Chapter 50: Eyes That Follow

  Of course.

  Obviously.

  After her shift ended, Ivaline resumed tailing Ray like a shadow stitched to his heels.

  He once step in to help some case peacefully.

  Once need to unsheathe his sword when a robber happens and end it in a clear one single stroke.

  No blood spilled, but his pants is split and he could not carry whatever he robbed and choose to catch his pants while running instead.

  Murmurs followed them not the awed whispers from yesterday nor today, but something uglier, warped by imagination.

  “Isn’t that the child he saved?”

  “Why is she following him?”

  “Did the Brave take her as a slave?”

  “……”

  Ray heard every word.

  His hearing was, unfortunately, very good.

  “…..”

  He stopped and turned.

  This time, Ivaline hid better, thanks to Chronicle’s advice.

  She crouched behind a barrel, posture low, presence minimized.

  She looked like a stray cat now.

  Careful.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Alert.

  Observing.

  Cute.

  Entirely wrong.

  Ray pinched the bridge of his nose.

  This is bad. Very bad.

  Thankfully, her late-morning shift at the dye shop came soon after, and the small footsteps peeled away in another direction.

  Relief washed over him.

  Still—

  “…After her shift, I need to talk to her. Properly.”

  Or he was going to develop an ulcer before noon.

  “Hmmm…”

  Corvix, owner of the dye shop, inspected the garment laid out before him with a craftsman’s seriousness.

  A simple dress.

  Neither too large nor too tight.

  Easy to move in.

  Plain white fabric with blue trim.

  Sturdy stitching.

  Clean lines.

  No unnecessary decoration.

  Practical. Durable. Proper.

  A pair of simple sandals rested beside it.

  “Good.”

  He nodded once.

  It would suit her silver hair.

  Her odd eyes—blue and ashen gray

  Far better than oversized boots and ragged cloth.

  Just then, the door opened.

  Ivaline stepped inside.

  “Girl. Ivaline, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come here.”

  She obeyed without hesitation.

  Corvix gestured, and one of his employees measured her quickly, efficiently. The dress was handed off with brief instructions, and the man left.

  “Today,” Corvix said, turning back to his desk, “I’ll teach you advanced calculation.”

  “…Thank you.”

  “Good.”

  Time passed quietly.

  Ivaline observed.

  Listened.

  Memorized.

  With Chronicle’s gentle explanations, she began to understand something else as well:

  Dye shop owner liked politeness.

  He favored obedience but not groveling.

  Short answers.

  Clear words.

  Gratitude expressed once, properly.

  So, she adjusted.

  She stayed silent unless addressed.

  Answered concisely.

  Never forgot to say thank you.

  Each correct response lifted his mood just a fraction.

  Then—

  “Sir.”

  “Corvix.”

  “…..?”

  “Sir Corvix.”

  “…Sir Corvix.”

  “Good. Now ask.”

  A brief exchange.

  Crude.

  Efficient.

  And somehow, perfectly agreeable to both of them.

  Ivaline asked her question.

  Corvix answered without elaboration.

  Work resumed.

  Outside, unseen, the Brave walked the streets

  unaware that while he planned a serious conversation,

  the girl was already learning names,

  positions,

  and how to exist properly in the world.