It was Will.
A real smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before I could stop it. There was just something about seeing them—and Will had that look on his face, like he couldn’t wait to pull me into whatever plan he’d cooked up.
He looked… hopeful.
Aran came in behind him, dragging his feet. His face and neck were a mess of bruises, his lip split open, and every step looked like it hurt. Aran looked like shit, but the fresh hickeys on his neck made it hard to pity him.
“Can you step out for a bit?” Will asked, already halfway to the counter. “Everyone’s meeting. At the Blood House.”
“Everyone?” I asked.
Aran leaned against the counter, voice low and theatrical. “Everyone,” he echoed.
I wiped my hands on my apron, brushing off the flour that clung to my palms. Aran leaned over the counter, eyeing what was left from the morning batch.
“Good, I’m starving,” he said, reaching for one of the loaves.
Before he could touch it, Mrs. Holt smacked his hand with a wooden spoon. He yelped and pulled back, clutching his fingers like a scolded child.
I didn’t even try to hide my smile.
“Is it okay if I leave for lunch?” I asked her.
She gave a curt nod.
I untied my apron, folded it neatly, and set it on the counter. I didn’t want to go, but it felt urgent. Whatever was happening at the Blood House, I couldn’t miss it.
Will was already at the door, holding it open for me. We didn’t take the main road. Instead, we turned down a side path, steering clear of the soldiers. We walked through the nicer part of the village, where beautiful houses lined the road, each one with a perfectly kept garden. The walls were pale stone, the roofs a uniform red.
In the middle of it all, one house stood out like a thorn among roses. Its garden was wild and overgrown, the grass looking more like reeds, everything broken or fading. The gate creaked as we pushed it open. Will walked ahead, stepping onto the porch, which groaned beneath his weight. I didn’t follow. My eyes had found the mailbox. It was still there. Someone had kicked it in, and the paint had peeled in brittle layers, exposing the metal beneath. But the name was still faintly visible.
Warlin.
I felt the world narrow around me.
“You coming, Kera?” Will asked.
I didn’t answer.
Aran looked over his shoulder. “Not this again,” he muttered. “It’s just a house.”
“It’sherhouse,” I retorted.
Aran scoffed. “She’s been gone for ten years. You’ve got to get over it.”
His words were harsh, as always. I knew I should’ve accepted it by then. But I couldn’t move, because in that moment, I was there again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Some days, you just know something’s wrong before anyone says a word. The day that Licia didn’t show up to school was one of those days. I told myself she was sick. That it was nothing. But when Selma walked in, eyes wide, voice already gleaming with gossip, my heart sank.
“Licia’s gone,” she said, just loud enough for everyone in class to hear. “She and her mom vanished in the night.”
My thoughts scattered. I had just seen her. A few hours earlier, she’d been at my house, lying on the floor, sketching in her notebook while I stumbled through my reading homework, asking her for help every five minutes. It couldn’t be true.
Liciacouldn’tbe gone.
The teacher called roll and I didn’t even hear my name, I just stared at the empty desk beside mine, waiting for her to walk in.Maybe she was just late. Maybe she’d come running in, hair a mess, smiling like nothing had happened.
