The hallway was quieter than before. Most of the tavern noise had settled into the floorboards, muffled by distance and fatigue. Kaelen didn’t say anything as she walked ahead, the brass key still curled in her fingers. Elias followed without a word.

  She stopped at the last door on the left.

  The key turned. The door opened. She stepped inside and waited.

  He followed her in, shut the door softly behind him.

  Kaelen stood in the center of the room, arms loose at her sides. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t snapped. But she looked… tired. Not physically. Just from having to hold everything in place all day.

  “I didn’t think it would happen like that,” she said quietly.

  Elias stayed near the door, just to give her space.

  “I know,” he said. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

  She didn’t argue. But she didn’t agree either.

  “I thought it would be slower,” she went on. “Something I could feel coming. Something I could stop.”

  “You will,” he said. “But not here.”

  She looked up at him. Her expression had that quiet kind of honesty that didn’t beg for comfort—but needed truth.

  “Am I dangerous now?”

  “To them?” he said. “Maybe.”

  He took a breath. “But you were never dangerous to me.”

  That landed.

  Her shoulders didn’t drop—but her jaw relaxed a little, like she’d been bracing for something worse.

  He stepped closer now, calm and steady.

  “I’m leaving in the morning,” Elias said. “Rauel’s taking us to the gate. After that… it’s on us.”

  Kaelen nodded once. “I figured.”

  Elias hesitated, then stepped a little closer—not crowding, just close enough that his voice could stay low.

  “Something happened tonight,” he said. “After you went upstairs.”

  Kaelen turned toward him slightly, attentive.

  “I ran into her. The girl from the river—the one with the moon brand.”

  Her eyes widened faintly. “You found her?”

  “No. She didn’t come looking for me either,” he said. “I just… happened to be the one she ran into. She stayed long enough to say a few things, and then she was gone.”

  Kaelen’s voice was soft. “What kind of things?”

  Elias let a breath settle between them before answering.

  “She said there’s something here in the city. A piece of the moon—not a story, not a symbol. Something real. And it’s in danger.”

  He watched her expression shift—confusion, maybe disbelief, but not dismissal.

  “She didn’t say much. Barely stayed a minute. But I believed her,” he added. “Not because of what she said—because of how she said it. Like someone who’s been hunted for a long time and still decided to warn a stranger.”

  Kaelen crossed her arms. “Why you?”

  He shrugged slightly. “Said I talked about the moon like it still meant something.”

  That answer sat between them for a while.

  “And the ones chasing her,” Elias added. “They’re not just nobles. She called them the Lunate Order.”

  Kaelen frowned. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “She said they bury what they can’t control,” Elias murmured. “And they’ve been doing it for a long time.”

  Kaelen let that settle. Then:

  “You think she was telling the truth?”

  “I think she meant every word,” he said. “And I think whatever’s in this city… we’re already in its shadow.”

  Kaelen looked away for a moment. When she turned back, her voice was quieter. Tighter.

  “They’re going to keep looking at me like I’m dangerous,” she said. “So maybe it’s time I figure out if that can be useful.”

  Elias didn’t smile. But something in his posture eased.

  “Then we go together.”

  She nodded.

  Not because it was safe.

  But because it was better than being afraid alone.

  Kaelen didn’t answer right away.

  She just nodded—once—then stepped toward the cot, setting her satchel down at the edge. Her fingers lingered on the strap for a breath longer than they needed to, like she was anchoring herself to the motion.

  Elias turned to go.

  But before he reached the door, her voice caught him again.

  “Thanks,” she said. “For not turning all of this into something I’d have to carry alone.”

  He looked back, meeting her eyes.

  “You’ve done more for me than you know. It’s only fair.”

  Then he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  The hallway creaked beneath his steps as he walked back toward his own room, the moon casting a faint light through the shuttered windows.

  Tonight, there were no more questions.

  Just silence.

  And the sense that everything ahead was already beginning to change.

  He reached his door and opened it without sound.

  The room was cool, the air faintly touched with old wood and dust. Moonlight spilled through the narrow shutter gaps, laying quiet stripes across the floorboards and the edge of the bed.

  Elias stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

  He didn’t bother with the lantern. Didn’t touch the training roll. He crossed to the window instead and rested both arms on the sill, leaning into the frame like he’d done a hundred times before.

  The shutters hung uneven, but they didn’t block the view.

  The moon was there—partially veiled by a high strip of cloud, but still visible. Still whole.

  He didn’t stare at it for meaning. Just for quiet.

  His shoulders eased. His jaw unclenched. The tension didn’t vanish, but it loosened enough for him to think.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  That was all he needed.

  Outside, the wind shifted.

  Elias stayed by the window a few minutes longer, watching the moon drift behind the roofline. No more questions. No more words. Just the faint creak of old beams cooling and the soft hum of a city that hadn’t stopped moving.

  He turned from the window, crossed the room, and lay down without undressing.

  The bed creaked beneath him. He stared at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded, the rhythm of distant footsteps and muffled tavern laughter slowly fading into the quiet.

  He didn’t expect sleep.

  But eventually, it came anyway.

  Uneven. But enough.

  Elias woke to low light and the distant thrum of early movement downstairs. The air was still cool, touched faintly with the scent of tavern smoke and damp wood. For a few seconds, he lay motionless, trying to place where he was—until the uneven ceiling and half-closed shutters reminded him.

  Tiria.

  The storm.

  The vines.

  The girl with the mark.

  He exhaled through his nose, rolled to sit upright, and rubbed the heel of one hand down his face. His thoughts weren’t frantic, just layered. Everything was moving forward now—faster than he could control. But not faster than he could follow.

  He pulled on his boots, checked the small cloth roll from Vaskor’s, and moved to the door without lighting the lantern. The hallway beyond was quiet. No sounds of staff yet, no footsteps from the other rooms.

  Downstairs, however, he found proof of Rauel’s condition before he even reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Rauel was slumped sideways in a chair near the bar, one boot off, his arm hanging over the backrest like he’d been mid-story before gravity interrupted. An untouched cup sat next to him on the table, along with two discarded napkins and something that might have once been stew.

  Elias gave the scene a glance, then moved on.

  He checked the hallway upstairs—Kaelen’s door was shut, her key likely still in the lock from the inside. He didn’t knock. Didn’t need to. She’d join him soon. Or she wouldn’t.

  He headed back toward his room and left the door slightly open.

  Not long after, footsteps came—measured, but not cautious.

  He turned.

  The girl with the mark stepped through the frame.

  Blonde hair tied back, cloak drawn tight. Same clothes, same focus. She hadn’t come with haste—but she’d come with intention.

  Her eyes scanned the room once, then settled on him.

  “You stayed,” she said simply.

  Elias nodded. “You said you’d come find me.”

  Elias woke to low light and the distant creak of footsteps overhead.

  For a moment, he stayed still—his back flat against the mattress, his eyes tracking the slow stretch of morning across the ceiling. The room smelled of dust and worn wood, same as the night before, and the tavern’s heat had faded into something cooler. Quieter. Still.

  He sat up slowly, pressing the heel of his palm to his temple. His thoughts were clear, but tired. He wasn’t sore—but he could feel the weight of everything waiting just past the silence.

  The floor groaned beneath his boots as he stood and crossed to the window. He pulled it open an inch more and leaned on the frame, arms folded. The city was still waking. Carts shifted in the distance. A vendor's voice floated up once, then disappeared into the morning haze. But above all that—above the rooftops and scattered noise—the moon still lingered.

  Faint. Pale. But there.

  Elias watched it a moment longer, letting the quiet settle through him.

  Then he turned away.

  He gathered the cloth roll Vaskor had given him, strapped it to his belt, and slipped into the hallway. No one else stirred. The tavern had the heavy quiet of a place still recovering from the night before.

  Downstairs, Rauel was where Elias expected him: half-slumped in a booth near the corner, one boot missing, a mug in his hand and no memory behind his eyes. A small pile of toast crusts sat untouched beside him like a peace offering he’d forgotten to eat.

  Elias left him be.

  Upstairs again, he checked on Kaelen’s room. Her door was closed, locked from the inside. He didn’t knock. Just paused a moment outside, then returned to his own room.

  Elias sat by the window, one elbow resting on the sill, eyes on the rooftops beyond. The city below hadn’t quieted, not really—but from up here, it felt distant. The kind of distant that gave him room to think.

  Footsteps broke the stillness.

  Soft. Intentional.

  Then the door eased open.

  She stepped inside, cloak drawn close, eyes sweeping the room with practiced caution. She didn’t linger in the frame, didn’t speak right away. Just scanned—shadows, corners, exits—before locking eyes with him.

  “You stayed,” she said.

  Elias gave a small nod. “You said you’d find me.”

  She shut the door behind her—quiet, not secretive. Just careful.

  “I had to wait for the street to turn over,” she murmured. “They’re watching the eastern slope now. Not this side.”

  He didn’t ask how she knew. If she was still walking free, she’d earned that silence.

  “You came to talk,” he said.

  “I came to see if you were serious.”

  She didn’t sit. She stayed near the door, angled slightly—not nervous, just aware.

  “There’s something here,” she said. “Below the city. Not a rumor. Not forgotten. Hidden.”

  Her tone was even. Grounded. Like she’d carried the words too long for them to be dramatic anymore.

  Elias didn’t interrupt.

  “I haven’t found the exact place,” she continued, “but the ones circling it? They’re moving. More than I thought. Sooner than I hoped.”

  A pause.

  “I need help. Someone quiet. Someone who can move through without making waves.”

  She studied him.

  “You’re not like the others. You don’t grab power. You listen.”

  Elias shifted slightly in his chair. “I’m not going without Kaelen.”

  No apology in his voice. Just certainty.

  The girl didn’t flinch. “Then bring her. If she can’t keep pace, I’ll say so. But I don’t think she’ll be the problem.”

  She reached for the door, cracked it open.

  “Old glassworks. South slope. Grain tower behind it. After midday.”

  She glanced back once. Not looking for a reaction—just checking the shape of the room. The shape of him.

  “If you don’t show, I’ll know your answer.”

  Then she was gone, the cloak’s edge vanishing with her.

  Elias sat still for a while, eyes settling where she’d been. The city hadn’t stopped moving. But up here, it hadn’t caught up yet.

  He stood, gathered the training kit, and headed toward the hall.

  It was time to see if Kaelen was ready.

  He stepped into the hallway. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that came after people decided to stop asking questions.

  Kaelen’s door was closed. He raised his hand to knock—

  It opened before he could.

  Kaelen stood there, already dressed, satchel over one shoulder. Her eyes were alert, not surprised.

  “I heard your steps,” she said simply.

  Elias nodded once. “Rauel’s downstairs. Still asleep where he left himself.”

  Kaelen gave a faint smirk. “Of course he is.”

  She stepped out, pulled the door shut behind her, and adjusted the strap across her shoulder.

  “Let’s go.”

  Elias fell into step beside her. No rush. No noise. Just two people heading into a morning that had already decided what kind of day it was going to be.

  She stepped out, pulled the door shut behind her, and adjusted the strap across her shoulder.

  “Let’s go.”

  Elias fell into step beside her. No rush. No noise. Just two people heading into a morning that had already decided what kind of day it was going to be.

  The stairs creaked under their boots, but not loudly enough to matter. Downstairs, the tavern had begun to stir in full—low conversation near the bar, clinks of plates being stacked, the scrape of chairs being moved without urgency.

  And beneath it all, the hum of speculation.

  “…said it came through the ceiling like it was looking for someone…”

  “…I heard it wasn’t a beast, it was a girl…”

  “…shouldn’t be allowed in the city if they can’t control themselves…”

  The conversations didn’t stop when Elias and Kaelen passed through.

  They just dropped in volume—shifting into mutters, half-glances, and unfinished thoughts.

  Rauel was still where Elias had seen him last—now sprawled across two chairs, one arm slung over his face, the other dangling with a near-empty cup swaying lightly in his grip. The stew was gone. So were his boots.

  Kaelen blinked. “Is he…?”

  Elias stepped closer and nudged one chair with the side of his foot.

  Rauel groaned.

  “That’s a yes,” Elias muttered.

  Another nudge. This time Rauel stirred, flinched, and slowly blinked one eye open.

  “Morning,” Elias said, deadpan.

  “You’re both terrible dreams,” Rauel rasped, then winced and sat up slowly, like the air was personal and had wronged him. “Where am I?”

  Kaelen tilted her head. “Same tavern. Fewer boot privileges.”

  He squinted at her. Then looked down at his socked foot.

  “Unfair,” he said. “They betrayed me first.”

  Elias picked up and handed him his boots. “You promised to take us to the gate.”

  “I also promised not to die before thirty,” Rauel said, dragging the boot on with theatrical effort. “We’ll see which one holds.”

  He stood—wobbled—then pointed toward the door like it had insulted his mother.

  “Right. Supplies. Farewell. Noble goodbyes. Let’s go ruin a guard’s morning.”

  And with that, they headed for the gate.

  There’s a certain kind of strength that doesn’t need an audience.

  It’s not found in grand declarations or last-minute doubts.

  It’s in the quiet moment before you move forward—

  The small, steady choice to carry your weight without asking the world for permission first.

  You don’t have to be fearless.

  You only have to be willing.