The sharp cry of a distant bird echoed off the tavern's weathered walls, prompting Malcolm to tilt his head skyward in search of the elusive creature. His eyes swept across the sky, but the feathered singer remained hidden. With a resigned shrug, he returned to his flexibility exercises, each stretch a deliberate movement that grounded him in the moment. The metallic clang of a pot echoed through the open window, signaling the bustling start of another day within the tavern.

  He focused on his form and used the movements to guide to start his meditation. The promise he made Dravokka in the swamp still as impactful ten days later as it was the first day. He took a deep breath, then began.

  As he bent forward, his muscles tensed against the phantom press of splintered wood against his back. The scent of motor oil and rusted garden tools filled his nostrils. From somewhere behind him—thirty years behind him—Terrence's voice floated to his ears. "Night-night, Malcy." A key turning. Laughter that started sharp, then faded with the crunch-crunch-crunch of sneakers on the gravel path. Malcolm's breath caught as darkness swallowed him again, save for the silver dollar of moonlight through that high, cobwebbed window, and the soft scratch-scratch of tiny claws marking time until morning.

  He squatted low, extending one leg out parallel to the ground, muscles tensed to keep it steady. As he held the position, memories of the homecoming dance from his freshman year seeped into his mind. A deep scowl etched itself across his face as he pictured Laura, the girl who had been his first crush. Even now, part of him still clung to the memory of her laugh—how it had made his chest feel hollow and full at the same time. He remembered the way his palms had sweated when he asked her to the dance, and how her "yes" had seemed to validate something essential about himself. The night of the dance, the school gymnasium pulsed with colored lights. When Laura broke away and ran toward Terrence, Malcolm had frozen, unable to process the betrayal even as Terrence's mocking laughter surrounded him. For weeks afterward, he'd caught himself making excuses for her—maybe Terrence had threatened her, maybe she'd been too afraid to say no to the money—even as he burned with humiliation remembering how Terrence's friends had joined in, their laughter a cruel chorus.

  Not sure I like that Dravokka helped unlock this from my memory. Not that they were really buried. Then there’s Shawna—only three months into our marriage, and I walked in and saw his belt coiled on our bedroom floor like a snake. His watch on my nightstand. His naked body tangled with hers in sheets I'd bought the week before. The sheets I burned in the backyard while she screamed that I was insane.

  With a sudden leap, he propelled himself toward the garden bench, throwing himself down with a forceful thud. His mind was a whirlwind as he fervently chanted the words Dravokka had commanded him to utter, each syllable echoing with urgency and intensity.

  “I must let loose of all of the anger, the betrayal. I must forgive them for my sake. I no longer allow them to control me from within. Forgiveness is granted, trust is earned. I grant forgiveness.”

  A little over a week and already I feel... something. Better? Maybe. Lighter in moments, then suddenly heavy again. Tahlur's betrayal keeps shifting in my mind—sometimes just another person who screwed me over, sometimes the embodiment of every disappointment I've ever faced. I need to keep working, but part of me wonders if control is even possible. He smiled thinly and watched the clouds float by, their edges darkening. Maybe I'm on the way to that control. Or maybe I'm fooling myself again.

  Valgrin's shadow fell across the weathered planks of the bench, his blue head gleaming in the morning light. He stood with one foot on the garden path, the other still in the grass, as if hesitant to intrude. His eyes flicked from Malcolm's sweat-dampened shirt to the relaxed slump of his shoulders.

  Malcolm's breathing had just returned to normal. He patted the empty space beside him, the wood still warm from the sun. "Bench has your name on it," he said, shifting to make room.

  Valgrin eased onto the bench, wood creaking beneath him. His eyes lingered on the faint tremor in Malcolm's left hand. "Sleep any better?" he asked, voice casual but gaze sharp.

  Malcolm flexed his fingers, stilling the tremor. "Only woke up twice," he said, rubbing at the dark half-moons beneath his eyes. "Tahlur wasn't waiting behind my eyelids this time." He rolled his shoulders, the tension audibly cracking. "Been doing those breathing exercises Dravokka showed me. Over an hour this morning without seeing a single vine or dagger. So, her advice and help is…well…helping."

  “Even though you were sure it wouldn’t do any good at all?”

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  “Okay, okay. Even I can be wrong about somethings…occasionally.” Malcolm chuckled.

  Valgrin joined in the laugh. “You seemed to be carrying yourself a little more like the old Malcolm. So, I was hoping...”

  Malcolm rolled his neck, the vertebrae popping audibly. “Yeah, feel better than I did,” His eyes narrowed slightly. “How’d the trip to Ylnah’s dad really go? Got a sense you weren’t fully forthcoming yesterday with her around.”

  Valgrin shrugged his shoulders. "Brechin met me at his door with arms crossed and jaw set like granite. We sat at his kitchen table—me with my hands wrapped around a mug of something bitter, him tapping his fingers against the wood. When I mentioned Addy's first steps, how my heart nearly burst watching her toddle toward me, his eyes flickered. By the time I described you teaching Ylnah to throw daggers last month—the way she bit her lip in concentration, just like Addy used to—he was leaning forward. His fingers stopped tapping. He nodded once, that stone face cracking just enough to show a smile at the corner of his mouth. And, obviously, agreed to let her come back here—after getting me to swear to look after as my own. Not anything I’m not already doing."

  "That's great. She needs some time to continue developing, and she's already made significant progress in the short period she's been with us." Malcolm paused.

  “What? That stare usually leads to you telling me something I’m doing wrong.”

  “Not wrong.” Malcolm scratched his shoulder for a second. “But it looks, to me, that Ylnah might be crushing on you. The look on her face was close to worship when you were describing your guy’s trip yesterday. Knowing you as I do, I’m guessing you haven’t picked up on that, yet.”

  “Huh?” Valgrin grunted, eyebrows raised. “No way, respect maybe, but even that’s a stretch.”

  “As I figured. Clueless. I’m just saying it looks like she might have started seeing you in a way beyond mentor. And others have noticed it as well, so it’s not just my overactive imagination. Now that it’s been brought up, you’ll be prepared if it does come up.”

  Valgrin shook his head, “Consider me alerted. I know you’re wrong,” Valgrin paused. Looking up at Malcolm with a slight smile, “But I also know I’m usually the actual wrong one when it comes to picking up on these things.”

  Malcolm leaned back, “It could just be she was still amazed you talked Brechin into letting her stay with us, but just be wary. Changing the subject, I’m headed over to the theerat soon. I’ve not seen Sifferal since we got back and I need to keep the training up.” Malcolm chuckled, “Wanna go with? I could use a sparring partner to beat up on.”

  Valgrin threw his hands up in a mock defensive pose, “Not today. I’m heading to Plarest later today. I need to start getting a handle on this White Death stuff. I’ll take Skwilly with me, though he’ll stay in the room while I go out. That way I won’t be alone and you…and others…won’t have to worry.”

  “Ylnah not going with you?”

  “No, going to take her to the library here in a few minutes. She said she wants to show me something.” Valgrin paused, “Um…that didn’t come out the best.”

  Malcolm let out a chuckle. "Yeah, I got your meaning. Though if someone else heard that..." He raised an eyebrow. "Probably smart to leave her behind anyway, considering what we just talked about." He studied Valgrin's face for a moment, then shifted in his seat. "So... this Black Dove revelation. How are you holding up with all that?"

  Valgrin exhaled forcefully, his hand moving across his bald, blue head, then stopping mid-stroke. "I don't—" He shook his head. ""Part of me wants to just roll with it, you know? Like, hey, magical world, cool powers, no cancer for you." His fingers twitched, resuming their path across his scalp. "Fred's betrayal made sense, in a way. But Tahlur? And Drathnor—a character I created, Malcolm." His voice cracked. "I keep thinking I should be more strategic, more analytical about all this. Maybe I should be flattered the Structure is using my characters. Maybe I should be terrified." Valgrin's gaze darted between the sky and the ground, unable to settle. "Sometimes I think we should just accept our fate here. Other times I'm convinced there's a way home if we just—" He turned sharply to lock eyes with Malcolm, his voice catching between a whisper and a growl. "I don't know what I think anymore. But yeah, sounds like I'm doing just fine."

  “I don’t disagree with anything you’ve brought up.” Malcolm kept his gaze locked on Valgrin, “As the guy who just lost it getting revenge on Tahlur, I can say don’t let it eat at you to the point you lose yourself. Still learning that myself, we both need to watch each other as we go. Right now, I need you and sure seems like you need me.”

  Valgrin broke off the gaze. Looking at the ground, he began to slowly nod. “I agree and I’m better than I sounded. Not great, but the venting helped. We’ll figure a way through this, but seems like it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “Agree, even if it’s cliche.” Malcolm chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood. “Though I don’t like the idea of worse. It’s been rough so far. But the best we can do is keep moving forward.”

  “And who’s mister cliche now?” Valgrin grinned back, “and I concur. Onward into the breech.”

  Malcolm groaned, a playful sound that carried a hint of resignation and amusement. “I have to go,” he said, stretching the words like a rubber band. “I’m leaving before we spend the rest of the morning saying how much we need each other.” He stood up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Remember, I do still need you to do all the work.” He let out a dramatic sigh, adding, “And on that note, I’m headed to the theerat.