The streets of Boadicea looked almost innocent in the morning sunlight. Dust swirled in lazy eddies across the packed dirt roads, kicked up by the occasional creaking wagon or hoofbeat, her own included. Storefronts still sat shuttered, wooden signs hanging askew above porches built more for shade than charm. Somewhere off to the east, a windmill turned slow and tired against the pale sky.

  Violet walked briskly with Tamiyo beside her, their steps crunching in rhythm as they headed toward the west edge of town in silence. It smelled like dry wood, livestock, and tobacco. The kind of place where old men died in the same chairs they were born into. She wasn’t sure why she felt so bothered.

  Tamiyo was calm and focused. Maybe she was looking forward to meeting the local lacravida woman, a different experience than the warrior women of Berilinsk she had been surrounded by. But she couldn’t be that much different, could she? Lacravida culture was supposed to be pretty similar regardless of what planet they were on. Warriors from childhood, communal in nature, and owned by no one.

  So how could Amaryn live here? She’s alone, surrounded by men that look at us like meat.

  Violet couldn’t shake the tension coiled in her chest. She kept scanning the windows, the roofs, the glances from early risers pretending not to stare. Maybe it was the way Venlin had drawled full of practiced charm. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at Amalia in that meeting, like he could own her with a smile.

  She was glad Tamiyo was with her. Violet couldn’t shake the memory of Tamiyo telling her about how she was abused in the past. That haunted tone and the way her voice had gone flat like she was listing symptoms of a broken pipe, not memories carved into her soul.

  It had hit Violet harder than she’d expected.

  She glanced at the blonde CIPHER, who was walking with her usual quiet focus, scanning the street ahead. Still soft-eyed, still kind. Still choosing every day not to be hardened by what had been done to her. Violet felt her jaw tighten, and pressed forward.

  The town fell away behind them, replaced by a stretch of brittle grass and fencing too warped to serve any real purpose. Tamiyo slowed her pace as they crested a shallow rise and spotted the house.

  Amaryn’s home sat low against the ground, modest and weathered, but well-kept. Its stone foundation looked hand-fitted, rough but sturdy. The roof sloped unevenly, patched in places with mismatched shingles and metal sheeting. The front porch was lined with a riot of white flowers—pale, fragile things that spilled over the edges of their planters and wound between the boards like they were trying to hold the place together. A few had begun to wilt, their petals browned at the edges.

  Violet didn't realize how long she stared at them until Tamiyo gently ushered her forward.

  The porch creaked as they stepped onto it. A thin wind rustled through the garden behind the house, brushing against the windowpanes like someone exhaling through their teeth. The air was cooler here, cleaner, but carried that same quiet tension she’d felt all morning—like the world had stopped moving for just a second too long. It felt a breath more peaceful, but not safe.

  Tamiyo raised a hand and gently knocked.

  No answer.

  She tried again, this time a bit firmer.

  Still nothing.

  Violet glanced toward the window—lace curtains drawn, no movement inside. She shifted her stance, bracing for danger more out of habit than intent.

  Tamiyo turned to her. “She might be out in the garden. Or still asleep.”

  “Or someone made her disappear,” Violet muttered.

  Tamiyo gave her a gentle look of concern, but didn’t argue. They waited a few moments longer before Tamiyo stepped back from the door and motioned around the side of the house. “Let’s check the back.”

  They stepped off the porch and followed a worn stone path to a garden that stretched out behind the abode, uneven rows of herbs, wildflowers, and a few struggling vegetables. It was beautiful in the same way the house was: fragile, tended to by hand, and shaped more by love than any kind of formal skill.

  But it was vacant.

  No sign of Amaryn, no fresh prints in the dirt. The watering can sat untouched near a patch of rosemary gone slightly to seed. Something buzzed in the weeds—a fat insect or maybe a drone gnat—but otherwise it was still.

  Too still.

  Tamiyo paused, her brow furrowing. “If she was out here, it wasn’t recently.”

  Violet didn’t respond. She wandered toward a low bench nestled beneath a knotted old tree near the back of the garden. It was cracked in one leg, tilted a little to the left, but it held her weight when she sat. Barely.

  Tamiyo approached but didn’t sit. “You okay?”

  Violet exhaled through her nose. “Not really. I feel on edge, but I’m trying to figure out why. I keep thinking about—” she struggled to get it out, shaking her head.

  Tamiyo didn’t press, she just waited quietly.

  Violet stared out over the small field behind the garden, where wild grass lapped at a broken fence. “Amalia and I had an older sister,” she said quietly. “Her name was Leira. She was stronger than both of us. Always calm. Always made us feel safe.”

  She tapped a finger absently against the side of the bench. “She died offworld. She was living among a village where no other lacravida were. It was her choice, but… she came down with something the doctors didn’t catch in time. Amalia was twelve, I was fifteen... We don’t talk about her much anymore.”

  Tamiyo sat down beside her.

  “I see this place,” Violet continued, “and I just… I don’t know. I keep picturing Leira. Alone. And how she would’ve hated it here.”

  Tamiyo listened in silence, her presence gentle and unintrusive.

  “And I find myself thinking about…” Violet glanced over. “About what you told me you went through. I think that’s part of why I wanted to come check on this Amaryn girl. To make sure she isn’t alone, that she knows she has sisters.”

  A dry breeze rolled through the garden, rustling the tall grass. Violet thought she caught the faint scent of old ash and lavender.

  “That’s why Amalia is so free-spirited, I think,” Violet stared off into the distance. “She saw how sad it made me to lose Leira, and she wanted to cheer me up. And she just… never stopped” She found herself smiling sadly. “You know, at one time, I used to be as free spirited as Amalia?”

  Tamiyo nodded, a faint smirk playing at her lips. “You still are, in some ways.”

  Violet let out a tired laugh. “You think so?”

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  “Yep,” Tamiyo said sweetly. “I did a physical with Veolo the other day and we discussed how she's been developing.” Her face slid into a sly grin. “Her… group excursions.”

  This time Violet couldn't help but laugh from deep in her chest. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

  The crunch of steps on dry soil pulled both their gazes beyond the edge of the property.

  A woman was approaching from over a low hill, a basket slung across her back and a long walking stick in one hand. She wore a large, simple gown of muted cream and brown, worn but clean, the hem dusted with red earth. A scarf covered her hair and shaded most of her face, but even though she was almost entirely covered up, Violet could tell she was lacravida.

  But she didn’t seem like a warrior.

  Something seemed softer.

  Tamiyo stood first, and Violet rose a second later, brushing the dust off with one hand. The woman hesitated when she saw them. Her eyes were a soft amber, cautious but not frightened. She stopped a few paces away, then her gaze dropped to Violet’s hooves.

  “You’re like me,” she said quietly. Her eyes scanned Violet up and down, then a faint blush appeared on her face and she looked at the ground.

  “Are you Amaryn?” Tamiyo asked gently.

  “I am,” she replied. Her eyes flicked to the porch, then back to the ground. “Did something happen?”

  “No,” Violet said quickly. “We just… heard about you from the mayor. I wanted to meet you.”

  Amaryn tilted her head, brows drawing together. “Why?”

  Violet hesitated a moment, then took a slow breath. “We haven’t been in town long. But… we’ve already had some rough encounters. With some of the local men.”

  Amaryn’s eyes flicked up again and she remained silent, but the way her hand tightened around the walking stick said enough.

  “The kind of encounters,” Violet continued, “that made me glad I wasn’t the only lacravida in town by myself.”

  A long pause followed. Amaryn’s expression didn’t change much, but something in her posture shifted. Her head lifted a little. “There are more of you here?”

  Violet nodded, her mood brightening. “Yeah. There are four others with me. Riza, Aurania, Veolo, and my little sister Amalia. All strong, lacravida warriors. You’d like them.”

  Amaryn took half a step back, not in fear, but like she was bracing herself against a sudden gust of wind. Her fingers shifted on the walking stick. The silence that followed stretched just a second too long.

  Tamiyo stepped in, her voice a calm tether. “They’re not here to judge or expect anything. Violet just wants to help.”

  Violet blinked and shook her head. It was throwing her how gentle this woman was. Not that other lacravida couldn’t be gentle, but all of them knew how to fight. She got the distinct impression this woman had never been trained in combat.

  “Sorry,” Violet said, quieter now. “I didn’t mean to sound… I just got excited. I didn’t mean to come on strong.”

  Amaryn looked back and forth between them, looking uncertain.

  “We don’t mean to intrude,” Tamiyo said. “Just thought maybe you wouldn’t mind the company of some sisters while we're here.”

  Amaryn’s lips parted like she was about to say something. But then she just turned and walked toward the porch. “You can come in,” she said without looking back. “If you don’t mind the quiet.”

  The inside of the house was cooler than Violet expected. Dim too, only a few slats of morning light broke through the drawn curtains. The air smelled faintly of old wood, dried herbs, and something sweet… maybe baked fruit or jam. It was small, just three rooms from what Violet could tell: a combined kitchen and sitting area, a bedroom beyond a thin curtain, and a storage room stacked with crates and preserves. The place was clean but lived-in, and the furniture looked like it had been crafted to fit the large frame of a lacravida.

  A woven rug, lightly frayed, softened the worn stone floor. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, jars, and neatly folded linens. Everything had the feel of something kept because it mattered, not because it matched.

  Amaryn set her basket down on a small table and hung her walking stick by the door. She didn’t say anything at first, just moved about quietly, putting things away. A bundle of dried roots, a folded bit of paper, a small tin of something that looked like jerky.

  Violet stayed by the entry for a moment, uncertain if she should sit or wait to be invited. Tamiyo moved more comfortably, stepping further in but not touching anything.

  “There’s tea if you want it,” Amaryn finally said, not quite looking at them. “I can heat some water. Might take a while.”

  Violet almost offered to help, but stopped herself. It felt like stepping into a place held together by routine. Like it would break if touched wrong.

  “No rush,” Tamiyo said kindly. “We’re just glad you’re alright.”

  Amaryn gave a small nod and gestured toward the low table near the window, where two cushioned chairs and a bench sat close together. “You can sit, if you like.”

  Violet took the bench. It creaked beneath her but held. Tamiyo lowered herself into one of the chairs and rested her hands in her lap. For a few moments, they just sat in the quiet.

  Violet finally tried breaking the silence. “We were a little worried we wouldn't find you. Your garden looks a little… abandoned.”

  “Oh,” Amaryn said, as if being woken from a trance. “Yes, I’m afraid I’m not as good of a gardener as I thought I would be. I gather more now, place traps for food, that’s where I was coming back from…” she trailed off. Then:

  “You said there were more of us.” Her eyes flicked toward Violet, then dropped again. “Do they all dress so… comfortably? You don’t… cover yourself much.”

  There was no judgment in the words, only observation. And maybe confusion.

  “I don’t,” Violet said evenly. “Where we come from, it’s normal. It’s part of our identity, our freedom. But I know that’s not how everyone sees it.”

  Amaryn slowly nodded. She didn’t look ashamed exactly, more like someone comparing two different books that were supposed to be part of the same series, only to find the pages didn’t match.

  “Can I ask…” Violet started suddenly. “I’m sorry but—where were you raised? You’re unlike any lacravida I’ve ever met.”

  Amaryn looked contemplative, then pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. She was clearly thinking back on a fond memory, partly sad, but not entirely.

  “I vaguely remember my mother. She died when I was very young. Never told me who my father was, but she lived with a group of d’moria that traveled around for work. I was raised by them after she passed.”

  Her fingers absently toyed with the edge of her sleeve as she spoke. “I was different from the d’moria. But they took care of me. Gave me work, taught me how to read terrain, patch wounds, cook for a dozen mouths with whatever we had. I don’t think they knew what to do with me half the time, but… they tried.”

  Tamiyo softly asked, “Were they kind to you?”

  Amaryn looked up, surprised, then nodded. “Mostly, yes. Some awkwardness here and there, young men with too many questions, old ones with too much drink, but nothing cruel. They weren’t family really, but it was better than being alone.”

  Violet sat quietly listening, watching Tamiyo ease Amaryn through the questions. “What brought you here?” Tamiyo asked.

  “The group eventually broke apart. Work dried up. Some went to cities on far off planets, others went home. I stayed with Morgan. He was… an older d’moria man, but steady. Funny, in his way. We came here together maybe five years ago.”

  Violet tilted her head. “Morgan… that name sounds familiar.”

  “They built a statue of him,” Amaryn said, glancing toward the window. “By the edge of town. Everyone liked him, even the ones who didn’t like outsiders. He passed a couple years after we settled here. Heart, I think, I’m not sure...”

  “I’m sorry,” Tamiyo said. After several moments, she asked, “How has the town treated you since then?”

  She looked nervously to Violet, and added, “We just haven’t seen the greatest things since we arrived, but I’m hoping that’s not been your experience.”

  Amaryn didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped to her hands, thumbs brushing together.

  “Not everyone here is bad,” she said at last. “But there are some… men. Who aren’t as kind. If you’re quiet, or don’t have anyone else to lean on. They think… if they offer something—tools, supplies, coin—they’re owed something back.”

  Violet’s jaw tensed, but she stayed quiet.

  “I don’t think anyone meant to hurt me,” Amaryn added quickly. “But sometimes saying no doesn’t work as well as pretending yes.”

  Violet’s stomach turned. She forced her hands to not clench into fists. How many women had been taught that lesson?

  A long silence followed.

  Tamiyo finally reached across the table, offering her hand, palm-up. No pressure, just a gesture of presence. “You don’t have to carry that alone.”

  Amaryn didn’t take the hand, but her eyes met Tamiyo’s. “I’ve been alone for a long time, I don’t know… you two seem nice. But we just met.”

  “There's no rush,” Tamiyo said. “We have almost two months before we leave.”

  “Would it be alright if we came by again?” Violet asked. “No pressure, just company if you want it. I’m sure the others would love to meet you. And maybe, if you’re up for it… you could show us Morgan’s statue?”

  Amaryn was quiet for a little while. She eventually spoke, and although her eyes stayed on the floor, the tiniest hint of hope was present when she said:

  “Okay.”