Auren woke to silence.

Gray morning light slanted through the small window, washing the room in a chill glow. The space felt emptier somehow, the air too still. He blinked away sleep and reached toward the other bed—only to find it cold and rumpled, the blanket thrown back.

"Kaele?"

No answer.

He pushed himself upright, breath hitching as pain flared along his ribs. He looked around the tiny room, half expecting her to appear from behind the door, or rise up from the shadows. But she wasn't there.

Her spear was gone.

Auren swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment, staring at the floorboards. He felt as though the walls were pressing closer, as though the room itself wanted to crush him. Slowly, he stood, wincing as his side protested, and pulled on his cloak.

He stepped into the hall and descended the creaking stairs.

The inn's common room was nearly empty. A thin thread of woodsmoke curled from the hearth, carrying the scent of charred logs. The innkeeper stood behind the counter, darning a patch on her apron, her eyes distant.

Auren approached, trying to keep his voice steady. "The woman who was with me—Kaele. Did she leave already?"

The innkeeper paused mid-stitch, blinking as though she'd only just remembered she was holding a needle.

"Woman?" she repeated vaguely.

"Tall. Black hair. Spear. Armor."

The innkeeper's lips twitched into a strained smile. "No one's come through here this morning, dear."

Auren stared at her. His skin prickled with cold. "Are you sure?"

"We don't keep track of everyone's comings and goings," she murmured, returning to her stitching.

Auren clenched his jaw, fighting a surge of panic.

Outside, Millshade felt washed in gray.

Clouds hung low, brushing the rooftops. A thin drizzle fell, leaving the cobblestones slick and shining like glass. People moved quietly along the narrow lanes, but none of them seemed entirely real. Their smiles were too bright, too fixed, and their eyes too hollow.

Auren moved from street to street, scanning every face.

"Kaele!" he called, his voice swallowed by the rain. "Kaele!"

No one answered.

He asked a woman hauling a basket of wilted flowers, but she only smiled at him, eyes wide and unfocused, and said, "Sometimes the doors stay open. Sometimes they close."

Auren felt his breath quicken. "What doors? What are you talking about?"

But she had already turned away, vanishing into an alley.

He searched the market stalls.

Merchants stood silent beside their goods, staring out at nothing. The same man who'd roasted meat the day before now turned a skewer absently over a fire, eyes unfocused. The smell of charred fat and bitter herbs drifted through the square, but no one seemed to be buying.

Auren approached the stand where Kaele had asked about medicine the day before. The same wiry man stood there, arranging bundles of herbs in neat rows.

"Have you seen the woman I was with?" Auren demanded, voice tight. "Kaele. Black hair. Spear."

The man gave him a slow, eerie grin. "The second tea is never safe," he whispered.

Auren recoiled. "What does that mean?"

But the man only turned back to his herbs, humming under his breath.

He tried the apothecary.

The shelves still sagged with dusty jars, the air sharp with dried sage and old alcohol. The elderly woman stood hunched behind the counter, her eyes sharp and watchful.

"Kaele," Auren said, leaning on the wooden counter for balance. "The woman who came with me yesterday. Did she come here this morning?"

The apothecary peered at him. "Who?"

Auren slammed his hand down on the counter, making a few bottles rattle. "She's tall. Black hair. Wears armor. She was here yesterday!"

The woman pursed her lips. "The earth takes back what it's owed," she murmured. "Sometimes people vanish into its roots."

Auren's pulse throbbed in his temples. "Stop speaking in riddles!"

But the woman had already shuffled into the back room, leaving him alone among the rows of jars.

Hours crawled past as Auren scoured the village.

He checked alleys, knocked on doors, circled back to the same carts and shops again and again. Each time he thought he saw Kaele's silhouette in the distance, it dissolved into strangers. The drizzle turned to mist, curling around buildings like ghostly fingers.

Everywhere he went, the villagers watched him with those same too-wide smiles.

By afternoon, Auren stood beside the old delivery cart. The crates were still stacked high, untouched. Rainwater dripped steadily off the tarpaulin.

He rested a hand against the wood, feeling its chill. "Where the hell are you, Kaele?"

A small voice pulled him from his daze.

"Don't drink the second tea."

Auren turned sharply. A child—a little boy with dark hair and dirt-smudged cheeks—stood staring up at him, eyes huge and solemn.

"The second tea?" Auren said hoarsely. "What does that mean?"

But the boy only repeated, softer, "Don't drink it," before backing away and vanishing around the corner.

Auren stood trembling, cold mist curling around his cloak.

The light was failing when he finally stumbled back toward the inn, his ribs screaming with every step.

As he passed a narrow alley, he caught a flicker of movement. He turned, hope surging—and froze.

A seam of wooden wall near the ground seemed to ripple like liquid. For a heartbeat, it parted, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness.

Then it snapped shut again, leaving only damp stone and dripping water.

Auren staggered forward and pressed his palms to the wall. It felt solid, cold under his fingertips. He pressed harder, searching for the hidden seam—but nothing moved.

A voice whispered behind him.

"Auren."

He spun around.

Kaele stood at the alley's mouth, pale and trembling. Her black hair hung damp around her face. Her eyes were wide, frightened.

"Kaele!" He lurched toward her.

She reached out a hand—and flickered like a dying candle flame, vanishing before he could touch her.

The alley lay empty once more.

Auren stared into the shadows, his chest heaving.

Millshade seemed to close in around him, streets bending at impossible angles, the air growing heavy with a metallic tang. Somewhere in the distance, he heard chanting rising and falling, like the echo of a distant tide.

He wrapped his arms around his middle and stumbled back toward the inn, fighting the certainty that he was walking deeper into a trap.

Rain fell like a hush over Millshade as dusk slid in, seeping into every crevice of stone and wood. The clouds hung so low they seemed to brush the rooftops. Lanterns blinked to life, golden light trembling in the mist, but it brought no warmth.

Auren stood outside the inn, staring at the alley where Kaele had vanished like smoke hours earlier. His cloak clung to his shoulders, sodden and heavy. A memory of her voice echoed in his skull: Auren.

He rubbed at his eyes. "Get it together," he muttered under his breath.

He drew a deep breath and turned back toward the village square. The same people milled about as before—but slower, somehow, their movements jerky and hesitant, like dolls whose strings were tangled.

He approached a woman sorting bundles of firewood. "Please. The woman I'm looking for—Kaele. Tall, black hair, chestplate, spear. Have you seen her?"

The woman blinked at him, rain dripping from her lashes. Then her lips pulled wide into that too-stretched smile. "The stars sing secrets into the well," she whispered.

Auren stepped back, skin crawling.

He pressed on, winding through narrow lanes. He checked behind carts and in doorways, retraced his path past the delivery wagon now blanketed in wet leaves. He asked the same old men whittling sticks under the eaves. He asked two teenagers huddled in an alcove. Each one gave him only riddles or blank stares.