"You're hiding." No heat. "We've been hiding for decades. Longer. And today they burned a woman's home to the ground because she dared to help us."
"What's your point?" Pinching the bridge of my nose.
"My point is that hiding is failing. The secret's already broken, Keer. The only question left is whether they see monsters or people when they come to finish it."
She doesn't push, just stands. Slow.
"Think about it." She moves toward the door. "Or don't. But it's coming whether you do or not."
She leaves.
Silence.
Four steps. Wall. Turn. Faster now.
We're not there. Not yet. There are options. There are—
Her dwelling across the clearing. Dark.
She's human. She's grieving. She needs space, not—
Fuck it.
Across the clearing. My bare feet on packed earth. Cold air on my arms. Blood loud in my head.
At her door. Closed.
I knock. Quiet—just knuckles on wood.
Wait.
Should leave. Should—
"Come in."
Her voice. Soft.
I open the door.
She's sitting on her pallet. That broken bowl piece in her hands. Blue glaze catching what little moonlight comes through the gaps in the walls. Looking up at me.
She wasn't sleeping. Pallet unmade, but she's sitting on top of it, knees drawn up. Same clothes from today. Smudged.
"I thought you might come."
"Did you."
"You're kind of predictable."
"I am not."
"You are." Sets the bowl piece on the floor beside the pallet. Both hands. Careful. Pats the space beside her. "Predictably stubborn. Predictably grumpy. Predictably showing up at my door in the middle of the night."
"It's not the middle of the night."
"It's late."
"It's early."
