Will moved ahead, eyes sweeping over the hollow street. “It looks like—”
“Novil,” I cut in.
“The Eredians haven’t come this far south, have they? We would've heard something.”
“We would’ve?” Aran countered. He crouched down, ran his fingers through the ash, then flung it aside like it would settle the argument. “This was them. Something wrong with your eyes, Will?”
I turned to Will. “You were there. You saw the… the aftermath. Does this look the same?”
“I suppose.” His gaze dropped to the ash underfoot. “Except…”
“Except what?” Aran interrupted.
“There’s no bodies,” Will said, shoulders lifting in a half-shrug, like he wasn’t even sure he wanted to say it out loud.
He was right.
There were no people, dead or alive. No rotting corpses in the street, no blood dried on the cobblestones. No signs of a fight.
As if the entire town had slipped through the cracks of the world. As if they’d been warned. Or hunted. And they ran.
The ones who lived that close to the wall had probably packed what they could carry and left the moment King Devore took thethrone. Maybe they’d known what was coming, and the village was burned just to make sure they never returned.
“They weren’t killed.” I kept my eyes on the ground. “They were forced out.”
“Or they were taken.” Aran said. “Killed somewhere else.”
Then the rain started. Cold, harsh, and without warning. The three of us broke into a run, boots slipping in the mud, the storm howling at our backs like it meant to swallow the whole world. Up ahead, a house stood alone at the edge of the field. Not a beauty, but still standing.
Will reached the door first. It creaked open without resistance, and we stumbled inside, soaked and gasping for breath. Rain pounded the windows, the wind roared through the trees, rattling the cracked panes. A ghostly haze lingered in the air, untouched for weeks, maybe months. Coats still hung on the hooks by the door, and a half-finished knit was draped over a chair in the living room, the needles still threaded through the wool, like someone had only stepped away for a moment.
Like they’d meant to come back.
I stood frozen in the doorway, dripping, shivering, my clothes clinging tight to my skin.
The house wasn’t just a house, it had been a home. And no one left a home like that unless they had to.
The master bedroom waited at the end of the hallway. It was too big, and too clean, the bed perfectly made. Waiting.
But not for me.
I didn’t sleep in the bed that night. I couldn’t even bring myself to touch it. It felt like stepping into a life that wasn’t mine, like someone might return at any moment and find me curled up where I didn’t belong. So I sank down onto the bench at the foot of the bed instead. My legs hung limp over the edge, the fabric of my clothes still clinging cold and wet to my skin. My hair dripped onto the bench, leaving darkspots on the fabric. Will and Aran had already fallen asleep in separate rooms, worn out after combing the house for supplies, for food.
I didn’t sleep.
My thoughts wouldn’t stop. What had happened in that town? Why did it feel like Vestance was vanishing, village by village? How many were gone already? Were we safe there? Had someone seen us? Were they already on their way? Would the shadows come back? I barely noticed how long I’d been drifting in circles, until a sound broke through.
I jolted upright, eyes scanning the room.
Had I imagined it?
Then it came again, a cry, louder that time. High-pitched and desperate. Barefoot against the cold floorboards, I crept downstairs. Paused by the door for just a second, before opening it, bracing for the rain that slammed into me, soaking the floor behind me in seconds.
And there, just beyond the step, stood a cat. Black as soot, her fur matted to her thin frame, drenched and trembling. Two yellow eyes blinked up at me through the dark, glowing like embers in the storm. She didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out again. Just stared. Like she’d been waiting for me. Like I had taken too long. And behind her, barely visible, were two tiny shapes. One white, so bright against the mud and rain it almost looked like snow, and the other was speckled gray, like cinder in a hearth. Their fur stuck to their sides in wet clumps, little ears flat against their skulls, legs shaking as they tried to stay upright behind their mother. My chest cracked open at the sight of them.
“Oh, gods,” I whispered. “You poor things. Come inside. Come on.” I dropped into a crouch, holding the door wider with my free hand. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
The mother cat hesitated, just for a second, before bolting inside. The kittens scrambled after her, their paws slipping on the wet boards. The cats were drawn to the hearth and the fire we’d gotten going earlier to warm ourselves, and heat some soup we’d found. A shiveringpile of fur and tiny bones, the mother curled around them fast, wrapping her body and tail around her kittens like she could still shield them from the cold.
