"Pixie children don't make crowns for just anyone," he continues. "Means you've been accepted."
"Into what?"
"The family." He takes a long drink, studying the festival crowd with satisfaction. "This is what we protected. All of it."
I follow his gaze across the square, taking in the full scope of what nearly vanished. Elf musicians tune their instruments near the fountain while dwarven vendors arrange the last of their metalwork displays. Gnome families spread blankets on the grass, children running between stalls with sticky fingers and bright smiles. The whole scene pulses with life, connection, tradition.
"I didn't understand it before," I admit. "When Calla kept talking about protecting the town, I thought she meant the buildings, the businesses."
"And now?"
"Now I see she meant this. The way people belong to each other."
Thornak nods approvingly. "Took you long enough."
"Better late than never."
"Is it?" His tone sharpens slightly. "Because understanding something and staying for it are different choices."
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications I'm not quite ready to unpack. Around us, the festival continues its joyful chaos, but Thornak's words create a pocket of serious quiet.
"You asking if I'm planning to leave?"
"I'm asking if you're planning to stay."
Before Thornak can press the question further, a shadow passes overhead. A raven descends with deliberate precision, landing on the festival table beside me with the kind of authority that suggests this isn't a casual delivery.
"Well, that's ominous timing," Thornak mutters.
The bird extends one leg, revealing a sealed letter bearing the crimson wax of the Portfield Press—my old employer. My stomach tightens as I recognize the seal, but I take the letter anyway. The raven fixes me with one black eye, as if waiting for a response.
I break the seal and scan the contents quickly. The words blur together—reinstatement, full position restored, investigative team lead, immediate return requested. Everything I thought I wanted three months ago, offered back like nothing happened.
"Bad news?" Thornak asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
"Depends on your perspective." I fold the letter carefully and tuck it into my jacket pocket. The raven cocks its head, clearly expecting some sort of response or instruction to carry back.
"Tell them I'm unavailable," I say to the bird. "Permanently."
The raven regards me for another moment, then launches itself back into the darkening sky without ceremony.
Thornak raises his mug in a mock toast. "That was fast."
"Some decisions don't require deliberation."
"And you're certain?"
I look around the festival again—at the warm light, the easy laughter, the sense of belonging I never expected to find. At Maddie's stall where people gather not just for bread but for connection. At Liora's display where neighbors stop to check on each other's health along with purchasing remedies.
"More certain than I've been about anything in years."
"Good. Now go find Calla before someone else monopolizes her evening."
I spot her near the fountain, surrounded by a small crowd of festival-goers congratulating her on the newspaper's coverage. She's changed from her usual structured attire into something softer—a deep blue dress that catches the lantern light, her hairloose around her shoulders. She looks relaxed in a way I rarely see during working hours, genuinely enjoying the celebration.
I approach the group, catching the tail end of a conversation about the Guild's swift intervention.
"The timing was fortunate," Calla says diplomatically. "Though credit belongs to the entire team."
