I nodded. But the ache didn’t ease.
It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.
A flower, a stone, a prayer.
What were they, really, compared to everything we’d lost?
We walked back toward the market. I kept my eyes on the ground.
Around us, people laughed. Bought bread. Held hands. Lived.
Like the world hadn’t cracked open.
I tried not to look at the soldiers. I had to learn to live with them, because they were everywhere, and there was no other choice. And I couldn’t fall apart every time I saw one. Even though I knew what they were.
“Chocolate,” Will said, nodding toward a nearby market stall, trying too hard to sound casual. “Should we get some?”
I didn’t answer.
“What about candy?” he tried again, wandering over to a table stacked with sweets. “Or dried meat?”
He held up a long fish with mock enthusiasm, then flinched, recoiling in horror as he noticed it still had a pair of beady eyes staring back at him.
“Oh gods,” he gagged, shoving it back onto the pile.
A sound slipped out of me. I didn’t mean for it to. It was barely anything, half a breath, half a laugh, but it cracked the silence in my chest.
The world came back in slow pieces. Bread. Sunlight. The rustle of fabric and feet. Someone haggling over onions. The sharp sweetness of fruit in the air. And Will, standing there, horrified, hands raised like the fish might come after him.
So stupidlyWill.
And somehow, that was enough to make everything stop spiraling.
My knees weren’t shaking anymore. I wasn’t gasping for air.
“Well, my dear,” he continued in a ridiculous, deep voice, lifting a dusty bottle of wine like it was made of gold. “Might I tempt you with thefinestbottle in all the land?”
He posed dramatically, chin up, one eyebrow raised.
I rolled my eyes as warmth flooded my cheeks. “You’re embarrassing me.”
But I was smiling.
“I’m good, Will.”
The second I said it, the playfulness faded. He stepped beside me again, quieter now.
“I’m just trying to—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. I knew. He didn’t need to say it.
He looked at me, eyes full of something unsaid. Maybe he wanted to say more. Maybe he wanted to fix it all. But instead, he just nodded, his voice soft.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I know,” I said again.
A table tucked near the edge of the path, cluttered with wooden carvings. Little animals, hearts, delicate horses mid-gallop. But it was the boats that stopped me cold. Tiny ships, carved by hand, each one smooth and polished.
