still.

“Should I take those?”

She looked up. Artur stood before her, palm extended toward her bowl.

“Yes, please.” She gathered the others’ bowls, stacking them before handing them over.

He chuckled, eyeing the pile. “First time I’ve gotten all the bowls back empty. Pretty sure that earns me some bragging rights.”

She watched as he turned on his heel and walked off, humming under his breath. She’d meant to ask where they were supposed to sleep, but something caught her attention.

Across the fire, something flickered—glass catching the light. The reflection shifted as the lenses tilted downward, revealing a pair of burning yellow eyes fixed directly on her.

The man next to the driver.

He sat motionless on the far side of the fire, fingers steepled, elbows resting casually on his knees. There was no overt threat in his posture, no hostility in his expression—but something about him sent a chill skating down her spine.

He straightened, golden eyes never leaving hers. His lips curled into a slight, unreadable smile.

“Hello, my dear,” he said smoothly. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance.”