"No!" The words fell from Sera's lips like stones into still water, each denial rippling through the dawn-lit clearing.

  “No, no, no... “ She stared at her hands as if they belonged to a stranger, watching flakes of dried blood crack and fall with each trembling movement. The healer in her noted the exact shade of rust-brown with clinical detachment, even as her mind recoiled from what that color meant.

  These hands had helped deliver babies, set bones, soothed fevers. They were her most precious tools, kept meticulously clean for the delicate work of healing and caring. Now, dried blood had worked its way under nails, staining the quick she usually kept so pristine.

  Last night, she had watched helplessly as these same hands had killed.

  The memory was horrifyingly clear - every motion, every choice, every efficient movement. She had been there for all of it, a passenger in her own body as her hands wielded the knife with surgical precision. She remembered the exact angle of the blade, the swift strike that opened the artery. She remembered how it felt when the warm blood had spilled over her fingers. Worst of all, she remembered understanding exactly what each potential cut would do, her healer's knowledge making everything even more horrific.

  What she didn’t remember was what happened before. She had been crushing herbs and making a list over what they needed more of, and then... nothing, until she all of a sudden was watching herself infiltrate Castle Carris in the evening like a silent predator on the hunt.

  Yet, it wasn’t her. She remembered the motions, but she had not been in control of them. It was all blurry and incoherent, but the memory was as real as the dried blood on her hands.

  Tears ran down Sera’s cheeks as she looked over the lake in front of her. Lake Carris, with its small little island just in the middle of the lake. The sky was turning red in the horizon even as the moon still was high. Night was turning to morning, and the new day greeted her as a killer, the red hues of dawn mocking her.

  “What is happening to me?” She dug her hands into the coarse sand and rubbed and scrubbed until her skin started to burn.

  "You'll want to use water for that," a voice commented dryly in her head. "Sand just grinds it in deeper. Amateur mistake."

  Sera froze. The voice was male, cultured in an oddly archaic way, and carried the weary irritation of someone who had already explained something several times. She knew the voice, even if she'd never heard it before last night.

  "Though I suppose you wouldn't know proper cleanup protocol," the voice continued from nowhere, and everywhere. "Not really your area of expertise, if I'm not mistaken. Speaking of which, you saw how sloppy that exit was? I know this body is capable of better balance."

  "This isn't real," Sera said, her own voice strange in her ears. "This is a fever dream. Or maybe I ate some bad mushrooms. There was that new patch by Widow Kane's house that I hadn't properly identified yet..."

  "If this were a fever dream," the voice said with growing annoyance, "would you be feeling that very specific ache in your right quadriceps? The one from when we had to climb down that wall? A climb that, I might add, took nearly twice as long as it should have. You could do well straining your body from time to time, you know. It could benefit from becoming stronger and more resilient."

  Sera's healer's training betrayed her - she automatically assessed the pain he mentioned, noting the exact type of strain, the way it wrapped around the muscle. The kind of ache that could only come from repeated stress on an unfamiliar movement. Movement she had watched her own body perform, guided by someone else's will.

  "Who..." she began, though she already knew the answer. The memory of his name had been whispered through her mind all night as she watched her body move with a dancer's deadly grace.

  "Kersher," the voice supplied. "Professional problem-solver, currently trapped in this sorry body. Speaking of which, your hospitality has been less than stellar thus far, if I'm being honest."

  Sera stared at her bloody hands, her mind unable to reject what she had witnessed. "You killed someone. With my hands. I watched you do it."

  "I did a job. As efficiently and professionally as possible, all things considered. And to be fair, they're our hands now. A fact I'm not any happier about than you are."

  The sunrise painted the lake's surface red, and Sera had never hated a dawn more in her life. She forced herself to stand, grateful to have control of her own limbs. Every movement felt strange now, tainted by the memory of how differently her body had moved under this man Kersher's control. She'd watched her hands perform a dozen impossible things last night - scaling walls, picking locks, wielding a knife with lethal precision. Those memories sat in her mind like splinters, foreign and painful.

  "Prove it," she said suddenly. "Prove you're real and not just... not just my mind breaking."

  "Interesting theory," Kersher replied. "But I doubt your mental breakdown would include detailed knowledge of Castle Carris's guard rotation schedules. Or the exact pressure point we used on that sentry."

  "We didn't use anything. You did. I just..." Sera swallowed hard. "I just watched."

  "True. Though your medical knowledge made that particular move much more efficient. Speaking of which, he'll wake up with a headache, but no permanent damage. I assumed you'd prefer that to the alternatives."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The casual way he discussed violence made her stomach turn. Worse was the realization that he was right - she had recognized the precise spot his strike had targeted, had understood exactly how much pressure to apply. Her healer's knowledge had made her the perfect witness to every careful moment of violence. Sera’s stomach churned, and she had to swallow whatever was trying to come up her throat.

  "Why?” she said, trying to focus on facts rather than memories. "Why are you... here? How?"

  "Some sort of binding magic.?

  ?Binding magic? You mean Ink magic??

  ?Ink? What are you talking about? No, soulbinding. Not the regular Arts. I'm not completely understanding it myself, honestly. Soulbinding was a myth even during my time. Besides, I was a bit distracted by the whole being dead then suddenly not dead situation. May I?"

  The question came just as Sera's legs started to buckle. She felt his intent to take control and instinctively fought it. The world spun as they briefly struggled for command of their shared body. To Sera’s relief she didn’t have to struggle too much to maintain control. It’s still my body.

  "You're about to faint," Kersher said with forced patience. "Let me get us somewhere safe first, then you can continue your existential crisis in comfort."

  "No more killing," Sera managed through gritted teeth.

  "Agreed. For now. But I will defend us if necessary. I really don’t want to know what’ll happen if I die in someone else’s body."

  She let go. It felt like stepping back from herself, becoming a passenger rather than the rider. Her body straightened immediately, finding that perfect balance she'd watched him maintain all night.

  She observed with unwilling fascination as Kersher guided them deeper into the woods with silent efficiency. Every movement was precise, calculated, nothing wasted. Somehow, even the twigs breaking under her feet made less noise than they should. Her body moved like a weapon, and she hated how natural it felt.

  When they reached a small clearing, Kersher gave control back without warning. Sera staggered, caught herself against a tree, and fought another wave of vertigo.

  "You should eat something," he said. "The bread we took from the castle kitchens is still in your pocket. Yes, we stole it. Add it to the list of crimes you're processing. I could feel your hunger."

  "Why me?" Sera asked, sliding down to sit with her back against the tree. "Of all the people you could have..."

  "An excellent question. One of many we'll both need answers to. But first, food. Then water. Then we can discuss our extremely limited options."

  Sera pulled out the stolen bread, trying not to think about how she'd watched her own hands take it. She didn't want to admit it, but the growling of her stomach revealed her hunger. "Our options?"

  "Well, we can try to find the bastards who put us into this situation and convince them to undo this, though I suspect that won't be simple. Or we can attempt to live with our predicament, which seems suboptimal for both of us. Or..."

  "Or?"

  "Or we can find them, exact swift vengeance for this shit, and force them to undo it all."

  "Start explaining," Sera said, exhaustion and fear finally giving way to anger. "Everything. And I mean everything."

  "As I said, I was dead. Three hundred years ago, give or take, I was told. Time passed, as it tends to do, until your friendly local cultists decided to bring me back. Using your body as my new... accommodation."

  "That's not explaining." Sera's fingers dug into the tree bark behind her. "I watched you kill a man last night. I felt my hands do it. I knew exactly which arteries you were severing. I deserve more than glib answers."

  "Fine. You want details? I was an assassin. A damn good one. Apparently good enough that someone thought it worth the trouble to bring me back. A sinner to kill a sinner, they said. They wanted me to kill this lord of yours, and in return I would choose to go back to being dead or get a second chance on life. Simple enough. I agreed. Foolish of me, really - you'd think dying once would have taught me to show more caution."

  "And now?"

  "Now we're stuck with each other until we figure out how to undo whatever they did. I was supposed to meet them here after the job was done, and here we fucking are, aren’t we? I don't suppose you have any experience with complex binding magic?"

  "I make poultices and deliver babies," Sera said flatly. "The most complex magic I know is a tea that helps with morning sickness."

  "Wonderful. Then I hope you didn't have any pressing social engagements, because this could take a while to sort out."

  A twig snapped in the distance. Both of them tensed, Sera's body responding to Kersher's instincts before she could think about it.

  "Someone's coming," Kersher said quietly. "More than one. Moving with purpose."

  "Castle guards?"

  "Most likely. The better question is: how do you want to handle this? I have several very efficient solutions, but I suspect you won't approve of any of them."

  Sera closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the stolen bread in her pocket, the dried blood still flaking from her hands. Everything she was, everything she had trained to be, screamed against violence. But she could feel Kersher’s instincts thrumming through their shared muscles, and worse - she could feel her own fear wanting to embrace those instincts.

  "No killing," she said finally. "But... but I won't just watch anymore either. If we're stuck together, we do this my way."

  She felt Kersher's surprise at her steel. "And what way is that, exactly?"

  "We find them. We learn exactly what they did. And then we fix it." She took a deep breath. "But we do it without killing anyone. You're in my body. Time to learn some new methods."

  "And if they try to kill us?"

  "Then..." Sera swallowed hard. "Then we'll discuss what counts as necessary survival. But only then. Do we have a deal?"

  She felt Kersher's consideration, like being studied by a predator trying to decide if you're prey or not. Sera realized she felt him thinking, but that she couldn’t say what went on in his mind, even if Kersher was in her mind.

  Finally, he said, "You know, most people who watch me work end up broken by it. But you... you're getting angry instead of afraid. Interesting."

  "Do we have a deal?" Sera repeated firmly.

  "Fine. We try it your way. For now. But remember - you're not just sharing your body with me. You're sharing it with three centuries of survival instincts. And those are harder to control than I am. I overheard them talking about Haven’s Rest. That is our clue.?

  The voices were closer now. Sera could make out words - orders being given, directions to spread out and search the woods. She looked down at her raw, clean hands. Healer's hands. Killer's hands. Their hands.

  "Then we'd better start learning to work together," she said. "Because I refuse to watch these hands take another life without having any say in it."

  "Fair enough." There was a hint of growing respect in Kersher's voice. "Though you might want to let me guide our exit. Unless you've suddenly developed expertise in evading trained search parties?"

  "My way," Sera insisted. "But... I suppose I could use some instruction in moving quietly."

  "Now that," Kersher said as they began to move carefully away from the approaching voices, "might be the first sensible thing you've said all morning."

  They slipped deeper into the forest's shadows, neither fully in control, neither fully trusting the other. Behind them, the sun rose over Castle Carris, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold.

  Ahead lay Haven's Rest, and answers. Or so they hoped.

  "You're still walking too loudly," Kersher muttered.

  "Shut up," Sera whispered back. "I'm learning."

  "Yes," Kersher said quietly. "That's rather what I'm afraid of."