The night was cooling fast, and without my cloak I could feel the cold creeping through my armour. The unconscious woman lay pale and still beside us, her breath shallow enough to keep a knot of worry tight in my chest.

  “We need a fire,” I said. “If we stay out here like this, we’ll freeze before morning.”

  We scavenged what dry branches we could find and coaxed a small campfire to life. We dragged the woman closer to the heat, careful not to jostle her. The warmth was a relief, but the glow felt like a beacon in the dark — a promise of comfort to us, and a lure to anything that hunted by night.

  Illara watched the flames for a while, silent, then glanced at me.

  “When I saw you come out injured,” she said quietly, “I was scared. I’m glad you’re alright… but what happened in there?”

  “A goblin archer got the drop on me,” I replied. “That’s all. Lucky for me, he was a poor shot.”

  Something in her expression tightened. Not disbelief — more like the uneasy sense that there was more behind my words than I was giving her.

  I pulled her close, resting my head lightly against her shoulder. The heat of the fire and the steadiness of her breathing made it easier to keep my own anger in check.

  “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “Even if I die, I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”

  She tilted her head toward me. “How can you look after me if you’re dead?”

  The question was innocent. The answer wasn’t.

  “I’ll find a way back,” I said after a beat. “And if I can’t… then I’ll stay near you, somehow. I won’t leave you alone.”

  It wasn’t a lie, exactly. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

  Illara’s mouth softened into a small, sad smile. “That’s sweet, but… don’t bind yourself to this world for me. I wouldn’t want you trapped here forever, unable to live your own life.”

  The night stayed quiet. Illara dozed curled beside the injured woman, sharing what warmth she could. I kept watch, listening to the wind comb through skeletal branches and the fire settle into coals.

  At first light the woman startled awake with a sharp breath and tried to sit up. Without her right arm to brace herself she lurched, then fell back with a pained gasp.

  “Easy,” Illara said at once, sliding a hand behind her shoulders. “Don’t try to move too quickly. You’re safe now.”

  The woman blinked at the trees, then at the smoke-dimmed sky. “Where… where am I?”

  “Outside the nest,” Illara said gently. “We cleared it yesterday. They’re gone.”

  Something shadowed the woman’s face, and then it broke.

  “They were keeping me alive to feed on me.” Her voice shook and sharpened into horror as the memory spilled out. “I watched them eat my leg. My arm. They sawed them off slowly and—” She choked, shaking. “They cracked the bones with a hammer.”

  Tears came hard and helpless. Illara moved without thinking, pulling her into a careful embrace.

  “It’s over,” she murmured. “You’re not there anymore.”

  When the woman could breathe again, Illara asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Hazel,” she whispered. “I’m… I’m just a village girl.”

  “We’ll get you back to Ravencrest,” I said. “But you’ll need help walking, and without proper clothes this trip will be rough.”

  Hazel wiped her face with her remaining hand, jaw trembling but set.

  “It’s alright,” she said. “I’ll do anything to get out of here.”

  For breakfast, I handed out the iron rations from my pack — the ones I’d carried long before Drisnil existed in this world. According to her memories they lasted nearly forever, which was good, because they tasted like they’d been made to endure more than to be enjoyed.

  The meat was cured and dried to the point of stubbornness. Tough to tear, overly salty, but it filled the hollow places fast. Hazel ate slowly with her good hand, jaw working through each bite like it was a task she meant to finish. Illara kept sneaking her the softer pieces without comment.

  When we set off, it was at a pace that felt almost painfully slow. Hazel walked between us, leaning on each of our arms in turn, her steps uneven on the wet forest floor. Every so often she sucked in a breath when a root caught her foot or the ground dipped unexpectedly, but she never asked us to stop.

  By midday the makeshift wrappings around her feet were dark with blood. I saw the cuts opening along her heels and toes, raw against the damp, but still she didn’t complain — only clenched her jaw and kept moving, eyes fixed stubbornly on the brighter line of sky ahead.

  We reached the edge of the trees late in the day. The open road to Ravencrest felt unreal after the cave’s darkness. Hazel blinked at the wide world like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be in it.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  We made it back to the city just before dusk, the walls catching the last of the pale light. The gate guard glanced at our raven tokens, waved us through without charge, and when he saw Hazel’s condition his face tightened.

  “Go on,” he said shortly, stepping aside. “Get her inside.”

  We reached the guardhouse at dusk and knocked. After a moment the door opened, and Percy stood there in the lamplight.

  “How many goblins?” he asked, eyes flicking past us to the bundled ears.

  Illara’s mouth tightened. He hadn’t even glanced at Hazel.

  “Twenty,” I said. I held out the pouch. “And we found a woman in the nest. Hazel. She’s lost an arm and a leg.”

  Percy took the ears, counting quickly with the detached efficiency of a man who’d made this his daily work.

  “You’ll be paid for the goblins,” he said at last. His voice stayed flat. “But there’s no coin for rescues. Take her to a temple in the morning. They’ll know what to do with her.”

  Hazel didn’t seem to register the words. She was pale, drifting in and out, pain dragging her under.

  “Fine,” I said, forcing my tone steady. “We’ll get her through the night ourselves, then bring her there tomorrow.”

  Percy disappeared inside. A minute later he returned with two gold coins and pressed them into my hand. I passed one to Illara.

  “Thanks for your service,” he said, already stepping back.

  The door shut.

  Illara exhaled through her nose, a sharp little breath that said more than any argument.

  “Let’s get her to the inn,” she said quietly. “I’ll tend her wounds there.”

  We walked Hazel back through the narrowing streets, slow and careful, her weight leaning between us. The front counter at the inn was empty — no one to question an extra guest, no one to charge a fee we couldn’t afford. We climbed the stairs, carried Hazel into our room, and laid her gently on the bed.

  Illara knelt at Hazel’s feet and unwrapped the cloths. The skin beneath was a mess of bruises and deep cuts, packed with mud and grit from the road. Hazel grimaced as Illara dabbed at the wounds, but she didn’t pull away.

  “It’s all right,” Illara murmured, more to herself than to Hazel. She cleaned the worst of it, then rested her hands over Hazel’s soles. A soft warmth gathered beneath her palms. The torn flesh knit closed, swelling eased, and the angry red lines faded down to pink.

  Hazel sagged with relief.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “My feet were in agony.”

  “I’m going to get us food,” I said. “Something real. I imagine all of us could use it.”

  Illara managed a tired smile. “Very much so. Preferably something that doesn’t taste like trail salt.”

  I went downstairs to the tavern. It was lively again — firelight, mugs, the hum of a room that didn’t care what you’d done all day. I spotted Harry behind the bar.

  “Three meals, please,” I said. “Whatever the special is tonight.”

  He arched a brow. “And just because you weren’t here yesterday doesn’t mean the third one’s free.”

  I bit back a sharper reply. “I wasn’t asking for free. How much?”

  “Three copper for the extra plate.”

  I counted out the coins and slid them over. “Can you send them up when they’re ready? We’re worn out from the road.”

  He nodded once. “Julia’ll bring them up.”

  I left the noise and warmth and climbed back to the room.

  Hazel had already slipped into a shallow sleep. My cloak — the one I’d draped over her — was folded neatly on the floor beside the bed. Illara knelt nearby, head bowed, whispering another quiet prayer I couldn’t quite hear.

  I didn’t announce myself. I just started unbuckling my armour and pulling off my boots. The relief of freed shoulders and bare feet hit hard. I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to Hazel’s uneven breathing and the faint city sounds through the window.

  And behind all of it, my mind kept circling one thought:

  I needed a plan.

  Those men had lived twenty years in comfort on blood they’d never paid for.

  I wanted them to suffer for it.

  The first step was simple: earn their trust. If I kept taking work from Percy, sooner or later it would lead to Barnabus. It might take years. But I’d waited longer than that already. This had to be done right.

  The second step was harder: get the two of them alone, somewhere quiet, somewhere no one would hear them choke on their own fear. Somewhere I could paralyse them before they had the chance to fight back.

  That part worried me. They were veterans now. Stronger, sharper, and more likely to resist the poison on my blades.

  I needed a backup.

  Illara could learn a binding miracle — something that locked a body in place long enough for me to act. But to ask that of her, I would need to tell her why. I would need to pull her into the truth of what happened, and what I meant to do about it.

  I didn’t know yet if I could.

  Once they were helpless, I would bury them in a deep grave, sealed inside a coffin.

  Alive.

  Let them wake in blackness. Let them claw until their fingers bled. Let them choke on stale air with nothing but memory for company — the lives they had taken, the screams they had covered up, the mistake that had turned into slaughter.

  If there was justice left in the world, it would find them there.

  Afterward… I could give Ash the location, if he wanted to spit on their names, or carve something into the earth above them. He deserved the choice.

  Drisnil’s mind made plans like this come easily. Too easily.

  That scared me more than I wanted to admit.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  I stood and opened it to find a woman balancing a tray loaded with three bowls and three mugs.

  “Meals,” she said briskly. “When you’re done, leave the dishes on the tray outside the door. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks.” I took the tray, and she was already heading back down the hall.

  Illara looked up at once. She was helping Hazel sit upright against the pillows. Hazel’s chest was still bare above the blanket — the covers had slipped in the shifting — and Illara fussed the cloth back over her without a word. We’d need to find her proper clothing tomorrow. Something clean. Something hers.

  I passed a bowl to Hazel, another to Illara, then sat cross-legged on the floor with mine.

  Hazel’s hands trembled around the spoon.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Both of you. I… I don’t know how to repay what you’ve done.”

  Illara offered her a small, steady smile. “You don’t need to. We help because it’s right.”

  I said nothing. Compliments like that still landed strangely in me, like stones dropped into water too deep to see the bottom.

  Tonight’s meal was beef-and-mushroom stew. More broth than meat, but still leagues above iron rations. Hunger made it taste richer than it had any right to.

  For a few minutes, the three of us ate in silence while rain tapped softly at the window.