"I'm telling you that Calla matters to people here. Maddie especially." Thornak pauses at a fork in the trail, finally turning to face me directly. "Maddie doesn't want to see her friend get hurt."
The conversation takes on new weight, and I realize this forest excursion was never about showing me the unauthorized logging.
"I'm not here to hurt anyone."
"Maybe not intentionally." His dark eyes study my face with the same careful attention he pays to his trees. "You had dinner with her last night."
The words hit like cold water. I keep my expression neutral, but inside I'm calculating how they know, who saw us, what conclusions are being drawn. Small towns operate on different rules—privacy becomes a luxury, and every interaction carries weight.
"Dinner is just dinner."
"Is it?" Thornak resumes walking, his tone carrying just enough skepticism to make me uncomfortable. "Calla doesn't usually invite people to her home. Especially not outsiders she's known for less than a week."
I want to argue, to explain that it was professional necessity, that we're investigating something important together. But the words stick in my throat because part of me knows it wasn't just about the investigation.
"She's trying to protect this place." I find myself speaking more honestly than I intended. "I respect that."
"Good." Thornak stops again, this time at what appears to be another arbitrary point in the forest. "Because if you're planning to leave once your job is finished, you should consider what that means for people who can't leave."
The warning crystallizes into something sharper, more personal. He's not just talking about professional consequences or town gossip. He's talking about Calla specifically, about what happens when someone gets close and then disappears.
"I have no intention of hurting anyone in this town."
"Intentions don't always match results." He turns back toward the main trail. "We should head back. Maddie will want to know how our walk went."
The dismissal comes with surgical precision, leaving me with a dozen questions and no clear way to ask them. As we retrace our steps through the dappled sunlight, I find myself thinking less about the unauthorized logging and more about the careful way Thornak said Calla's name—like someone protecting something precious.
CHAPTER 14
BRAKKOR
When we return to the bakery, Maddie and Thornak are standing close together near the flour bins, her hand resting on his arm as he murmurs something that makes her laugh. The easy intimacy between them strikes me as something rare—the kind of connection that develops over years rather than moments.
"How was the forest tour?" Calla asks, though her eyes study my face like she's reading for subtext.
"Educational." I glance at Thornak, who nods once in acknowledgment of whatever understanding we've reached.
"Good." Calla straightens her shoulders with that familiar gesture of decision-making. "Then you should see the rest of it. The town as it actually is, not just the cracks you keep chasing."
The offer catches me off guard, especially after Thornak's warnings about intentions and consequences. But there's something different in her voice—less defensive, more genuine.
"You want to show me around?"
"The festival preparations are in full swing. People are excited about it, and you should understand why."
Maddie's face lights up with the kind of smile that could power the bakery's ovens. "Perfect timing. Everyone's out setting up their stalls."
"We should let them go explore." Thornak's hand finds the small of Maddie's back, a gesture so natural it speaks to years of practice. "I have some inventory to finish anyway."
Maddie rises on her toes to kiss him, quick and sweet, before turning to us. "Have fun. And Brakkor—try to see what we see."
As we step outside, the late afternoon sun bathes the cobblestones in honey-colored light. The main square buzzes with activity—vendors arranging their stalls, children darting between the preparations, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon and wood polish.
"This way." Calla leads me toward the heart of the square, where a cluster of people work on stringing lanterns between the market stalls.
The town unfolds around me differently than before. Where I previously noticed the too-perfect surfaces and careful maintenance, now I see the organic way buildings blend into their surroundings—ivy climbing timber frames, wildflowers sprouting between cobblestones, the gentle wear patterns that speak to generations of use rather than recent construction.
"Calla!" A woman with silver-streaked hair waves from behind a stall filled with small glass bottles. "Come meet my new seasonal blends."
