River and Clive ducked out after an hour. River blamed work, though his fingers tapped distractedly through most of the agenda. Clive said little, eyes hollow. Since his twin’s passing, his bakery’s shutters had stayed closed, and whispers of him selling the family trade hung like stale smoke in the room. Logan and Gravis didn’t show up at all. Apparently, they had better things to do than prevent societal collapse.
With each absent voice, Collin’s own enthusiasm drained like wine from a cracked cask. Plans for next year’s Beast Challenge suddenly felt absurd. Even the subtle strategies for resisting the regime’s latest tithing schemes sounded laughably optimistic. And his dream of escape to Nereid—so recently brimming with promise—now resembled damp coastal mornings and cold soup eaten beside moodier company.
Nic didn’t help. He kept suggesting they “table that until spring,” like a man negotiating with time itself. By the final point on the agenda—which was only slightly less pathetic than the overcooked pork roast on the table—Collin was ready to call it a defeated night. When Aries finally motioned to adjourn, theroom sprang to life for the first time all evening. Everyone stood with such speed it was almost insulting.
At the threshold, Collin said his polite goodbyes as coats were shrugged on with the urgency of escape. “Thanks for coming,” he offered to Liam and Charlie as they slipped outside like grateful convicts.
“Have a good evening,” James added, hurrying after Lekyi.
“Goodnight, gents. I’ll miss this stirring discourse,” Nic quipped, reentering the dining room with theatrical gravitas. He examined the remains of the dinner like a seasoned scavenger. “Do you think Uriah might be permitted to partake in the legend of Hadria’s barley stew? Or shall I simply describe it to him in rhyme?”
“Take it all,” Hadria called from the kitchen. “Collin will put it in a pot for you.”
“I do so love being volunteered,” Collin murmured, already stacking bowls with a groan.
As they wrapped up leftovers and gathered up silverware, Collin launched into his pitch. Leif needed help, Nereid had openings, there’d be lodging, warm meals, intellectual companionship, coastal views—it was like peddling paradise with a job description. He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t mean to be.
Because the truth was—he didn’t want to go alone. But more than that, he didn’t want Nic left behind again.
Something had changed in his friend. Nic still wore the same rakish smile, delivered the same sarcastic wit, but beneath it all was a disquiet that hadn’t been there before his return from the Singing Cove. He moved like someone navigating invisible traps. His cheer seemed reflexive, not innate.
Collin couldn’t say if it was Helen, or solitude, or a deeper woe—only that the lightness in Nic had gone taut and disturbingly dim.
When the dishes were done and the stew secured, they stood together by the garden gate, the air already edged with the cold promise of snow.
“Just think about it,” Collin said, pressing the pot into Nic’s hands. “The pay’s solid. Room and board. Free afternoons to frolic amongst the sea cliffs. What more could a man ask for?”
Nic’s gaze was clear and calm. “I appreciate it. I do. But I’m heading back to the Cove in a fortnight. Thought I’d give the silence a chance to talk some sense into me.”
Collin didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. “Alright. But if you change your mind...” He spread his arms in a helpless shrug. “You know where to find me. Likely alphabetizing fishing logs or teaching gulls how to conjugate verbs.”
Nic smirked faintly, then leaned in conspiratorially. “If the gulls start critiquing your methods, I’ll intervene.”
Collin chuckled, but the laugh didn’t quite reach his chest.
And then they parted. Quietly, without drama. Just two old friends retreating into opposite directions—each a little lonelier than they’d admit.
As soon as classes ended, Collin wasted no time making arrangements to depart. He briefly considered taking the mail coach, but the hike to the coast wasn't difficult—just long enough to clear his mind and make his feet sore. He packed sparingly: worn work clothes, his journal, and a few of his father’s poetry books. At dawn on the first of November, he set out with the frost still clinging to the grass and breath drifting before him.
With daylight in short supply and the sun sinking fast behind the trees, he didn’t reach Nereid until after dark. He had a bit of trouble locating the correct fishermen’s lodge—he knocked on two wrong doors before finding the small cottage tucked nearthe edge of the village, its shutters glowing warmly beneath a crooked porch.
The housekeeper greeted him with an easy, maternal warmth and promptly ushered him inside. To his surprise and relief, she said Logan was staying at the same lodge. She offered a quick tour—kitchen, bath, shared sitting room—then insisted Collin sit for a hot meal before even thinking of sleep.
His room, though modest, was his alone. A narrow bed, a desk by the window, and a wardrobe already scented with lavender sachets. After unpacking and washing off the road dust, Collin changed into fresh clothes and, still restless, slipped outside for a brief exploration.
Nereid in winter was a different creature entirely. In summer, the coastal village pulsed with life—laughter spilling from taverns, shops brimming with trade, Blue Isle ships sailing in with exotic wares and stories. But now, the bustle had ebbed. Many locals had retreated to the summit for the season, swapping the chill of the sea for the shelter of the mountain. Eateries opened for short windows. Shopkeepers posted irregular hours. The village exhaled slowly.
Collin wandered the village circle, where every storefront was shuttered for the evening. A man with a broom swept the stoop of a small eatery and offered Collin a wave, which he returned with a nod. The silence felt spacious rather than empty—no clatter of carriage wheels, no shouting across courtyards. Just the soft whisper of wind through the alleys and, somewhere out beyond the dunes, the ocean murmuring like a siren in the dark.
When he returned to the lodge, Logan and the other boarders were finishing their meal. They welcomed him with a chorus of introductions and the comfortable clatter of dishes. There were two cousins, Hayden and Jonah, both seasoned fishermen withweather-chiseled faces and stories that spilled over each other. The third man, Mark, was only a few years older than Collin and just as green to Leif’s crew.
Their camaraderie was easy, unforced. As Collin took his seat and accepted a mug, his outlook for the winter ahead felt slightly less damp.
Collin had one more day before work began. His meeting with Leif wasn’t until noon tomorrow, and though the sky hung heavy with clouds, the weather seemed agreeable enough. After a brisk breakfast at the lodge, he set off to wander the village once more.
In daylight, Nereid was only marginally livelier than it had been the night before. A single teahouse had opened for breakfast, and the aroma of baked pastry and herbs was enough to draw him in. He bought a savory egg tart from the bashful girl behind the counter.
“Do you know where I might find Titus’s workshop?” he asked, placing a few coins on the counter.
