Ray woke to the steady clang of Toren’s hammer, the sound travelling clean through timber and packed dirt. It wasn’t the kind of noise that meant danger. It was the sort that meant someone was already working, because work didn’t care what time it was.

  He lay still anyway, letting his body run its check the way it always did now. Breath in. Breath out. The wrap around his ribs held firm under his shirt, tight enough to support without making him feel caged. The bruising tugged when he filled his lungs, but it had lost its teeth. Pain that complained, then shut up if you stopped giving it attention.

  He pulled his adjustable UI up with a thought, kept it angled down and close out of habit, then let out a quiet huff at himself.

  Full didn’t mean fixed, and he didn’t let the numbers trick him into arrogance. He let the panel fade and brushed the necklace through the cloth at his sternum. Cold. Quiet. No warning heat. It sat there with the same innocent weight it always pretended to have, as if it hadn’t saved his life and nearly gotten him killed on the same day.

  You’re here, he reminded himself. You’re still here. That matters.

  He swung his legs off the bedroll and stood carefully, more out of discipline than need. The partitioned corner Mara had given him still wasn’t much of a room, but it was dry, it was private enough to sleep, and nobody had tried to pry his pack open while he did it. That alone still felt unreal.

  When he stepped into the main space, the morning had already claimed it.

  Mara wasn’t scraping a pot today. She was at the table with dough under her palms, fingers dusted with flour, shoulders set as she kneaded with the same grim focus she brought to everything else. The knife sat nearby, not in her grip, but within reach because that was how she lived. Layne sat sideways on the bench with her bow across her knees, threading fresh fletching onto an arrow with careful fingers, hair tied back tight and neat in a way that looked deliberate. Hewin stood just inside the doorway, one shoulder angled toward the street, eyes tracking the gap in the wall the way other people watched a fire. Toren was near the forge-side, sleeves rolled, hands black with soot, checking a strap while the iron cooled behind him.

  Mara didn’t look up straight away. “You’re on your feet. That’s either progress, or you’re about to make it my problem.”

  Ray took the edge seat without thinking, the one closest to getting out if he had to. “Morning to you too.”

  Layne’s mouth quirked, quick and gone. “He’s learning your language.”

  Toren flicked his gaze to Ray’s chest and posture, the way a craftsman looked at a crooked shelf. “Breathing alright?”

  “I’m breathing,” Ray said. “It’s complaining, but it’s breathing.”

  Hewin didn’t shift from the doorway. “Cheerful today.”

  “Full of porridge, if Mara’s feeling generous.”

  Mara snorted and shoved a bowl his way anyway. Thin porridge, dried fruit, and a smear of fat that pretended it was richer than it was. “Eat. Then you’re going back to Sella.”

  Ray stared at the bowl like it had betrayed him. “I’m fine.”

  Layne lifted her head. “If you say that word again I’m going to start carrying a bell, so everyone gets a warning when you’re about to lie.”

  Ray shot her a flat look. “I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t have to,” she said, and went back to threading the arrow like she hadn’t just accused him of crimes.

  Toren made a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Go see her, mate. If she decides you’re healed and you break yourself anyway, she’ll take it out on all of us.”

  Mara pointed a floury finger at Ray. “He’s right. I’m not having her stomp through my house again because you wanted to prove something.”

  Ray ate because arguing burned energy he didn’t want to waste. The porridge was warm, and warmth still hit him in the gut like something precious. He kept his face neutral and failed anyway, because his shoulders dropped a fraction without permission.

  Layne noticed. She didn’t comment. That almost made it worse.

  When he finished, Mara wiped her hands on her skirt and nodded toward the door. “Move. Before she starts with the ‘you’re wasting daylight’ look.”

  Toren raised his brows. “That’s your look.”

  Mara didn’t blink. “I share.”

  Outside, the village had the quiet rhythm of people who’d learned how to make routine out of thin resources. Someone carried water from the creek. A kid hauled sticks twice their size with grim determination. The dog trotted the fence line like it had appointed itself the village guard and took the job personally. The goat stared at Ray from behind its rough pen, an expression of pure judgement.

  Layne fell into step beside him without asking. “Don’t look at it.”

  Ray didn’t look away. “It started it.”

  “That goat’s been judging people since before you arrived,” Layne said. “You’re just more fun to judge.”

  Ray exhaled through his nose. “Glad I’m contributing.”

  Sella’s hut sat slightly apart from the others, close enough to be part of the village but far enough the smell of boiled roots didn’t creep into anyone’s food. Inside, bundles of dried plants hung from the rafters and jars lined the shelves in uneven, practical rows. A bowl of paste sat on the table with cracks in the surface where it had dried between uses.

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

  “You’re moving better,” she said. “Which means you’re about to do something stupid.”

  Ray sat on the stool with a controlled sigh. “That’s a warm welcome.”

  “It’s an accurate one,” Sella replied, already reaching for the cloth. She didn’t dig at his ribs straight away. Instead she watched him breathe, watched the way he settled his shoulders, the way he avoided twisting. She was the sort of person who could read the truth off posture without needing to poke until you tasted metal.

  “You’re healing fast,” she said at last. “Vitality’s decent.”

  Layne leaned on the doorframe, arms folded. “Or he’s made of spite.”

  “Spite makes people ignore injuries,” Sella said. “It doesn’t mend them.” She stepped in and pressed two fingers along the bruising through Ray’s shirt, firm enough to test. The pain flared, then dulled quickly, and Ray kept his face still because that habit had been keeping him alive for a long time. “Deep bruising. Twist wrong and you’ll feel it.”

  “I can feel it already,” Ray said.

  “Good,” Sella replied, and in her mouth that almost counted as praise. “Then you’ll stop lying to yourself. You’re full health and still injured. Those two things can exist at the same time.”

  Ray didn’t argue because it was true, and he hated that it was true.

  Sella dipped two fingers into the paste and smeared it across the bruising with brisk efficiency. Cold sank into his skin and took the edge off his breath. She adjusted the wrap afterward, snug enough to support without crushing.

  “No heavy lifting today,” she said. “No running. No proving anything. If you forget, I’ll remind you with my entire personality.”

  Layne made a quiet sound that might’ve been an agreement.

  Ray flexed his fingers on his knees. “Noted.”

  Sella’s gaze flicked to the place the necklace rested beneath his shirt, quick and practical, then back to his face. “And if that thing warms again, you come here. You don’t wait to see if it settles.”

  “It won’t,” Ray said automatically.

  “It might,” Sella replied without blinking. “This world doesn’t care what you want.”

  Layne straightened a fraction. “It was warm. A few days back. The kid waved a charm at him and he went still.”

  Ray’s eyes snapped to Layne.

  Layne lifted both hands, palms out. “I’m not making it a drama. She should know.”

  Sella tied off the cloth. “Now I know.” She stepped back, eyes on Ray. “If you want to be useful, you can gather for me.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Ray’s brows rose slightly. “You say that differently to Mara.”

  “I mean it differently,” Sella said, already pulling jars down from a shelf. “Bitterleaf and sharp reed. Fresh. Clean. I’m stretching the paste. If I cut it too thin, it stops working and people start bleeding for real.”

  Layne pushed off the doorway. “I’ll take you.”

  Ray didn’t answer, because the world had a habit of turning ordinary chores into trouble without warning.

  They followed the creek line at the steady pace Layne preferred. Her eyes stayed on the ground and treeline, scanning in a rhythm that never looked frantic, just constant. Conversation came in bursts, then faded when it didn’t need to exist.

  Layne pointed with her chin toward a patch of low leaves tucked under shade. “Bitterleaf. Don’t grab it bare-handed unless you want to itch for two days.”

  Ray crouched, used the edge of his knife to lift the stem, and pulled it free without dragging his skin across it. He slid it into the satchel and glanced up.

  “You’ve done this before,” Layne said, watching his hands.

  “Once or twice.”

  “That’s you avoiding a story.”

  “That’s me not handing you something you can repeat in front of Mara,” Ray said, keeping his tone even.

  Layne huffed and kept walking. “You’re paranoid.”

  Ray looked up at her. “I’m alive.”

  She didn’t argue with that. Her mouth tightened, then loosened again, and she let the silence sit.

  After a few minutes, she spoke without looking at him. “Just don’t turn it into your whole personality. People get tired of that.”

  Ray let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh if he’d had the energy. “People get tired of me in general.”

  Layne shot him a look. “Don’t fish.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You were,” she replied, then shook her head like she was annoyed she’d engaged at all. “If you want to know something, ask it properly.”

  Ray hesitated, then decided to take the opening. “Alright. Why are you doing this?”

  Layne blinked once, then laughed under her breath. “That was not what I expected.”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “It isn’t,” Layne replied, voice going flatter. “Nothing’s simple here.”

  Ray didn’t push. He waited, because pushing was how people like her shut down.

  After a few steps, Layne answered anyway. “Because Mara would’ve done it and you’d have gotten a lecture the whole way. Because Toren would’ve done it and he’d have complained until you threw yourself into the creek to escape. Because Hewin would’ve done it and he’d have walked in silence until you started talking just to fill the space.”

  Ray’s mouth twitched. “So you volunteered out of mercy.”

  Layne’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make it weird. I volunteered because you’re in my village, and I don’t want you wandering into our traps, or the stones, or something worse, and then I’m dragging your body back while Mara pretends she isn’t furious.”

  Ray kept his tone steady. “That still sounds like mercy.”

  Layne made an irritated noise. “Shut up and grab the reed.”

  They reached the reed beds where the water slowed. Layne pulled a sharp reed free with practised fingers and held it up.

  “This one,” she said. “See the edge. That’s what she wants.”

  Ray took it and immediately sliced his finger. A bright line of blood welled up.

  Layne stared for half a breath, then tossed him a strip of cloth. “Wrap it. If you drip on the herbs she’ll blame me, and then I’ll make it your problem.”

  Ray tied the cloth around his finger with one hand. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Layne replied. “Just stop bleeding on my day.”

  Ray’s mouth pulled into something close to a smile. “Your day?”

  “That sounded rude,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t aimed at you.” Her eyes narrowed. “And don’t you dare say that word.”

  Ray exhaled slowly and adjusted. “Not a problem.”

  Layne nodded once, satisfied. “Better.”

  They returned with the satchel heavy with bitterleaf and reed. Sella took it the moment they stepped into her hut, sorting with quick fingers, sniffing leaves, checking reed edges.

  “This is the right reed,” she said, and there was a flicker of satisfaction before she buried it. Then her eyes dropped to Ray’s bandaged finger. “You bled.”

  Ray held up his hand. “Not on the herbs.”

  “That’s a low bar,” Sella said, deadpan.

  Toren’s hammer rang again outside, then stopped. His voice carried, rough. “Mara. Hewin.”

  Hewin’s reply came softer. “Here.”

  Ray stepped back out into the yard, the shift in sound pulling his attention the way it always did. Toren stood near the shed, strap in hand. Mara wiped flour from her fingers like it was an insult to be messy. Hewin stayed half-turned toward the road, as if his body refused to trust any conversation that didn’t include an exit.

  “Boot prints,” Hewin said, low.

  Mara’s head lifted. “Where.”

  “Road turn,” Hewin replied. “One set. Came up, stopped, went back.”

  Layne drifted closer, posture tightening. “Fresh?”

  Hewin nodded once.

  Toren’s expression hardened. “Harrowfen.”

  “Maybe,” Mara said. “Maybe someone curious. Maybe someone hoping the road hands them something valuable.”

  Her gaze cut to Ray for half a second, just enough to make the meaning land.

  “Everyone eats soon,” Mara added. “After that, we talk.”

  Toren lifted his brows. “We talk, or you talk and we listen?”

  Mara didn’t blink. “You. Me. Hewin. Sella. Layne. A few others who can keep their mouths shut.”

  Ray didn’t bother asking if he was included. He already knew the answer, and he didn’t feel like hearing it spoken.

  Dinner came with the usual quiet chaos. Arguing about water buckets. Someone trying to make a joke and immediately regretting it when Mara stare them down. The goat attempting theft and getting chased off with a broom. Toren complained that everyone ate like they’d never held a spoon in their life.

  Ray found himself sitting where he’d been sitting lately. Not in the centre, and not tucked away like a shameful secret either. Close enough that he wasn’t pretending he didn’t want company. Close enough to the edge that leaving would still be simple if the room turned.

  When the meal wound down, Mara stood and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Right. Layne, you’re with me.”

  Layne pushed back from the table and stood. Toren followed. Hewin drifted behind them. Sella came last, wiping her fingertips on a rag.

  Mara’s eyes landed on Ray. “You’re not coming.”

  Ray nodded. “Figured.”

  Mara jerked her chin toward the fence line. “Go learn where you are. Creek line. Short loop. You’re back before full dark tomorrow too, and I mean it.”

  Ray paused. “Boot prints today.”

  “That’s why you’re keeping it short,” Mara replied. “You’re not hunting. You’re not chasing. You’re learning your exits and your traps. You see something wrong, you come back and you tell Hewin.”

  Layne stepped close enough that only Ray could hear her. “Don’t go near the old stones.”

  Ray met her eyes. “I wasn’t going to.”

  Layne held his gaze a beat longer than she needed to, then nodded once. “Good.”

  Ray left the village and followed the creek line the way Layne had shown him, keeping his pace sensible. The wrap held his ribs steady. He didn’t push. He wasn’t proving anything. He was learning.

  The surroundings came into focus in pieces. A bend in the creek where the ground stayed dry even after rain. A fallen log that made a good crossing without splashing. A patch of disturbed soil marking one of the village traps, covered carefully. Stone markers set with purpose to steer feet away from danger. None of it was impressive. All of it mattered.

  He found bitterleaf tucked in shade near the creek, more than the small patch Layne had shown him earlier. He cut a handful cleanly, slid it into his satchel, and straightened.

  Then he froze.

  Tracks.

  Not perfect prints, but enough. One set, lighter than Hewin’s. The line angled away from the road, then faded on harder ground near the creek.

  Ray didn’t follow. He measured the angle, memorised the distance from the trap markers, listened for sound that didn’t belong.

  Nothing answered.

  He set a small stone on an exposed root where it didn’t belong, a marker for himself, then turned back toward the village at a steady pace. If someone was watching, he wasn’t handing them fear.

  He returned before full dark, kept his head down, and didn’t drift toward Mara’s door. He washed the blood off his finger, put the herbs away where Sella would find them, and settled into his corner with the kind of quiet that didn’t invite questions.

  Footsteps stopped at the partition. Layne didn’t step fully in. She leaned against the post, arms folded, face half in shadow.

  “You’re back.”

  “Mara’s curfew,” Ray said, keeping it light because heavier felt dangerous. “She looked like she’d enforce it with a spoon.”

  Layne huffed once. “Good. Rules suit you, when you’re not pretending they don’t.”

  Her hand came out of her satchel with a strip of clean cloth and a small bundle of dried meat. “For the wrap. And eat that before Toren decides it’s his.”

  Ray took them slowly. “You didn’t have to.”

  Layne’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make it weird.”

  Ray nodded once. “Alright.”

  A beat passed, and she didn’t leave straight away.

  “You find anything?”

  “Tracks near the creek,” Ray said. “One set. Didn’t come close enough to matter yet. I marked it.”

  Layne’s posture tightened. “You didn’t follow.”

  “No.”

  Her shoulders eased a fraction. “Good. Show Hewin in the morning.”

  “I will.”

  Layne pushed off the post, then paused like the words caught on her on the way out. “You’re settling.”

  Ray blinked. “What do you mean.”

  “You’re here,” she said, and her voice was rougher than it had been all day. “You’re actually here.”

  Ray’s fingers tightened against the cloth, then loosened. He didn’t ask where she’d been tonight. He didn’t ask what was decided. He just nodded once.

  “Yeah. I’m trying.”

  Layne held his gaze a second longer than she needed to, then nodded as if that was enough. “Keep trying.”

  When she walked away, Ray ate the meat, adjusted the wrap with slow, careful hands, and lay down. The bedroll felt almost comfortable, and he didn’t smile about it. He just slept.

  ***

  Layne hated closed rooms.

  Mara’s main room felt tighter at night, shutters pulled, fire kept low. Toren leaned against the wall with his arms folded, soot still on his forearms because he couldn’t stand sitting through anything. Hewin stayed near the gap and watched the road even while he listened. Sella sat on a stool with her hands folded, calm enough that it made other people speak softer.

  A few others were there too. A woman with a baby on her hip, bouncing the child gently so it wouldn’t fuss. A narrow-faced man with split knuckles who kept looking at the floor, then up again whenever the subject circled toward the System. An older resident with thin grey hair and sharp eyes who’d been quiet long enough that it felt deliberate.

  Mara didn’t waste time. “We’ve got someone testing the road. We’ve got a bounty that makes idiots brave. Say what you think, then we’re done with it.”

  The narrow-faced man spoke first, voice too quick. “That bounty pays.”

  Mara’s knife sat on the table, not in her hand for once. “It’s bait.”

  “It’s food,” he snapped back. “It’s a roof that doesn’t leak. It’s something that makes hunters stop looking at us like we’re mud.”

  Sella’s gaze didn’t change. “Hunters don’t stop. They just change reasons.”

  Hewin grunted. “And once you start selling people, you don’t stop either.”

  Layne felt her throat go dry. “I heard him slip.”

  Mara’s eyes turned to her. “Say it.”

  Layne hated being the centre of anything. Her jaw tightened before she spoke. “He called himself Ryn. Then he didn’t. It was quick. He didn’t even notice he’d done it.”

  Toren pushed off the wall, frowning. “What did he call himself?”

  Layne hesitated, then said it anyway. “Ray.”

  The room shifted. The woman with the baby sucked in a breath and swallowed it. The older resident’s eyes narrowed, not fear, recognition.

  The narrow-faced man’s voice went small and hungry. “That’s the name the System wants.”

  “And?” Mara’s voice stayed flat.

  “And that means it’s real,” he insisted. “That means we’re sitting on it and pretending we aren’t.”

  Toren’s eyes sharpened. “He’s not swaggering around telling people what to do. He’s trying to stay small.”

  “Useful,” the narrow-faced man muttered.

  Toren snapped back. “I didn’t say useful. I said he isn’t a prick. There’s a difference.”

  Mara’s gaze swept the room. “Anyone else want to be honest?”

  The older resident finally spoke, voice rough. “We’ve had Earth folk pass through.”

  The woman with the baby nodded once, tight. “I remember that one. Asked questions that didn’t fit. People laughed until he cried, then they stopped laughing.”

  Layne’s eyes stayed on the table. “Ray talks wrong when he’s tired. He gets sharp about words that shouldn’t matter. He does the same things.”

  The narrow-faced man scoffed. “So what. That makes him special?”

  Hewin cut in. “It makes him hunted. It makes us hunted if we take him in and hand him out.”

  Mara’s tone didn’t soften. “We’re already hunted. By hunger. By weather. By anything with teeth. The System just put a price tag on it.”

  The narrow-faced man’s hands curled. “So we ignore it and stay poor.”

  Sella’s voice stayed calm, which made it worse. “We stay alive. Don’t dress it up.”

  Mara let the silence sit until it turned uncomfortable. Then she spoke, low. “No one kills a man under my roof.”

  The narrow-faced man muttered, “That’s not what I said.”

  “It’s what you’re circling,” Mara replied. “If you want the bounty, leave tonight and go chase it. Don’t poison the village while you do it. If you stay, you keep your mouth shut and you keep calling him Ryn.”

  The woman with the baby shifted the child higher on her hip. “And when hunters come asking.”

  Hewin answered, simple. “We give them nothing.”

  “And if they come anyway,” Layne added, eyes lifting now, sharp, “we still give them nothing. We don’t act guilty. We don’t act proud. We act boring.”

  Toren snorted. “We’re good at boring.”

  Sella’s mouth twitched, the closest thing to humour she’d offered. “Boring keeps you breathing.”

  The older resident looked at Mara. “He can’t stay forever.”

  Mara’s eyes stayed hard. “He stays as long as he stays. If he leaves, he leaves. If he brings trouble, we deal with it. We don’t make trouble for ourselves.”

  The narrow-faced man dropped his gaze. “Fine.”

  Mara nodded once. “Fine. That’s the vote.”