The next morning dawned pale and cool over Millshade, the sun climbing slowly through a thin veil of mist. Auren woke on the stiff bed, muscles protesting with every movement, the dull ache in his ribs a persistent reminder that their journey was far from over. He shifted carefully, careful not to jolt himself, and noticed Kaele still sprawled across the other bed, breathing steadily in sleep.

The small room was quiet except for the faint creak of the old wooden beams settling and the occasional call of a crow outside. Auren's eyes drifted to the window, where the village began to stir, villagers moving like ants along the twisting lanes.

Despite the sun and the bustle, the village still felt wrong—like a painting slightly off-kilter.

He rubbed the crease between his brows and swung his legs over the bed's edge, the floor cold against his feet.

"Morning," Kaele mumbled, her voice rough with sleep.

Auren offered a weak smile. "Morning."

They both knew the wounds and weariness wouldn't vanish overnight. Kaele stretched, groaning softly as her muscles protested, then rolled off the bed and crossed to the window.

Outside, the villagers were already at work: a woman tending a stubborn goat, a man hauling crates stacked high on a rickety cart, children darting through the alleys in ragged clothes.

Kaele's gaze lingered on the villagers. "We need to find something to help you. A healer or medicine."

Auren nodded slowly. "If there's any left."

Kaele grabbed her pack. "Let's get moving."

They stepped outside into the dusty air. The streets smelled faintly of woodsmoke, fresh earth, and something else—something metallic, like old blood, that made Auren's stomach churn.

As they moved through the village, the villagers paused in their tasks to watch them with unnerving interest. Eyes too wide, smiles too fixed.

Auren caught a mother watching them from a doorway, holding a baby tightly. The woman's smile was so broad it seemed painful, as if it were a mask stretched tight over fear.

Auren shook off the chill crawling up his spine.

They approached the market stalls that lined the village's main street. Stalls were well-stocked but old—the fruit a little too perfect, the cloth too faded.

At one stand, a middle-aged man with wiry hair and dirt under his nails sold bundles of dried herbs tied with frayed twine.

Kaele stepped forward. "Do you have anything for wounds? Medicine to heal?"

The man's smile stretched too wide. "We have things to ease pain, soothe fever, help rest."

Auren stepped closer, catching the scent of herbs—a strong, bitter aroma, but none smelled like healing.

"Is there a healer? Someone who can help with serious injuries?" Auren asked, wincing as his ribs pressed against his shirt.

The man's eyes flicked toward the others watching from doorways, their faces expressionless except for those impossible grins.

"We all heal what we can," the man said quietly. "But some wounds are not meant to close."

Kaele frowned, scanning the crowd. "What does that mean?"

The man shrugged, voice low. "Sometimes pain is the price for truth."

Without waiting for a reply, Kaele and Auren moved on.

Auren's breaths came shallow. Each step hurt more than the last, a hot sting spreading beneath his ribs.

Kaele noticed immediately, slowing her pace.

They passed an old cart by the edge of the village, loaded with crates of vegetables, barrels, and sacks of grain.

Auren noticed the cart was full—overflowing, in fact. Yet, it had not moved for days.

He pointed. "That cart... no one's taken anything from it."

Kaele's brow furrowed. "Maybe no one needs to."

Auren's stomach twisted. "Or maybe no one can leave."

A small voice piped up from behind.

"Don't drink the second tea." A child, no older than seven, stepped shyly from behind a cart.

His wide eyes locked onto Kaele, who instinctively knelt to meet him.

"The second tea?" she asked softly.

The boy's face tightened. "It's a warning."

Before Kaele could press for more, the boy scurried away, disappearing down a narrow alley. Auren rubbed his temples, frustration and confusion twisting inside him. "We're missing something."

They reached the village's apothecary—a squat, weathered building leaning slightly to one side. The scent of dried flowers and old wood spilled out into the street.

Inside, shelves sagged under jars of herbs, roots, and bottles filled with strange liquids. The apothecary herself was a fragile old woman with hair the color of ash, her fingers gnarled like twisted branches.

Kaele stepped forward, hope in her voice. "Do you have anything that can help with wounds? Medicines?"

The woman's eyes, sharp and clear despite her age, scanned them. "No fresh supplies have come in for many moons," she said. "The earth yields little here now. We use what we can—salves, tinctures—but for grievous wounds, the body must mend itself."

Auren's heart sank deeper. "So, nothing for broken ribs? No healing herbs?"

The woman shook her head slowly. "Sometimes, time is the only healer."

Outside, the village continued its odd rhythm. People moved like puppets, their smiles frozen, their laughter hollow.

Auren and Kaele sat on a worn bench, exhausted.

Auren clenched his jaw, the pain sharp again.

Kaele watched him, unease growing.

Minutes stretched between them, filled with the murmur of the village and distant caws of crows.

Suddenly, Auren gasped, clutching his side, his face pale and beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Kaele didn't hesitate.

Without thinking, her hands moved to his ribs, pressing firmly but gently against the bruised flesh.

A warmth blossomed beneath her palms—a golden light that seeped into Auren's skin.

The sharp ache dulled to a dull throb, the tightness in his chest loosening.

Auren blinked in surprise. "Kaele..."

She looked just as stunned as he felt, eyes wide.

"I didn't mean to," she whispered.

"It's... healing," Auren said, testing the movement of his side.

The warmth faded slowly, but the relief lingered.

Kaele helped him to his feet, steadying him.

As they moved, the villagers' expressions remained unchanged—wide smiles, unblinking eyes.

A shadow fell across the street as the sun dipped lower, the village seeming to close in around them.

Kaele's gaze darkened. "We can't stay here."

Auren nodded, feeling exhaustion pressing down like a weight.

Night fell quickly, swallowing Millshade in cold silence.

Kaele settled beside Auren in their room, the uneasy quiet pressing on both of them.

Suddenly, Auren blinked—and she was gone.

No sound, no warning, just empty air where she had been.

His heart hammered in the darkness as whispers curled around the edges of the night.

Millshade was more than a village.

It was a trap.

And they were caught in its jaws.

But they still returned to the inn and went to sleep without any words to the innkeeper.