River was never late. His dogs were usually a blur of scrappy joy, but the road ahead was still.
Half a mile out, he saw them—River dragging his feet, shoulders folded in, dogs trailing with heads low.
“Sorry,” River said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“There’s no need,” Collin replied too quickly, the wrongness of the moment already knotting in his chest.
“What’s the matter?” Aries asked softly.
“Nothing.” River tugged down his sleeve, too late to hide the dark bruise.
Aries reached for his arm. River jerked back, silent, shutting them out. Collin met Aries’s eyes, the worry unspoken, and they fell into step beside him.
One of the dogs stopped and sat down. River turned, scooped her up, and kept walking without a word.
The path wound ahead in suffocating quiet. Collin counted his steps—leaves, twigs, anything to keep from thinking—but the silence pressed in like smoke. Aries’s face was just as drawn, just as uncertain.
“River,” Collin said finally, his voice tight. “Tell us what happened.”
For a long moment there was only breathing. Then—
“My father struck me,” River blurted. “I couldn’t take it anymore. So I left.”
Collin’s chest tightened. He had known—of course he had. Not in words, but in bruises explained away, in River’s flinch when voices rose. Pretending ignorance had been easier. And now it felt like betrayal carved deep.
They walked until River stopped, setting the dog down and leaning against a tree. His face fell into his hands.
“He’s been hitting me my whole life,” he said.
Collin sank down beside River, fretful fingers pulling at the bark. The roughness bit into his skin, grounding him while everything inside felt splintered. He wanted to speak, to reach across the space between them, but the words stuck like stones in his throat.
“If a merchant cheated him, I paid. Late? He’d beat me.” River’s fingers traced the welt on his arm. “He took everything out on me.”
Aries muttered, “We should’ve done something.”
Collin shredded a leaf, his gut burning. “We guessed.”
River stared into the trees. “People knew. Even Doctor Fol offered me a bed.”
“You didn’t deserve this,” Collin said gruffly.
River shrugged. “When I was little, he’d chase me with a stick. Beat me where I hid. If I cried, it got worse. Saying it aloud—finally—feels like breathing.”
“I always felt so small,” River whispered. “Sometimes there wasn’t even a reason. I’d be doing schoolwork and he’d start screaming. I never knew why. Why does he hate me? What did I do?”
Collin swallowed hard. “You didn’t do anything. It wasn’t about you. He hurt you because you were the one thing in his life he could control.”
River closed his eyes. “Control,” he repeated, as though the word were a bad taste.
Aries leaned forward. “What happened today?”
“One of the dogs spilled the goat’s milk,” River said. “He dragged me inside by my hair. And as he raised his hand, I saw it—I saw that he can still hurt me, but he can’t take anything real. Not anymore.”
Collin’s throat remained tight, and the weight of helplessness pressed in.
River stood abruptly, calling the dogs. “Come on. The others are waiting.”
“You don’t have to—” Collin began.
