The man’s gaze never wavered, waiting for her response. It had only been a few seconds, but to Scarlett, it stretched too long—like the night was holding its breath.

She swallowed, her throat dry. “It’s a…” She hesitated; she couldn’t, in good conscience, call it a pleasure to meet him. “And whose acquaintance may I be making, sir?”

Years of etiquette training be damned.

His smile curled further, amused. “Sticking to sir will be just fine—for now.”

What a pretentious little—

“Well then, good evening, sir.” She gave a measured nod, just enough to be polite.

He was clearly different from the others. Not dressed like a guard—no armor, no standard-issue uniform. His clothing was far more refined: a richly embroidered vest that caught the firelight and a gleaming pocket watch chain glinting against the fabric. He looked less like someone who should be riding around in a crusade and more like someone who should be sitting behind a mahogany desk, penning sealed letters and issuing orders.

“And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. His golden eyes stayed locked on hers, unblinking. There was no warmth in them—only curiosity sharpened to a point.

Scarlett blinked, her brows knitting together. The guards had known her full name. She’d assumed he did too. Either he truly didn’t—which she didn't believe—or he was toying with her.

She straightened slightly, feeling Via shift against her, still half-asleep.

“My name is Scarlett. Scarlett Dominique.”

His eyes narrowed. “And that’s the name your parents gave you?”

That’s usually how names work.

She bit back the retort, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

“I suppose it is,” she said instead, smoothing her dress with practiced poise.

“Suppose?” His brow lifted, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips, like he’d caught her in something.

She met his gaze, colder now. “I’m sure you already know, sir, but the Dominiques are my guardians. I came into their care when I was nine. Scarlett is the name my birth parents gave me. And it’s the one I’ve chosen to keep.”

Both his eyebrows arched ever so slightly. “Really? How intriguing.”

The way he said it made her skin crawl—like she was a riddle he’d been waiting to unravel. And his manners were appalling.

Via shifted again, rubbing her eyes with a yawn. Beside her, Olive stirred, sitting up like he hadn’t just been drifting off moments before.

She slouched slightly, willing her shoulders to relax. She waited until their breathing evened out again before turning her attention back to the man.

He was watching her with something close to amusement—maybe even something gentler. “You seem to be getting along rather well. One might think you’d met before.”

The calculating edge in his gaze returned, sharp and probing, like he was laying a trap.

“I don’t think we have.” Her voice was careful. “Am I… supposed to know them?”

Am I supposed to know you? Or anyone here?

Her eyes flicked to the children, her mind racing through every possible connection the man might be sniffing out. He was probing for something. Every question was like a perfectly laid-out landmine that he was trying to get her to trip.

She could’ve sworn she heard him chuckle under his breath. “No, I suppose not.”

There he goes again.

That same cold shiver crawled down her spine as his eyes flicked briefly away, then locked back onto hers—unrelenting, analytical. He was sifting through her words, her face, and her silences.

But for what?

He rose slowly, his glasses catching the firelight once more. He was taller than she had expected.

“I imagine you’d all like to rest soon,” he said, voice smooth. “I’ll have some men escort you back to the carriage.” With a wave of his hand, four guards approached. “A guard will be posted outside your door. If you need anything, just knock.”

He smiled—pleasant on the surface, but Scarlett caught the warning beneath it: You’ll be watched.

The guards returned carrying blankets and pillows, their eyes settling on her, waiting for a cue.

She gave a small nod, then gently shook Via. The girl's sharp gray eyes blinked open instantly, alert despite her sleepiness. Olive stirred beside her, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

“Are we going to bed now?” Via asked with a yawn.

“Yes, we are.” Scarlett began to stand, but paused.

Something pressed against her.

Evelyn, fast asleep, had slumped against her shoulder, her cheek nestled in the crook of Scarlett’s neck. Soft breaths escaped her lips, strands of hair falling across her face like a veil.

“Evelyn? Are you awake?” She gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

Nothing.

The girl was out cold, her head drooping forward without so much as a murmur.

Scarlett glanced around uncertainly, biting her lip. She wiped her hands on her dress, then slowly slid her arms beneath the sleeping girl.

She’d expected her to be heavier, but the girl was surprisingly light. Carefully, she adjusted her grip, making sure Evelyn was secure before turning back to the group.

They were all staring at her.

Scarlett froze for a moment, clutching Evelyn a little tighter. The guards were watching her like she’d just stepped through fire unscathed.

“…What?” she asked, brow furrowing. “What’s the matter?”

Artur stepped forward, peeking from behind a stack of pillows. “Nothing,” he said, smiling. “We just never thought she’d let anyone carry her.”

“Or touch her,” another guard added.

“Or even look at her,” said a third.

They stared like she’d performed a miracle. A flicker of amusement tugged at Scarlett’s lips. She couldn’t remember the last time four grown men had looked so impressed by someone picking up a sleeping child.

She hadn’t expected to be sleeping in the carriage—but she supposed it made sense. You couldn’t exactly lock a tent. Still, the thought of spending the night inside, sealed in like cargo, made her skin crawl ever so slightly.

She carried Evelyn inside and laid her gently in her earlier spot. Draping a blanket over her, Scarlett carefully tucked a pillow beneath her head.

The guards stood a noticeable distance away, like the tiny girl might wake and unleash chaos. The thought almost made her smile.

As Via and Olive climbed in after her, Scarlett stepped back outside, pressing her back against the carriage. She tilted her head and looked up at the sky. The stars were different. Distant. Shifted out of place. It wasn’t the same sky she was used to watching.

Those stars didn’t know her.

“Do you need anything else?”

The voice startled her. Artur and the other guards stood in front of her. She hadn’t heard them approach.

She straightened quickly, pushing off the carriage. “Oh… uhm—actually, is there a place I could wash up? It's not that important, so if there's not, that's fine too. But if you have anything like a basin, or…”

Her voice trailed off as her cheeks warmed. Great. She was rambling.

“There’s a creek over there,” one of the guards said, pointing toward the trees.

She cleared her throat, hoping it was too dark for them to see her embarrassment. “A creek sounds… lovely.”

"Here, I'll help you," Artur said, holding out his hand.

She hesitated, then tapped her fingers hesitantly against his palm. His grip was steady but delicate as he guided her through the brush. Twigs caught in her hair and tugged at her dress, nearly tripping her more than once.

They stepped into a clearing, and moonlight spilled across the creek. The water trickled gently, its surface catching the glow like liquid glass.

She knelt by the edge and dipped her hands into the stream. The cold bit into her skin, sharp and grounding. She watched as her fingers distorted the reflection—the unfamiliar stars scattered with every ripple, but the moon stayed intact, bright and steady.

The same no matter where she was.

She splashed her face, letting the chill sink deep. It crept under her skin, quieting the hum of everything pressing in on her. It wasn’t a solution, but it gave her a moment. Giving her mind just long enough to think.

She pulled out her handkerchief and held it under the stream. The fabric fluttered in the temperate current—cream-white cloth turned silver under the moon. After a moment, she lifted it out and wrung it dry, smoothing the wrinkles with her palms.

Her thumb trailed over her embroidered initials. It had been one of the first projects Mrs. Dominique had taught her. She flipped it over, finding her parents' initials embroidered on the back. She traced the stitching gently, her breath catching in her throat.

Not now, she scolded herself. You can’t break down now.

She splashed her face again, the chill biting at her skin. Then, with a steady breath, she smoothed back her hair, letting the cold push her emotions back into place. Deep inhale. Steady exhale.

"Are you good, miss?" Artur’s voice broke the silence, close to her shoulder.

She stiffened, barely swallowing the gasp that almost sent her tumbling into the creek. “Sir Chance…” she breathed, catching herself. “Yes, I’m fine. Let’s head back.”

The walk back was quicker and less clumsy than the trip into the woods. A trail of broken branches and trampled foliage marked their path, and thankfully, she didn’t stumble as much. She wasn’t sure her pride could take any more hits.

Artur held the carriage door open as she stepped inside. Via and Olive were already asleep, curled up on either end of their bench. Evelyn had shifted spots, tucked securely beneath the opposite bench, blanket wrapped tight around her, and a pillow clutched to her chest like a shield.

“There’ll be someone posted outside if you need anything. Just knock or call out,” Artur said with a smile.

“Thank you.” She picked up a blanket from the carriage floor and unfolded it.

As the door creaked shut, she paused, listening. No click. No lock.

She walked over and pressed her palm lightly to the door. To her surprise, it gave way, cracking open just enough to let in a sliver of light. It wasn’t locked.

Somehow, that unsettled her more than it comforted. If it were locked, at least she’d hear someone coming. She nudged it open farther—until it stopped with a soft metallic thud. Looking down, she spotted the source: a slip chain, short but sturdy, limiting the door’s movement.

A quiet breath escaped her. Not locked… but not exactly free, either. It was enough to keep her trapped—and to let her know if someone tried to get in. A thin compromise between safety and captivity.

She pulled the door shut again until it clicked softly into place. With the carriage's narrow windows, the interior plunged into near-total darkness. She turned toward the remaining bench, squinting to make it out. It was too short, too narrow. Even the earlier nap had left her back aching.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. Maybe she could do what Evelyn had done—crawl beneath the benches and make a nest of blankets. But the thought made her chest tighten. The idea of curling into that cramped space filled her with more dread than comfort.

She glanced at the door again, chewing her lip. Then, without thinking too hard, she grabbed the unused pillow and set it down across the narrow entryway. She laid herself across it, pressing her back to the door’s cool surface.

If anyone came in, she’d feel it.

She stared ahead into the dark. Though her thoughts churned and anxiety pulsed just under her skin, sleep tugged at her like a persistent tide. Her mind was a storm; her body, heavy and uncooperative.

Sleep or stay awake.

Neither seemed safe. But she didn't have the strength to choose.

A sharp ache clawed at her eyes and throat. Something hot slipped down her cheek, soaking into the pillow beneath her. She couldn’t stop it—tear after tear following the same quiet trail.

Her breath hitched. Each inhale stuttered into a soft, broken gasp. The gates had finally given way, and there was no stopping what spilled out. Fear had sunk its teeth into her bones.

But worse than the fear was the confusion.

She still had no idea why her world had been turned on its head—no clue where she was being taken, or why.

The darkness seemed to spin around her, as if some giant had lifted the carriage and shaken it by the wheels, trying to knock her loose.

She wished she could shut her eyes and open them again to find her bedroom waiting. Mrs. Dominique sitting beside her, hand cool on her forehead like when she’d had a fever.

Even the awful medicine her mother always forced her to take wouldn’t matter, not if it meant this was all just a bad dream. If it meant the fever would take the nightmare away with it.

Her eyes fluttered closed. She didn’t have the strength to fight them open again. Her lashes clung together, heavy with tears.

At last, she let go. Her shoulders softened. Her breath slipped out in a quiet sigh.

And then, dreamless sleep took her.