Nine days had passed since the raid on Elyndra’s temple.

  Whenever anyone asked where her bracelet had gone, Catherine gave the same answer every time. She’d been attacked by a wild animal while out on a job, and the bracelet had come loose in the struggle. She didn’t know where it had been dragged off to afterward.

  It was a lie, and it wasn’t. At least the part about being attacked was true… by something vicious, something larger than a bull, something that spat lightning. Since then, she’d acquired a new bracelet. This one didn’t have a compass grafted into it. It didn’t whisper. It didn’t have moods.

  It was just a device, simple and practical. Its stone flashed letters of light, reminding her of tasks to complete, marking them off when she returned, tallying rewards like a patient ledger. So far, she’d completed twelve jobs since getting it, earning about twenty coppers each time on average. Not enough to brag about, but enough that the weight of coins in her pouch felt real.

  “Not bad,” her mother said one evening over supper, pleased in the quiet way she always was when Catherine proved she could be reliable. “See? Effort pays off.”

  Her father nodded. “Keep it up, Cathy. But remember, if a job takes you into places infested with wild animals, you don’t have to do it. Not for any amount of coppers.”

  Catherine pushed peas around her plate and didn’t mention that she’d already fought something that could have swallowed a person whole.

  They moved on quickly, like families did when a conversation got too close to something sharp, and her father began talking about the bracelet project again.

  “In time,” he explained, “once it’s fully stable, every child in Felgar will have one.”

  Her mother hummed thoughtfully.

  Her father’s eyes brightened the way they always did when he talked about plans. “We’ll hold competitions. Friendly tournaments. A way to get the youths out of the house, engaging with the town, working together, racing for rewards. Make it a game, but useful. The kind of thing that builds good habits before they grow into adults with bad ones.”

  Catherine arched a brow. “Will I be allowed to join?”

  Her father hesitated.

  She continued, her tone half teasing, half pointed. “Because as your daughter, I already know the land. And with our title, people tend to… bend. If I ask nicely. It might be… unfair.”

  Her father sighed like he’d been expecting the question. “We’ll figure it out, Cathy,” he said, then looked at her with a reassuring smile. “If we ever hold a festival like that, I’ll make sure you can participate fairly.”

  Catherine nodded, accepting it, though the thought stayed in her head long after the conversation moved on. After supper, she helped her parents clean up, then the family drifted toward their bedrooms. She was just about to step into hers when her younger brother approached, lingering in the hallway as though he’d been waiting for the right moment.

  “Can I ask for your help?” Carlisle said.

  Catherine turned without hesitation. “Of course. What do you need?”

  Carlisle exhaled, relieved she hadn’t questioned him yet. “I’ve got a project I need to finish,” he explained, “but I’m missing the right materials. The metal shop doesn’t have what I need.”

  “What kind of metal?” Catherine asked.

  He nodded. “Silver.”

  Catherine frowned slightly. “Why don’t you just ask the metal shop owner to get some for you?”

  Carlisle hesitated, then admitted he wanted to mine it himself. “I figured this is an opportunity to build the last parts from scratch. Like… from mining the base material. I want it… right.” He glanced away, almost embarrassed by how much it mattered to him. “I’m almost done. This is one of two things I’m missing.”

  Catherine studied him for a beat, then gave a small nod. “All right. I’ll help you tomorrow.”

  Carlisle’s shoulders loosened like a weight had been lifted. “Thank you,” he said quickly.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Catherine replied, already half-smiling. “We haven’t discussed how much you’re going to pay me.”

  The two laughed, then bid each other good night and went to their bedrooms.

  The next day, the siblings got ready for their excursion. Carlisle strapped on a backpack and grabbed a pickaxe. Catherine put on her satchel, then reached for her own pickaxe. Her gaze lingered on it longer than she intended, a certain memory resurfacing.

  “Cath, I’m ready,” Carlisle called, snapping his sister’s attention back to him.

  “Right. I’m coming,” she said, calling for Barrel to join them. By then, their parents had gone to work, and the three quietly went on their way.

  The cave was farther west, outside of town. Like most industries in Felgar, it had once been active—men hauling stone and ore day after day. Then the Silent Decades hit, and the merchants financing the town’s mining operation ceased their activities and left.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The mine was still open, but only the metal shop owner frequented it now. A few people came occasionally when the shop owner didn’t have what they needed. Venturing outside town carried the risk of getting attacked by wild animals, after all.

  “So, what kind of project are you working on?” Catherine asked as they walked.

  “You’ll see,” Carlisle said. “It’s something no one’s ever built before. Well, not fully.”

  “Really?” Catherine’s tone turned lightly doubtful. “Are you sure no one’s ever fully built it before?”

  “Of course I am,” Carlisle blurted. “The idea came from somewhere, how should I say it… unattractive.”

  Catherine shrugged. “If you say so.”

  They passed the town’s perimeter and followed the path leading to the mine. The way was peaceful and quiet, and Barrel trotted along beside them, tail wagging. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. Branches creaked.

  Catherine’s mind drifted elsewhere again—toward a memory that was recent, yet already felt distant. It hadn’t even been a month since her first job had led her into the forest, to Ivarr’s amulet, to Thalia suddenly speaking.

  And the thrill of raiding Elyndra’s temple was still fresh, too. Strangely, despite the danger, despite how brief it had been, it had left a mark on her.

  Catherine looked up at the canopy, at the light slipping through the branches. “I wonder how they’re doing now,” she murmured.

  Carlisle glanced over. “What’s that?”

  “Oh… um, nothing,” Catherine said. “Just… wondering how Mom and Dad are doing at work.”

  Carlisle bumped her shoulder lightly as they walked. “Thinking about the sailing festival?”

  “The sailing… ah… yes. The festival.” She forced a casual shrug. “I was thinking about… how the preparations are going.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Mom and Dad,” Carlisle said as he hitched his backpack higher. “They’ve organized this plenty of times, since they were kids.”

  “Hopefully no one drifts too far this year,” Catherine said.

  The siblings laughed, remembering the year a boat failed to return to harbor and their father had to chase it down just to take the helm.

  While they were walking, Barrel suddenly stopped. Catherine and Carlisle halted with him.

  “Something wrong, Barrel?” Catherine asked, watching as his ears perked and his head turned, scanning the trees.

  Barrel sniffed the air, paced in a small circle, then, without warning, lifted his head and bolted off the path toward the forest.

  “Barrel, wait!” Catherine shouted as she and Carlisle sprinted after him, both yelling for him to stop.

  They hadn’t gone far when Barrel stopped, followed by a scream.

  The siblings ran faster, bursting into a small grove. Barrel was there, tail wagging, hovering over something on the ground. As Catherine approached, the dog turned his head toward her and let out a single bark, as if to announce his discovery.

  “Barrel, what did you—”

  She stopped short.

  Barrel had started licking the thing—or rather, the person—he’d pounced on. A boy lay on the ground in a dark brown cloak, struggling hard to keep Barrel from licking his face.

  “Stop it, you mutt,” the boy groaned, trying to shove him away.

  Catherine took a step closer, eyes narrowing, almost unable to believe what she was seeing. “Ivarr?”

  The boy craned his head to the side to see past Barrel and meet her gaze. “Hey, Catherine,” he said, managing to lift a hand weakly despite Barrel’s weight.

  Catherine started walking, then broke into a sprint. “Barrel—off!” she snapped.

  Barrel stepped aside with a huff, still wagging like this was some kind of victory. Catherine reached out and hauled Ivarr up by the arm.

  “What—why are you here?” she demanded. “I thought you already left town?!”

  “I decided to take a detour,” Ivarr said, brushing dirt from his cloak as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

  “Cath,” Carlisle called, slowing as he reached them. “What is… going on… here?” His voice thinned into a mumble as his stare locked onto Ivarr.

  “Hi,” Ivarr said simply, lifting a lazy hand in greeting.

  “Ivarr, this is my brother, Carlisle,” Catherine said before turning to Carlisle. “Carlisle, this is Ivarr.”

  Her brother didn’t respond. He just kept staring, so hard one of his eyes began to twitch.

  Ivarr leaned in toward Catherine, lowering his voice. “Something wrong with him?”

  Carlisle lifted a trembling finger and pointed straight at him. “He—he’s a…”

  Catherine frowned and turned to look at Ivarr, expecting to see something subtle. Something she’d missed.

  Instead, she saw something worse.

  Ivarr’s hood had fallen back, revealing his pointed ears, red pupils, and pale face, all bare for Carlisle to see.

  Then Thalia spoke, her voice muffled from Catherine’s wrist but unmistakably firm. “You know the drill, Catherine. Go ahead.”

  Carlisle sucked in a breath, but Catherine lunged and clapped a hand over his mouth before the scream could escape. “Don’t!” she hissed. “Someone might hear you and come!”

  Carlisle’s eyes were wide, terrified. His head trembled under her palm.

  “Shh. Calm down,” Catherine said, softer but urgent. “I’m going to let go, but you cannot scream. I’ll explain everything, okay?”

  His breathing was ragged. For a moment, he looked like he might bite her hand just to make a point. Then, slowly, he met her eyes and nodded.

  Catherine eased her hand away.

  Carlisle didn’t waste a second. “Is he an Alvarynn?! What is he doing here?! How are you acting so normal around him?! And why does Barrel like him?!”

  Catherine held both palms up, as if trying to calm a spooked horse. “Okay. Okay—quietly. Ivarr is… complicated. But he’s not here to hurt anyone.”

  Left with no choice, she told him where Ivarr came from, why he was in Felgar, and how they’d met.

  Carlisle blinked hard, processing. “…He’s a… rave char?”

  “HRAEVNAR, YOU TWERP!” Ivarr snapped.

  “He’s being aggressive!” Carlisle yelped, taking a step back.

  “Both of you, enough!” Catherine barked, louder than she intended. She winced immediately, then lowered her voice. “Carlisle. He’s not a bad person. And he’s not going to smack you or steal from you.”

  “Someone’s very qualified to talk about stealing,” Ivarr muttered.

  Catherine shot him a look sharp enough to cut stone. That shut him up.

  She continued, as briefly as she could, about the temple. About the artefact. About the storm-drake. About how none of it had gone the way it sounded.

  Carlisle stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “You went… fighting monsters… with him… for a conch shell?”

  “Pretty much,” Thalia said cheerfully.

  Carlisle’s face pinched. “And how is your bracelet talking?”

  “Who knows,” Catherine said. “She just started doing that. Her name’s Thalia, by the way.”

  “Thalia?” Carlisle echoed.

  “She named herself,” Catherine said with a shrug.

  “I am a sovereign individual,” the bracelet declared, its stone flickering purple. “I reserve the right to name myself.”

  “This is a lot to take in,” Carlisle muttered as he sank down against a tree trunk, shoulders slumped.

  Catherine crouched a little to meet his eye level. “Keep it a secret, please.”

  Carlisle dragged both hands down his face, then began nodding as though he could physically shake the shock out of his head. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

  “Thank you,” Catherine said, relief loosening her voice.

  Carlisle lowered his hands so their eyes could meet. Then, with the solemnity of someone negotiating terms after witnessing the impossible, he pointed at her. “But your help’s free. You’re not charging me for this.”