Layne lowered her bow and stared at him with an expression that didn’t know whether it wanted to be impressed or annoyed. “You didn’t hesitate.”

  Ray wiped the blade on the grass. “Neither did you.”

  “That thing would’ve ripped my leg open.”

  “You still shot it.”

  Layne shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. “We eat, or we don’t. That’s the job.”

  Ray crouched to begin the work, hands moving with the same steady rhythm he’d used on chitin. He didn’t love butchering. He’d learned it was better than starving, and he’d learned doing it fast mattered when you didn’t want blood and smell hanging in the air.

  Layne watched for a moment, then moved in to help, cutting where he pointed, holding limbs steady, keeping the job efficient. She didn’t chatter. She spoke when it mattered, which somehow made her feel more human than someone who filled every silence.

  “You ever done this before Arkus?” Layne asked after a while, voice quieter, as if the work gave her permission to ask what the village table didn’t.

  Ray’s hands paused for half a beat. “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  Ray chose his words carefully. “Back home.”

  Keep it ordinary. Give her something she can place. Don’t hand her a name she can repeat.

  Layne didn’t react in a big way, but she looked at him properly now, eyes narrowing. “Home’s a long way from here, Ryn.”

  “It is,” Ray said, and kept working.

  Layne stared at the blood on her fingers as if it had become interesting. “You’re one of them.”

  Ray didn’t pretend he didn’t know what she meant. “One of what.”

  “The ones who talk different when they’re tired,” Layne said. “The ones who get sharp about words that shouldn’t matter. The ones who show up with bruises and no tribe and act like they’ve been walking for weeks.”

  Ray gave a short laugh that didn’t have humour in it. “That’s a pretty broad category.”

  Layne’s mouth twisted. “Earth.”

  Ray didn’t answer. He didn’t confirm it either. He kept cutting, kept his breathing steady, and waited.

  Layne exhaled slowly, like she’d expected silence and didn’t mind it. “My cousin saw one once. Came through Harrowfen. He was half mad, kept asking where the phone reception was. People laughed until he cried, then they stopped laughing.”

  Ray’s throat tightened. He hated how quickly that image formed in his head, how clear it was. “Did he survive?”

  Layne shook her head. “He left town with a hunter party. They went east. Only the hunters came back, and they wouldn’t talk about it. Mara told me not to ask again. So I don’t.”

  Ray nodded once and turned back to the work. He didn’t let the thought sit too long because it would turn into anger, and anger turned into mistakes. Finrial burned once. I’m not bringing that kind of fire here.

  Layne helped him lift the meat into wrapped bundles. It was heavier than Ray would’ve liked with his ribs still complaining, but he didn’t show it. Layne didn’t offer to carry his share either. It wasn’t unkind. It was how things were out here.

  On the way back, Layne talked more, and it felt deliberate. Not warmth, exactly. A test. She asked about stitching, about how Ray cleaned chitin without it stinking. She asked if he knew how to set a snare without breaking his own fingers. She asked what he thought Harrowfen would be like, as if gauging whether he’d last a day.

  Ray answered enough to be human. “Bigger. Dirtier. More mouths. More people pretending they’re in charge.”

  Layne huffed. “That’s accurate.”

  Ray glanced at her. “You’ve been.”

  Layne nodded. “Once. It took two days to convince Mara it was worth it. It took one hour in town to remember why we didn't stay.”

  Ray adjusted the bundle on his shoulder. “Because of hunters.”

  “Because of speeches,” Layne said. “Because everyone wants you to join something. Guilds. Clans. Patrols. Someone’s always recruiting. If you say no, they act like you’ve insulted them. Then they start being helpful in a way that makes you feel trapped.”

  Ray’s mind flicked to Finrial politics and his almost, but certainly not so close death at the hands of the council. He kept that thought to himself. He didn’t trust his mouth with it.

  Layne continued, voice steady. “They talk about the System like it’s a god. They talk about quests like they’re jobs. They start measuring each other by numbers. You’ve got a bad day, someone tells you it’s because you built it wrong.”

  Ray snorted. “Sounds exhausting.”

  “It is,” Layne said. “We’re exhausted anyway. At least out here, it’s honest.”

  They stepped back into the village with two bundles of meat, and it caused a ripple. Not cheering, nothing loud, but heads turned. A child stopped mid-run and stared. Someone at a fence line straightened and watched them come in. Mara appeared in the doorway with her knife still in hand, eyes going straight to the meat.

  “Alright,” Mara said. “That’s something.”

  Layne lifted her chin. “He didn’t get himself killed.”

  Mara looked at Ray. “Did you scare my goat again?”

  Ray blinked. “What.”

  Mara pointed the knife toward the fence line where the goat was staring at him with pure judgement. “It’s been side-eyeing the road since you arrived.”

  Toren laughed once, quick and surprised. “Even the goat thinks you’re trouble.”

  Ray exhaled and shook his head. “I didn’t touch your goat.”

  “Good,” Mara said. “Because I’ll cut you.”

  Ray nodded. “Fair.”

  They set the meat down, and the village shifted into routine. Someone brought salt. Someone brought a pan. Toren disappeared into his shed and came back with a hook and a length of chain. Hewin watched the road while it all happened, posture unchanged, as if danger might stroll in wearing a smile.

  Ray stood at the edge of it, hands bloody, and realised something uncomfortable. They weren’t hovering over him. They weren’t staring at him constantly. They were just working. He’d brought value, and that value folded him into the day without ceremony.

  Layne nudged him with her elbow. “You’re standing there awkward again.”

  Ray glanced at her. “I don’t know where to stand.”

  “Try helping,” she said, and there was faint humour in it, the kind that showed she’d decided he wasn’t completely hopeless.

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  Ray moved in, took directions without arguing. He handed tools, held meat steady while Mara cut, carried buckets of water, and kept his mouth shut. Nobody thanked him. Nobody needed to. It was understood.

  Later, when the work was done and the village smelled faintly of cooked fat, Toren caught Ray near the shed and jerked his chin at the vest like it had personally offended him.

  “You stitch your own gear,” he said. “Or do you just hope it holds together out of spite.”

  Ray held up the packet of needles. “I patch it. It works.”

  “It works until you twist, or fall, or breathe too hard.” Toren pinched a seam between soot-dark fingers and tugged once. The thread creaked. “This is going to split. Not eventually, either. Soon.”

  Ray leaned forward to look and felt his ribs complain. He kept his breathing shallow anyway. Don’t give them a show. “If it splits, I’ll stitch it again.”

  “That’s the part I’m trying to prevent.” Toren dropped onto a stump and patted the space beside him. “Sit. If you’re going to be stubborn, at least be stubborn with a seam that won’t unravel.”

  Ray sat carefully. Toren threaded a needle with practised ease and held it out.

  “You’ve been doing this long?” Toren asked.

  “Long enough.”

  “That means no.” Toren didn’t bother hiding the smile. “Take it. I’m not doing it for you. I’m showing you so you stop making a mess.”

  Ray took it. His fingers weren’t as nimble as Toren’s, but he’d learned by necessity. He pushed the needle through, pulled the thread, and felt the stitch bite.

  “Too tight,” Toren said immediately.

  Ray loosened it, annoyed at himself.

  “Now it’s loose,” Toren replied. “If you get hit, that stitch will tear open and the next one will follow. You want your thread to share the load, not fight itself. Try again.”

  Ray adjusted, pulled the thread through again. This time it settled cleaner. “Better.”

  “Better,” Toren allowed, and that was as close as the man came to praise.

  A shadow fell across them. Hewin had drifted over without making it obvious, eyes still tracking the road while his attention sat on Ray.

  “So you’re staying,” Hewin said.

  Ray didn’t look up from the needle. “A couple days.”

  “And then?” The question carried weight. Not curiosity. Assessment.

  “Then I move on,” Ray replied. “Harrowfen, probably.”

  Layne was nearby, half listening while she checked her bowstring. “Everyone says ‘probably’ when they don’t want to say what they’re actually doing.”

  Ray glanced up at her, then back down. “I’m actually doing this. Unless you want my vest to fall apart.”

  Toren snorted. “He’s got you there.”

  Hewin’s mouth tightened. “Why stay at all? If you’re a trader, you trade and go.”

  Ray clipped the thread and started the next stitch with slow care. “Because I’m hurt. Because my gear’s rubbish. Because walking into Harrowfen looking weak is a good way to get robbed.”

  Layne scoffed. “So you’re worried about people.”

  “I’m worried about everything,” Ray said, honest enough to be believable. Including you. Including the goat. Including the road. Including the part of me that wants to breathe and stop running.

  Hewin grunted. “That’s closer to the truth.”

  Mara appeared with a cloth in her hands, wiping her palms as she walked. She took one look at Ray’s posture and then at Toren’s hands.

  “He’s going to see Sella,” she said.

  Ray blinked. “Who.”

  “The herbalist,” Mara replied. “She’ll look at those ribs before you convince yourself they don’t exist.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Layne let out a sharp breath. “You say ‘fine’ the way kids say ‘I didn’t do it’.”

  Toren gave Ray a sideways look. “She’s going to smear something horrible on you, and it’s going to help. Go now, before she starts seeing other people.”

  Ray hesitated. Leaving the centre of the village meant fewer eyes. Fewer eyes meant fewer layers between him and someone deciding the reward was worth a knife. He kept his face still, but Mara saw it anyway.

  “You’re thinking about leaving the village,” Mara said, voice low. “Don’t. This place is safer with everyone watching. If you step out alone and someone decides they like the look of your blade, you won’t get a chance to be proud about it.”

  Ray swallowed. “I’m not proud.”

  “Good,” Mara said. “Then move.”

  Sella’s hut sat slightly apart from the others, close enough to be part of the village, far enough that the smell of her work didn’t drift into anyone’s cooking pot. Bundles of dried plants hung from the rafters. The air hit Ray with sharp bitterness and something clean underneath it, the smell of crushed leaves and boiled roots.

  Sella looked up the moment he stepped in. Her eyes went straight to his posture, then to the way his hand hovered near his side without him noticing.

  “Sit,” she said, pointing at a stool.

  Ray sat.

  Sella didn’t waste time asking permission. She pressed two fingers along his ribs, firm enough to test. Pain flared bright behind his teeth. Ray kept his face blank, because he’d learned too young that showing pain taught people where to hurt you again.

  “Mm,” she said. “You’ve been walking around pretending this is nothing.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “That’s not a defence,” Sella replied. “That’s a habit. Habits get people killed when they stop paying attention.”

  Mara leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching with a look that said she’d delivered him to competent hands and considered the matter done.

  Sella rummaged through jars, muttering as she worked. “Let me guess. You took a hit, you fell, you kept going, and now you’re here because someone forced you.”

  Ray watched her hands, the practiced rhythm. “That’s a fair summary.”

  Sella came back with a paste the colour of wet clay and a strip of cloth. She dipped two fingers in and smeared it across bruising with no ceremony. The cold sank in fast, and Ray hated how quickly it helped.

  “What is that,” Ray asked, because talking was easier than admitting relief.

  Sella’s eyes flicked up. “If I tell you, you’ll pull a face. If I don’t tell you, you’ll still pull a face. Keep sitting still.”

  Ray held still.

  She wrapped the cloth around his torso, snug enough to support without crushing. “You breathe shallowly, you make it worse. You twist wrong, you make it worse. You go out hunting and pretend pain isn’t there, you’ll turn bruising into cracks.”

  Ray exhaled carefully. “Noted.”

  Sella’s gaze flicked once toward his necklace under the shirt. It wasn’t a stare. It was inventory, quick and practical, then gone again. “Harrowfen’s full of trinkets,” she said. “Little charms that promise they can see the truth in you. People love promises. It saves them the work of thinking.”

  Mara shifted in the doorway. “A kid tried one earlier.”

  Sella’s mouth tightened. “Which kid?”

  Mara sighed. “Joss.”

  “Of course it was Joss.” Sella wiped her hands clean with a rag, then looked at Ray again. “If that necklace warms, you come here. You don’t hide it. You don’t pretend it’s fine. I don’t care if you’re embarrassed.”

  Ray met her eyes. She wasn’t probing. She wasn’t fishing. She was just competent. The simplicity of it was disarming. “It’s a warning,” he said.

  “Then treat it like one,” Sella replied. “Warnings exist because the thing you’re ignoring still wants to hurt you.”

  Outside, the light had shifted by the time they walked back. The village had a late afternoon rhythm to it, people moving with purpose while pretending they weren’t tired.

  Toren was still by the shed with thread ready, as if he’d been waiting.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Ray adjusted the wrap under his shirt. Breathing hurts less. He didn’t want to admit how much that mattered. “She threatened me with consequences.”

  Toren grinned. “Good. Sit. Start again.”

  Ray sat, took the needle.

  Layne lingered a few steps away, bow in hand. “Does it actually help?”

  Ray didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

  A beat passed.

  Layne scoffed. “That sounded like an admission.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  “I won’t,” Layne said. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

  Toren snorted. “Thread. Flat. Don’t twist.”

  Ray stitched. The rhythm gave him somewhere to put his attention, somewhere to put the part of him that wanted to breathe and stop watching every shadow. He hadn’t realised how tired he was until he felt his shoulders drop without permission.

  A kid wandered up with dirt on his face and too much confidence. Joss. He stared at Ray’s sword, then at the vest, then at Ray’s face.

  “You a hunter?” Joss asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  Joss stepped closer, hands behind his back. His gaze darted once to Mara across the yard, then back to Ray with those bright, stupid daring kids when they hadn’t been punished enough yet.

  Ray felt the necklace flare hot against his chest.

  A sharp pulse. Warning. Immediate.

  His fingers froze on the thread. He didn’t move his hand toward the blade, but every muscle in his forearm tightened anyway.

  Joss grinned and produced a little glass charm on twine, cloudy and scratched. He held it up in front of Ray’s face like he was showing off a new toy.

  “It didn’t work,” the kid said, delighted. “I tried and it didn’t work.”

  Mara was on him in three steps. “Joss.”

  Layne’s head lifted. “Where did you get that?”

  Joss shrugged, still proud of himself. “Found it. Harrowfen bloke dropped it. He said it shows you what someone is. He said it’s just a look.”

  Mara grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back a step. “You don’t point strange rubbish at people. You don’t point anything at people. What’s wrong with you.”

  “It’s not dangerous,” Joss protested, squirming. “It’s just a look. Everyone in Harrowfen does it.”

  Ray kept his voice low, controlled. “Don’t do that again.”

  Joss frowned at him, genuinely offended. “Why.”

  Because you’ll do it to the wrong person next. Because you’ll think a charm makes you safe. Because curiosity gets paid for in blood out here.

  Ray gave him the only answer that didn’t open a door he couldn’t close. “Because it’s rude. Because people don’t like being stared at through glass.”

  Joss looked like he wanted to argue, but Mara tugged him away, muttering about Harrowfen and idiots and kids who’d get themselves killed for curiosity.

  Toren didn’t comment. He tapped the vest seam with two fingers, calm and grounding. “Now finish that stitch before you bleed your mood into it.”

  Ray stitched. He let the motion steady him.

  Layne waited until Mara and Joss were out of earshot. “That necklace blocks those charms.”

  Ray’s hands kept moving. “It blocks something.”

  “And you just happened to have it,” Layne said softly, the words careful, as if she was trying not to spook him.

  Ray glanced up at her, then back down. “People in Harrowfen ‘just happen’ to have lots of things. They trade. They steal. They lie. Pick your favourite.”

  Layne held his gaze for a second, then looked away. “People would pay for it.”

  “That’s why it stays under my shirt.”

  Night settled in stages. Doors latched. A low laugh from somewhere. Someone coughing. The last of the cooking smoke fading into cold air.

  Ray lay back on the bedroll and stared at the ceiling. His ribs ached less, the wrap holding him together in a way pride never would. The necklace had gone cold again, but he kept his palm over it until the last phantom heat faded.

  He listened to the village breathe around him and tried not to want it. I tried not to feel how easy the routine could become if he let it. He hadn’t slept under a roof, even a half-roof, since Finrial. He hadn’t woken to voices that weren’t shouting or hunting or pleading. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be somewhere that expected you to wake up and do a job, not run.

  Don’t get soft, he told himself, and the thought came out bitter because he was tired of needing it. Don’t get used to it. Don’t start thinking you can stay anywhere.

  He reached for the bond out of habit, the same way you checked a blade before sleep. There was nothing clean to it at this distance. No voice. No pull. No message. Just absence where sound would be, and the faint certainty that it hadn’t snapped.

  Silence, stretched thin.

  Ray exhaled slowly and rolled onto his side, careful with the movement, careful with the sound.

  Still there. That’s enough.

  He closed his eyes and let the village noises blur into something almost ordinary. For a few minutes, he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t exhausted. For a few minutes, he could lie still and let his ribs knit and his mind quiet down, and that alone felt dangerous.

  He let it happen anyway.

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