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I stayed on my knees, watching them, emotions stirring like a gathering storm inside me. It felt too intimate, like a conversation stolen from the pages of their past, one not meant to be witnessed. I stayed quiet, as still and invisible as the sea’s breath at dawn.

“I didn’t mean to do it, Martha. I swear. I didn’t,” he rasped. “I was so tired. The night before had been hell, and that morning I rushed off to work. I thought I’d already dropped him off at the day center. I swore I had.” His voice cracked like breaking glass, raw, torn, and trembling with guilt. There was a weight to his pain, a truth that trembled at the edges of his words.

“Then why would you leave me again? Why didn’t you come back from the clearing—not knowing if Alexander was safe? If I was safe?” Her voice cracked, rising from grief into something sharper, more bitter. “Did you hope the guards would find us?” Her grip on him shifted, no longer soothing, it constricted, deliberate and suffocating, like a boa tightening around its prey.

His body twitched under her, but he exhaled, “I didn’t mean to. I was scared you’d all think I was a coward… that I burned the forest on purpose. I didn’t mean to break my promise,” he pleaded.

For a moment, I felt something soften in me. Maybe I had judged him too harshly. Or maybe, he was using the grief of losing a child as a shield, a manipulation to drown us all in sympathy. I shook my head, trying to shake off the thick fog of emotion curling around me.

“Then why did that man call me scum when I entered the shop?” I finally asked, my voice cool and direct. “Is there anything you’re hiding that I should be aware of?” Both their heads snapped toward me, almost like they’d forgotten I was there.

Mark shook his head, wide-eyed, tears streaking freely down his face. “I swear. I don’t know.”

“And after you left, after not returning with Kleitos and Arianna… why do I still feel like you’re hiding something?” My voice was flatter now, chilled with doubt. “How am I supposed to tell my father I trust you?”

“Why would I want to harm you?” he asked. “You’ve been so kind to my family.”

But that’s all he gave me, a question. No explanation. No reassurance. I’ve always found it strange when someone answers questions with questions. It makes you wonder what truth they’re dodging. Still, this wasn’t truly my place. Whatever pain existed between Mark and Martha, whatever trust Alex still had for him, it wasn’t mine to rewrite.

Until Mark felt like my family, I’d stay out of their wounds.

But I will be informing my father of what happened tonight.

A family of twenty Elguto, less now, thanks to me and Arianna, but dangerous, nonetheless. That blond man had been unhinged. Lethal. I wouldn’t press Mark any further, not until I spoke with my father. He would have much to say about this.

Exhaling slowly through my nose, I warned, “I won’t continue this line of questioning until my father has spoken with you,” I said evenly. “But I will tell you this, your friend, the brunette you were sitting with, tried to force himself on your wife. We had to drag him off her. Afterward, he spat in my face. That’s how we tracked you down. The way you all looked so comfortable together… it infuriated me.” I paused, letting the weight of my words settle. “So you can understand why I’m confused. Why were you there, with them? You know who they are. And the way that blond man spoke—” I shook my head. “I should have killed him then and there. But that wasn’t my place… not yet. Tell me, is he someone I should worry about?” Leaning back, my gaze fall to him, unreadable. “You don’t have to answer me now. But I want you to think carefully about what I said.” My voice never rose. It didn’t need to. The certainty behind it was enough. Then I turned to Martha, my eyes locking with hers. “You keep holding him.”

She nodded, and I returned the gesture.

Finally, I allowed myself to sit, spine pressing against the wall of the carriage, knees drawn to my chest. My body felt as though it had been dragged through a marathon of emotions, each muscle tight with tension, each thought heavy from the weight of the night.

With my eyes closed, I began stitching myself back together, piece by piece. Willing each frayed nerve into stillness. My father once told me: You are only as small as your emotions allow you to be. Anger, he said, wasn’t virtuous. It was fleeting, a minor feeling that could be soothed by one’s own resolve.

And perhaps he was right.

Anger had won tonight, but I didn’t think it misplaced. It had been righteous. Just. I let myself release any lingering guilt for the night’s bloodshed.

But the one person whose judgment I did fear—was Alex’s.

He wouldn’t have wanted me to paint a nightclub red. The one Elguto, maybe, he’d understand. But the others? I would have to say… they weren’t my doing. Arianna had enjoyed it far too much anyway. In fact, knowing her, she’d be proud to claim the entire massacre. Still, I couldn’t let her shoulder it alone. That wouldn’t be right. I had my faults too, and I had to own them. Even if just for a moment, I let myself feel small. But only for a moment. Because I knew how to justify every decision I made. And that, too, my father had taught me well.

The horses neighed as the wind howled against the cart, slamming into us like a roaring riptide. The carriage rattled with every gust, teetering as we descended the mountainside. But once we reached steadier ground, leaving the blizzard behind us, the journey smoothed out.

We returned to Arianna’s home faster than we had left. No creatures stirred along the trail this time, just quiet and snow. Through the small window behind Martha and Mark, the night sky had softened, folding into a pale, hazy blue. Daylight’s clouds rolled in, heavy and dark, swallowing the stars one by one.

As the cottage came into view, the cool glow of the protective dome bathed the inside of the cabin in sapphire light. It danced across Martha’s warm features, catching the strands of her hair and softening her doe-like eyes. But Mark’s face remained in the dark. The light sat behind him, casting his features in deep shadow, his presence heavy, his truth still hidden.

The carriage slowed to a halt, the wind finally settled as if even nature paused to take a breath.

Their eyes found mine. Mark’s face, though calmer than before, still held the wild flicker of uncertainty. He looked hollowed out, tired. His brow was tight with unspoken thoughts, his mouth slack in defeat. Martha mirrored him. Worry pulled at her brow; her lips pressed into a thin line. When the carriage stopped, she tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes.

I waited.

The back door creaked open, Arianna’s silhouette framed by the pale light of dawn. Cold air spilled into the cot, curling around us like a quiet warning. It was time to go inside. “Are you going to stand like a civilized man?” I asked, voice low and steady. I looked him in the eye as I spoke, making sure he knew I saw him. All of him.

He nodded. “Yes, of course… Valentina.”

I didn’t like the way my name sounded in his mouth. Not after the night I had endured searching for him. “Please refer to me as Lady Corpus,” I said, cool and polite. Raising from my place, I shook the stiffness from my limbs. Arianna extended her hand to help me down, and I accepted it. “Thank you, Arianna,” I said softly.