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Gavriel raised a hand once more to Njall and Kalaetzu, then he and Elara began the slow descent toward Netherfen Hallows.

After only a few steps, Elara broke into tears and ran back to Kalaetzu, throwing her arms around him again. He gathered her close, his hand moving in slow, patient circles across her back.

When she finally pulled away, her brown eyes shifted to Njall. They looked at one another for a long moment, both pain and gratitude passing between them. For an instant it seemed she might cross the space and embrace him as well.

Njall’s hands lifted slightly, as though to meet her.

Elara let out an exasperated sound and turned away, hurrying back to Gavriel.

The path wound through sparse winter brush and pale grass, a faint trail pressed into the hillside by travelers long gone. It was not a long walk, and the world remained still, broken only by the crunch beneath their boots and the rush of wind through the ravine.

At the outer reaches of Netherfen Hallows, Gavriel slowed beside a broad emberwood tree, already stripped bare for winter. “Just a moment,” he murmured, circling the trunk. He knelt at its base and began digging into the damp, cold soil with his hands.

Elara watched him, one brow lifting. “Should I be concerned?”

“I buried a bit of coin here,” Gavriel said, voice muffled as he worked the earth aside. “Something I kept for a day like this. Or for the day I finally left Netherfen Hallows.”

“You buried it here?” she asked, plainly bemused.

“There was nowhere else,” he said, scraping deeper. “I would not leave a copper button beneath my great-uncle’s roof, let alone anything of value.”

His fingers struck something solid. He pried loose a small iron box, its surface mottled with rust. Inside lay the remnants of another life: his mother’s ring, his father’s pocket watch wrapped carefully in cloth, and beneath them a modest stack of coins. Humble, but meaningful.

“I know of an inn at the edge of town,” Gavriel said, brushing dirt from the lid. “We should stop there. Have a meal. A real bed for once. We can resume the trail again tomorrow.”

Elara looked toward the distant column, then toward Netherfen Hallows. Fatigue weighed on her posture. “We will need to claim to be married.”

Gavriel straightened and wiped his hands on his trousers. “So long as I need not claim to be a baron ever again,” he said dryly, “I am content.”

A quiet but genuine laugh escaped her. It was the first sound from her in weeks that was not grief or silence, and he felt something in him ease.

The inn’s walls bowed with age, and nearly every shift of wind suggested the structure might crumble. Yet the scents of roasting meat and spiced cider, the sigh of the hearth as logs settled deeper into ember, were welcome comforts all the same.

They chose a small table near the far wall of the common room, close enough to the fire that its warmth began to work into their stiff limbs. The innkeeper brought stew, a loaf of fresh bread, and two cups of watered wine. Gavriel stared at the spread with disbelief. Elara stared at her bowl as though she did not know how to process such abundance.

“This,” she said solemnly, lifting her spoon, “is food.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought I might lose my mind if I had to eat that fish jelly one more time.”

Gavriel allowed a small, rueful laugh and tried to relax. To focus on the once-familiar cadence of human life around him.

But he could not shake the tension. He thought of the townsfolk, oblivious to the war gathering beyond their fields. He wondered what a derDobroiov reign would bring upon them. He found himself looking over his shoulder for violet eyes, ringed with green.

Elara slowed, her spoon hovering above the bowl. “We are never going to see them again, are we?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Gavriel drew in a slow breath. “I do not think we are.”

A tear slipped into her stew. She turned slightly away, the sheen on her cheek catching the firelight. “It feels wrong,” she said. “How are we meant to return to ordinary life?”

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. His own ache sat close beside hers.

Elara set down her spoon.

Gavriel pushed the rest of his own meal aside, suddenly unable to finish. He looked out the window and noted the setting sun. A light rain had begun outside. “Perhaps sleep will help,” he murmured hopefully.

Between them, propriety had long since thinned into something distant and faintly absurd, worn down by weeks of travel without privacy. They undressed and bathed without a second thought, the quiet of the small room broken only by the stir of water and their weary breathing.

Gavriel lowered himself onto the bed and, out of habit, slid a dagger within reach. He closed his eyes, allowing his weight to sink into the mattress, easing the throbbing in his muscles from prolonged strain. Sleep tugged at him almost at once.

But the trembling woman beside him kept sleep at bay. Elara’s sobs began as uneven breaths, then gathered force until the bed itself quivered beneath them.