Warm bread torn apart with my fingers. Cheese sliced too thick. Smoked meats set down without care. Doyle had thrown it together in a hurry, whatever he could find at that hour, but it was enough. More than enough. Each bite grounded me, the simple act of eating feeling almost unreal. I could not remember the last time food had tasted this good, though hunger likely had more to do with it than quality.

  “So,” Rob said, breaking the quiet, “are we going to tell him?”

  Amelia shot him a sharp look. “He just got back. Give him some time.”

  “I don’t think we have much left,” Rob replied. “Now that he’s alive, he’s part of it with us.”

  I swallowed a mouthful of jerky and wiped my fingers on the edge of the table. “Part of what, exactly?”

  Doyle sighed and finally set aside what he had been fussing with. “After these two ran for help, word spread. The guards reported it up the chain. The nobles behind the little spriggan trap were not pleased.”

  “Bloody arseholes,” Brent muttered around a bite.

  Doyle shot him a look but let it pass. He turned back to us, expression firm. “Whatever you think of them, the law is the law. You three were on noble land without leave. And you caused damage.”

  I frowned. “The nobles own the quarry?”

  Brent snorted. “Of course they do. They own everything.”

  Jerald let out a long breath, the kind that felt like it had been held far longer than this conversation. His shoulders sagged as if the weight of years had finally caught up with him. “It wasn’t always like this,” he said quietly. “There was a time when the land answered to people, not titles. A better time.”

  Brent shifted in his chair and grumbled, “Here we go. Another tale about how everything was grand before the war.”

  The word stuck with me. War. I glanced at Jerald, at the lines etched into his face, and wondered if his silence about the past was less forgetfulness and more refusal. Some wounds did not fade. They just learned how to stay quiet. Maybe that was why he watched over aspirants so closely. If he could not mend what had been broken, he could at least keep others from repeating it.

  “More or less,” Jerald said, a tired smile touching his mouth for a second.

  The table fell into an uneasy quiet.

  I set my food down, suddenly less hungry. “So,” I said, keeping my voice even, “what kind of damage are we talking about?”

  Rob lifted his hands and mimed an explosion, fingers splaying apart in an exaggerated collapse.

  “Enough,” Doyle said flatly, “…that a Justiciar will be sent. They’ll pass judgement, name the charges, and decide the punishment.”

  I blinked. “That’s it? No hearing. No trial.”

  Brent let out a sharp laugh. “You’re funny.”

  “Good old noble justice,” Rob said, the words stripped of any humour.

  Doyle folded his hands on the table. His voice stayed calm, but there was weight behind it. “Justice or not, you three still crossed a line. You ran off on your own. And you got caught.”

  Brent snorted softly. “And nearly got Red here crushed for good measure.”

  Amelia’s breath hitched. She turned toward me and the tears came all at once, shoulders trembling as she fought to keep them in. “It was my fault,” she said. “I burned the supports. I did it. I nearly…” Her voice broke before she could finish.

  Doyle was at her side in a heartbeat, a steady hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough,” he said gently.

  Rob pushed back from the table, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he shook his head. “No. It was my call. I talked us into it. If someone’s paying for this, it should be me.”

  The room went quiet.

  The weight of his words pressed into my chest, tight and familiar. The same pressure I had felt underground when the ceiling groaned and the light vanished. The memory rose without warning. The tunnel closing in. The blade locked in my grip. The dark stretching on and on. How close I had come to dying there, with no one knowing where I’d gone or why.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “It’s alright,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “We all knew the risk. There was no way to know the place would come down like that.”

  My eyes dropped to the table. Crumbs scattered across the plates.

  For the first time since climbing out of the hole, doubt crept in. I was stronger now. There was no denying that. But strength did not undo the invisible cost to gain it.

  “Still,” Rob said quietly, “sorry, mate.”

  Amelia nodded beside him, wiping at her eyes.

  Doyle placed a hand on each of their shoulders, firm and reassuring. Neither of them pulled away.

  I stood there, useless, unsure what comfort looked like in a moment like this. So, I latched onto the practical. “When does this judgement thing happen?”

  “In the morning,” Doyle said. “It was only meant to be the two of them. But after your little resurrection tour through town, it’ll be all three of you.”

  “Oh.” I hesitated. “Should I have stayed hidden? Let people think I was still dead?”

  Jerald shook his head. “That would have made it worse. Hiding survival looks like guilt. Better to take the bolt to the chest and hope it’s a light one.”

  “Better than the dungeons,” Brent muttered.

  Doyle exhaled slowly. “Let’s just hope they don’t bar you from the trials.”

  Rob straightened. “They can’t.”

  No one answered him right away.

  And that silence said enough.

  “They can do whatever they like,” Brent said flatly.

  “Unfortunately,” Jerald replied, “that’s true enough.”

  Amelia hugged her arms to herself, a small shudder running through her.

  I nodded, slow and tired. I had traded one kind of horror for another. This one was less likely to crush me beneath stone, but it threatened something else instead. The future I had been reaching for.

  “Well,” Doyle said, clapping his hands softly, “on that cheerful note, it’s still the middle of the night. Off to bed with you.”

  He paused and looked at me. “And Sean.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe a bath first.”

  I lifted my arm, caught a whiff of myself, and laughed. “Good call.”

  “Definitely,” Brent said. “No need for Red to fumigate the house.” He glanced at Doyle. “Mind if I crash in my old room tonight?”

  “Brent,” Jerald said sharply, “you’re still on duty.”

  A flash of regret crossed Brent’s face. “Right. Another time then.” He looked back to Jerald. “Back to hunting?”

  Jerald nodded.

  They turned to leave, offering quick farewells as they headed for the door. “We’ll see you in the morning,” Jerald said. “Before the Justiciar arrives.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “See you then.”

  The door closed behind them and the house settled into a sudden, strange quiet.

  Doyle led me upstairs to a small private washroom. A large wooden tub dominated the space, already filled with clear water that caught the lamplight. A narrow wooden chute fed into it, water spilling endlessly from a clever arrangement of gears and pipes hidden in the wall. Fresh, cool, constant.

  “Give me a moment,” Doyle said, already turning away.

  I set my things down and stood there about to disrobe, listening to the soft splash of water, feeling the grime on my skin itch now that I had time to notice it. Doyle returned quickly, carrying a bucket that looked empty until he tipped it out. Several smooth stones clattered into the tub, their surfaces etched with faint runes. The moment they hit the water, steam rolled up in thick curls and the chill vanished.

  Rune-heated stones. Of course.

  Doyle stepped back, satisfied, then glanced at the sword still hanging at my side. “You’re not planning on bathing with that thing, are you?”

  I looked down at the blade, then back at him, and smiled. “Best to be ready for anything.”

  He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he left me to the rising steam and the promise of clean skin.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, I unhooked the sword and let it fall from my belt. It hit the floor with a dull thud, and I nudged it farther away with my foot.

  The change came almost at once.

  The pressure crept back in, the curse easing into my limbs like an old ache. Not as sharp as before. Not yet. I exhaled slowly and looked down at myself as the illusion slipped away.

  My real body returned.

  Pale skin mottled with grime. Cuts layered over older cuts. Dried blood smeared along my arms and ribs. Bruises blooming in deep, ugly colours. Scars I recognised tangled with fresh wounds I didn’t.

  Good. Rob and Amelia didn’t see this.

  If they had, the apologies would have tripled. I crossed the room and leaned toward the small mirror mounted above the basin. The face staring back at me looked wrecked. The bruises from the beating with Nick had faded, only to be replaced by a new constellation of split skin and swollen flesh.

  I barely recognised myself.

  “How’s it going, handsome,” I muttered, a rough laugh catching in my throat.

  On the floor behind me, the sword glinted faintly, quiet and patient. Even now, I could feel its presence smoothing the worst of it away, masking what I really looked like when it was near.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, I needed to clean these properly. Infection would finish what the tunnels hadn’t.

  I tore off my rags and lowered myself into the bath and hissed as the heat hit me. The water was scalding. Doyle had gone heavy on the rune stones. My skin burned as the grime began to loosen, but I stayed put, jaw clenched.

  It hurt.

  That was fine. Pain meant the filth was coming loose. I grabbed the soap and scrubbed at my arms and shoulders, grit washing away in cloudy ribbons. When I could not reach any more without shifting, I paused and glanced toward the sword on the floor.

  “So,” I said quietly, “you plan on staying silent?”

  Nothing answered.

  I let out a slow breath and sank back into the water, staring at the ceiling. Steam curled above me, and for a heartbeat I let myself pretend this was ordinary. A bath. A quiet room. No tunnels. No monsters. No blade that listened.

  Then the voice spoke, deep and endless, filling the space like stone grinding against stone.

  “The fog has lifted,” it said. “I will now speak.”

  I surged upright, water spilling over the rim as my heart slammed against my ribs, eyes locking on the sword.