On the third day of the journey, Forfield greeted Reed. Meredith slept, leaning against him, shivering slightly in her sleep from the chill. He did not wake her, knowing that such long travels always took a greater toll on her. The rain ceased near dawn, leaving behind a foul, cold dampness and roads churned into marshes.

  The landscape of Forfield’s border villages was not significantly different from Bradenmain, yet differences remained. Specifically, in the architecture and construction. On its fringes, Forfield appeared impoverished, desolate, and weary. It seemed the people here were even more destitute than Reed could have imagined; now, even the slums of Bradenmain no longer seemed so bleak.

  The fact that stone houses still stood was a blessing for the locals. The settlement streets were deserted and trade was sluggish. Apparently, it was hard to sell anything to those who had nothing to give in return. That conclusion made Reed uneasy. He touched Meredith’s shoulder, pulling her from sleep.

  "Are we there yet?" she inquired sleepily, clutching Reed's arm.

  "Yeah," he grunted. "What do you think?"

  "That there is nothing to find here."

  "Why?"

  "The houses are poor and the people are tired. They will either rob you, kill you, or both. In any order. Why?"

  "Just wondering," he huffed. Meredith was orienting herself well enough now. She would manage on her own when the time comes. She would be careful where necessary. "Do you think we should stop?"

  "You decide," she purred, closing her eyes again. Reed did not disturb her further, but he chose not to stop.

  The locals watched the new faces with some interest, but that interest was as listless and dismal as the village itself. Kreyghars glanced at the rider with the child, and Reed braced himself for gibes, mockery, or perhaps even aggression. To his great surprise, they simply followed them with silent, nearly lifeless stares. Anxiety crawled over his skin, and Reed decided not to linger. Sometimes an absence of overt aggression can signal greater trouble than its presence. He did not hide his ears intentionally, and that was exactly what caused the unease. Kicking the horse's flanks, he picked up the pace.

  By evening, with the village far behind them, they entered a small town. The setting was better than the neighboring settlements, yet it still reeked of despair and gloom. The people were much the same, only appearing somewhat wealthier. There was no life on the streets, only the flickering, indifferent shadows of passersby. Some stood in small clusters, discussing something, but they fell silent the moment anyone approached. This also made Reed wary. The suspicious glances set him on edge. He disliked the town, the kreyghars living in it, their houses, their clothes, and their gray faces, but he did not want to travel further. Meredith was tired and chilled; she had likely been dreaming of a proper, warm bed for days. Traveling with her, Reed had eventually grown used to thinking for more than just himself. He now accepted it as a necessity rather than a burden. He found himself accommodating her more often, though in any other situation, he would have fled the town despite his own exhaustion. He would have slept in the forest before staying in a place he despised so much.

  They stopped on the far outskirts at an old inn. Despite the falling evening, there were few kreyghars inside. The owner looked Reed over, and Reed braced himself for the demand to leave. It never came. The man simply stated the price for a room and outlined the rules. As the kreyghar spoke, Reed’s eyes widened in surprise. In Bradenmain, he was always charged triple. That is, if he wasn't told they were full or ordered to the exit immediately. He asked twice to be certain he hadn't misheard. His questioning began to irritate the owner. The man rolled his eyes, his lips curled with annoyance.

  "Listen, if it's too expensive, go find another place," he grumbled, spitting on the floor.

  Reed raised his hands in a silent gesture of peace. Meredith stood beside him with her eyes closed, nearly asleep. Still without a word, Reed laid the coins on the counter and hurried out of the common hall. His rain-soaked clothes clung unpleasantly to his skin. He wanted nothing more than to get warm and vanish into sleep.

  The room was mediocre, yet it was not the worst place they had spent the night. It wasn't the forest, and that was enough. Meredith would not have survived another night in the cold. She was shivering, and her dress was damp with the foul moisture of the road. Reed helped her remove her cloak, then turned to light a fire in the small hearth at the center of the room. He wanted to give her a chance to change her clothes, even though there was a screen in the corner. The chimney was in poor condition. Exhausted, Reed sat directly on the floor and watched the smoke drift lazily upward. Soon, the flames danced, casting strange shadows against the stone walls. Meredith finished changing and sat down beside him.

  "Your clothes are wet."

  "Huh?" he started. Her voice pulled Reed from the void too suddenly, and he felt lost. He noticed it more often now, those moments when he could sit and think of nothing, staring into the emptiness with a vacant gaze.

  "You're wet, you'll get sick," Meredith repeated, hooking the edge of his cloak with her finger.

  Reed simply shrugged in response, untangling the laces at his neck. Soon he returned to the hearth in an old shirt and worn pants that he somehow could not bring himself to throw away.

  "Are you sure we should stay here?" Meredith asked, stifling a yawn.

  "We don't have time to find another place."

  "That's not what I mean."

  "I don't know, Dita. At first glance, Forfield is no worse than Bradenmain, but I'm not sure." Ruffling her damp hair, Reed gave an awkward shrug.

  "What if it's dangerous for me here?"

  "I'll find a good place for you."

  "And what if you don't?"

  "I know what you're getting at," Reed smiled, watching her. "I can't take you with me. We've talked about this already, and you remember how we settled things."

  "You decided."

  "One day you'll understand that I chose what was best."

  "Best for you?"

  "Don't be difficult. You know I'm not trying to get rid of you. You still have a chance to start a new life, but I don't."

  "Why not?"

  "I have enemies. They won't let me settle in one place. I don't know how to do anything else, and working in one city becomes dangerous after a while. Dita, we belong to different worlds. You don't have to become someone like me." Reed sighed heavily.

  "Fine," she muttered. "Are you truly sure this is for the best? That I can handle it?"

  Looking at her, Reed smiled and simply nodded. She embraced him without a word, and the gesture calmed Reed as well. Occasionally, a strange, unfamiliar feeling still flickered within his soul, though it happened less often with each passing day. At first, it had been terrifying to accept Meredith's favor. He could hardly believe that someone might actually care for him. Eventually, her affection began to feel different. He needed it himself. Thinking of Meredith and everything she did for him made Reed hate his life a little less. He began to think more often about the consequences of his actions, for if he did not return, someone would suffer. Her embrace offered a sense of peace, even a certain comfort. It was a strange yet pleasant feeling. Reed smiled involuntarily.

  "We won't part forever, will we?" Meredith asked quietly, clenching his battered shirt in her fists.

  "Of course not," Reed exhaled. He wasn't sure he was telling the truth. After all, he could be killed at any moment. That was the danger that came with his work. On the other hand, he believed he had already affected Meredith's fate enough. It would be better if she spent as little time as possible with someone like him. Yet, a sense of loss gnawed at him.

  Once Meredith was gone, Reed would return to his old life. Over the years, he would harden again, turning to stone from within. Blood would stain his hands once more, and he wouldn't bother to wash it off. His eyes would grow cruel again, and his smile would become a parody: a sneer steeped in gall and malice. He would forget how a sincere embrace felt, what a word care was dressed in, and how to feel gratitude or empathy. Years would erase the memory of Meredith. First, he would forget her voice, then her face, and eventually, insatiable time would take her place in his life entirely. Perhaps that was why he was alone. It was always hard to lose what made your existence even a little better, a little brighter.

  Losses left scars, and Reed preferred to have nothing so that he would have nothing to lose. He preferred cold invulnerability over painful sensitivity. For years, Reed thought that this was truly the best way to live. Now he realized he had only imagined it was so, for in his entire life he had found no one who could be a friend to him. Reed had nowhere to go and nowhere to return to, so he persistently convinced himself that this was exactly what he wanted. Meredith was an exception. Reed could hardly have guessed at such a thing when he returned to the mainland. He never imagined that after Belden he would have anything that brought him joy and peace. He hadn't known peace for too long, and now he did not want to give it up.

  "I don't want to go anywhere."

  "Dita..." Reed began with a sigh.

  "I know what you're going to say, but it doesn't change anything."

  "You can't always do what you want," a faint smile flickered across Reed's face and instantly vanished.

  "Do you have a family, Hector?" Meredith inquired awkwardly after a pause.

  "No," he shook his head, staring into the flames. "They are all dead."

  "Do you remember them?"

  "I... not entirely. It has been many years."

  "Will I forget, too?" Her voice cracked, sinking to a whisper. "I don't want to forget anyone."

  "Then you won't," Reed replied weakly.

  "So, you wanted to forget?"

  "Some things are better left to rest. I haven't thought of them in a very long time. The less you pick at old wounds, the faster they heal." Reed winced as he spoke the words. He had not forgotten, though he desperately wished he had. And now, he was projecting his desires as reality. Memory had not erased the faces of those who were his family, nor had it healed the wounds; he had simply learned to ignore them.

  "Will you tell me?" Meredith pulled back slightly, searching Reed's face, then faltered with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

  "Tell you what happened?" Reed huffed. Perhaps she was the only one he could be honest with, yet he still lacked the courage to reveal everything.

  "If you don't want to, you don't have to. I just thought, since you know about my family... forget it."

  "I was born in Belden forty-five years ago." The words fell heavily from his lips, choking him, sticking in his throat. It felt strange and frightening, as if he were speaking of someone else. But it was a fair exchange, for he already knew Meredith's dark secret. Releasing her, he winced and continued. "I was born a slave and remained one until I escaped. My mother was an elf. I never knew my father. And I had a brother."

  "And what happened to him?" Meredith asked in a whisper.

  "He was buried in a mine collapse when I was nine," Reed replied just as quietly. "I barely remember him. My mother didn't live long after that. She..." His throat tightened in a spasm. He had never told anyone how his mother died. He was afraid to even remember it. He lied, but not of everything. He just couldn’t tell the whole truth. Meredith remained silent and did not press him. She seemed to feel how heavy these words were for Reed.

  "She... grew ill," Reed finally squeezed out. "Became weak. She didn't last long."

  He had lied again. Even when he had promised not to, how could he force himself to speak the truth? It still hurt, even if he tried to pretend it doesn’t.

  "Now your family is with the Mother. She has granted them peace." Meredith’s quiet voice echoed in Reed’s head, but he only partially grasped the meaning of her words. Memories of his mother troubled his soul. He realized he wouldn't be able to talk about her death for a long time still. Meredith didn't need to know such details, and they made Reed feel sick.

  "You said you escaped..."

  "Yes." The short answer came out sharp and cold. Reed took a breath and continued more calmly. "Not alone. Someone helped me."

  "And?"

  "Dita," pain flickered in his voice, "why all these questions?"

  She fell silent for a while. Then she cautiously took his hand, and Reed could not pull away.

  "I wanted to get to know you," Meredith finally blurted out. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be." Reed forced a smile and patted her shoulder.

  Soon Meredith drifted off to sleep, and Reed had to force her to get into bed. While she sluggishly pulled off her shoes, he remained sitting by the fire. He wondered why he had spent so many years making up legends about his past.

  "By the way, you don't look forty-five," she grumbled, crawling under the blanket.

  "That's because I'm an elf," he stated, turning around. "We don't age like humans. We age slower because we live nearly three times as long."

  "And when will you start looking old enough for such an advanced age?" For a moment, Reed thought he caught a hint of friendly mockery in her voice.

  "I don't know," he replied with a short chuckle.

  "Probably never. The difference is too great. Usually, by forty-five, men have a belly, a beard, and a set of moral lectures for their grandchildren. You haven't even started."

  Unexpectedly even to himself, Reed laughed. His loud, infectious laughter rang through the room, echoing off the walls. He could not remember the last time he had laughed like that. It was the first time Meredith had heard it, and she smiled as well.

  "I'm not that old," Reed said, catching his breath.

  "Nah. I don't know anyone older than you. You're like the grandfather I never had. Just so strange one."

  "Wait until you're forty-five. You won't feel forty-five is old then."

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "True, because by then you'll be even older, so I'll look good by comparison."

  "Sleep," Reed laughed, picking up his wet cloak from the floor and tossing it at her. She made a sound alike to classic 'Ew!' and giggled, throwing cloak aside.

  "And you?" she asked, her smile fading.

  "Are you scared?" Reed knew her well enough to notice when she was circling the point. So, he asked directly.

  "I don't know. I don't like it here. It's cold."

  "Snow will be coming soon."

  Meredith did not answer. She only watched him, peering out from under the blanket. With a sigh, Reed pulled another blanket from his bag and gestured for her to move over.

  ***

  The town where they stayed was called Bragos. It was old, dilapidated, and small. In such places, nothing interesting ever happened and the people were guarded, starved for entertainment. Bragos was the kind of town one wanted to flee as quickly as possible and forget forever once away. There was no work for Reed there, but he stayed to gather information. No one really spoke to him, but that was no problem. As it turned out, the mage hunts in Forfield were more active, which was why the mages hadn't been seen for a long time. Either they had all been slaughtered or the mages were hiding well.

  Regardless, the capital had not seen a mage execution in several years. Before arriving in Forfield, Reed only knew that the King held power; now, he discovered with surprise that Arden ruled the country with an iron fist. Conversations compromising the church or the King’s authority were forbidden. One could lose their head for such things. Disobeying soldiers or church officials carried the same consequences. Anyone who aided mages or spoke actively in their support was also sent to the scaffold. Furthermore, no one knew exactly how conversations were monitored, but they were always found out. Consequently, kreyghars feared to utter even a single word before strangers.

  Forfield’s taxes were exorbitant, which explained why the towns appeared so dismal. King Arden, well into his twilight years, was mentally unstable and greedy. He gave a portion of the taxes to the church and the army, which hunted mages relentlessly. The remaining funds went toward palace security because the King suffered from an especially aggressive form of paranoia.

  As it turned out, the King had a particular interest in mages. They said it all began when his father, Tayden, was killed by mages from the Blood Waters. Arden zealously controlled every matter concerning magic and those endowed with it. Some believed such fervor was due to the King’s mental instability, while others supported the policy despite their disdain for the taxes. There were also those who fervently believed it was all justified, convinced the Church needed the people’s support to rid Forfield of mages and the curse of Vesifer. Yet, regardless of the opinions on the King, the majority supported the Church and the mage hunts. No one even questioned why the Church needed so much money, as an executioner’s services were not that costly.

  Here, as in Bradenmain, the Church held power. It was too great, too absolute, and the rectors took full advantage. Considering their ties to King Arden and the funds consistently donated to maintain the holy sites, there was no doubt the arrangement was mutually beneficial. Were it not so, Forfield would have been ruled by a different king long ago.

  Realizing how dire the situation was for mages in Forfield, Reed doubted whether he should leave Meredith here. On the other hand, she hid her abilities skillfully. If not for the known circumstances, Reed would never have discovered them at all. Moreover, hiding was nothing new to her. She could live as an ordinary person for years without revealing her dangerous secret. The main thing was to find a secluded place, far from crowds and prying eyes. Once Meredith grew older, she would be able to find her own way. Ultimately, there was absolutely nothing that betrayed her as a mage. Thus, the advantage of concealment was on her side.

  They lingered in Bragos for two weeks. The rainy season was coming to an end and the cold was approaching, but Meredith refused to travel while risking getting soaked. Reed understood her and did not push. He found work, but the pay was poor, and it soon became clear they could stay no longer. Besides, he was becoming too recognizable. Word would soon spread, and a denunciation would not be far behind. His trade was illegal, which meant he was subject to prosecution.

  During their time in Bragos, Meredith often managed to coax things from Reed that he had kept silent about for many years. He was not afraid to tell her, touching the dusty pages of his past little by little and with great care. Meredith shared her stories as well, and at some point, Reed realized that this was perhaps what friendship looked like. He enjoyed having a friend, and for Meredith, it was a necessity. Further proof of this was her regular jokes about Reed’s age, his outfit, or his specific actions. These jokes were harmless, and he found himself teasing her back more often without fear to offend her. There were evenings when they laughed, recalling some nonsense or prodding each other during a game of dice. Both cheated shamelessly, but Reed did not get angry. He had taught her himself.

  When it was time to depart, Reed caught himself thinking that Bragos was not such a repulsive place after all. While he was there, it seemed that things were not so bad. The upcoming move turned him into a nomadic cutthroat once again. On the other hand, there were things in his life that were impossible to avoid. The necessity of constant movement was one of them, though it now caused him more resentment than before.

  It rained again that day, and Meredith looked dismally at the road, wincing at the cold droplets. Reed did not intend to delay the next stop for long, but he could no longer stay in Bragos either. This town had already played its part in their destiny and it was time to leave it in the past. Their next destination was Eisen, a larger and presumably wealthier city. There, Reed planned to earn some coin and say goodbye to Meredith, if possible. The prospect did not please him, yet common sense proved stronger than emotion. Despite the fact they had become friends, Reed stood by his conclusion: he was not the best company for the girl.

  His lifestyle, habits, and occupation were not for her. He was warping her worldview and behavior, stripping away her chances for a different, normal life day by day, slowly, bit by bit. The more she grew accustomed to him, the harder it would be to start over. While Meredith was a child, Reed could shield her from the dark chapters of his life. He could protect her or hide her. But as she grew older and became fully acclimated to the nomadic life of an outlaw, she would end up doing the same. Reed did not want that. His own life was predestined, and he had resigned himself to the necessity of taking risks to earn his living.

  In Meredith's case, allowing her to slide into the same abyss would mean voluntarily exposing her to danger. Therefore, casting aside all his desires and sorrows on the matter, Reed reached a final decision. He could delay no longer. The more one stalls, the harder it is to act. He feared that at some point he would change his mind and would let her stay, disregarding everything he had considered before. If Meredith were to die following his path, her death would be on his conscience. Like many other deaths, for that matter, yet her death was one Reed would never be able to forgive himself for.

  ***

  The horse trotted slowly along the damp pavement of the city road. Reed was returning to Eisen after a short journey. A new city brought new sights, though Reed had long since stopped committing them to memory. Why clutter his thoughts with places and people he would never encounter again? Their lives would proceed without him; the city would endure, carrying its burdens, rejoicing in its fortunes, and guarding its secrets. There was no reason for it to leave an impression on a man like Reed. Yet, this city Reed would remember. Eisen would remain in his memory for years to come, appearing on the envelopes of his letters and rooting itself deep within his soul. Reed would not wish to forget it.

  According to the map, there were places in Eisen that could become a home for Meredith. The idea of finding her work had to be cast aside. By sending her to work, Reed would not only deprive Meredith of the chance to learn but also expose her to danger. How could he know if her employer would be decent and not seek to take advantage of her lack of family? Naturally, if anything were to happen to Meredith, Reed would intervene, but that would not undo what could happen. His anxiety for her well-being was so profound that he was prepared to search for better options rather than the first ones that came to hand.

  He settled on a few "establishments." The first was an ordinary orphanage, the second a school, and the third a boarding house for girls. The third seemed the safest option, and Reed decided it would be wise to see the place for himself before leaving Meredith there. The boarding house sat outside the city like an old hermit. This gave Reed plenty of time to consider how to tell Meredith about the coming farewell. He had to secure her future before he departed, though he doubted she would understand his reasons. This conversation threatened tears and possible resentment, but Reed knew for certain there was no choice. He did not want to abandon his only friend, but had he not often repeated that things were not always as one wished?

  Returning to Eisen, Reed was in a dismal mood, a feeling he hadn't experienced for quite some time. There was some good news: he knew for certain he could pay for Meredith’s care. If he kept working, of course. And though he did not intend to abandon his trade, the possibility of his own demise could never be ruled out. This thought forced him to reflect on death more often than he would have liked. When he entered their temporary shelter, Meredith was sitting on the floor, staring at the ground. A small vortex of dust swirled near her feet.

  "Congratulations," Reed said, trying to sound cheerful, but failling. Meredith looked up from the floor. The vortex immediately collapsed, turning into a cloud of settling dust. A smile blossomed on her face.

  "It is not going very well yet," she noted, looking a bit disappointed. "I cannot influence anything heavy. With my hands I can, but without them? Not at all."

  "And what about the chains?"

  "I was very agitated then," she explained, "but I am not always that frightened."

  "And does it take a lot of strength?"

  "Well... yes. How was your trip?" she asked cautiously, glancing at him.

  "Successful," Reed grunted.

  "Are you angry or something?"

  "Everything is fine."

  "Oh, really?"

  "We need to talk," he blurted out, then looked into her pitch-black eyes. "You will not like this conversation."

  "Then I do not want to talk."

  "You have no choice. Tomorrow, we say goodbye."

  Reed said this quickly, as if hoping that the speed of the words coming out would make them less painful for Meredith to hear.

  "Why?" The short question and her extinguished gaze shattered any hope for a calm dialogue.

  "Because you cannot stay with me forever," he said with a weak smile, sitting down on the floor beside her. "We talked about this, remember?"

  Meredith nodded. Perhaps she had hoped Reed would forget, change his mind, or decide she was better off with him. Now, as he looked at her face, he could literally see the foundations of her hopes crumbling.

  "I didn't..." she started, her voice faltering. She took a breath and tried again. "I didn't think it would be so soon."

  "I'm sorry."

  "No."

  Reed raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

  "I don't want to say goodbye, yet you are deciding for both of us."

  "You know who I am," Reed forced out with a sigh. "You have seen how I live and you know what I do. I don't want you living like that. I could die any day, and you would be left alone. What then?"

  "But you haven't died."

  "Dita," his voice grew softer, calmer, "it cannot go on like this forever. You knew the moment when we would have to say goodbye would come."

  "Forever?" Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not let them fall.

  "No, of course not," Reed mumbled, forcing a weak smile. He wasn't sure he should see her again afterward, as each encounter left an ever more distinct mark on her fate. She had already seen far too much.

  "And where are you exiling me?"

  "I am not exiling you!"

  "You are! Probably to some mustached woman with a permanently miserable face."

  "You're going to a boarding school. I will pay for it until you turn sixteen. By then, you'll be able to live on your own. They will teach you everything you need to find a good job."

  "I don't want to, Hector," she managed, sniffling.

  "I don't want to either, but it will be for the best."

  "I'll go, if you promise you won't leave forever. Promise me!"

  "I promise," Reed said, smiling at his own lie. He opened his arms, inviting Meredith for a hug. She moved quickly, pressing her cheek against his chest. He knew Meredith wouldn't argue, but she had every right to feel hurt and resentful. Her weak protests were merely the convulsions of dying illusions rather than a real intent to change anything. She understood that Reed had already decided, and she never contradicted him. Moreover, she had always known this moment was inevitable, as Reed had never said otherwise. In this, as in much else, he had been honest.

  They did not laugh that evening, but they talked. Periodically, Meredith would ask if Reed was sure they had to part. The answer was always the same, but spoken without anger, as if he had forgotten how to be angry with her at all. No matter what Meredith did or said, Reed never got angry.

  The upcoming separation brought him no joy either. It meant losing a friend he had only just found, and the thought that Meredith would be better off this way offered little comfort. He would be alone once more, and he knew what that loneliness promised. Soon he would remember how to live thinking only of himself. He would leave whenever he saw fit. No one would ever wait for him again, and he would never be in a hurry to return. He would stop laughing and remember the true weight of solitude. What had once seemed like freedom had turned into a burden that Reed was forced to carry for the rest of his life.

  ***

  Toward the evening of the following day, Reed was approaching the boarding house. Meredith occupied her usual place on the horse, sulking stubbornly. She hadn't uttered a single word throughout the entire trip. Apparently, she had hoped that by morning Reed would change his mind. When that failed to happen, she grew truly angry, albeit with a delay. After a few failed attempts to start a conversation, Reed gave up and they rode in silence. As the manor loomed on the horizon, Meredith snorted with indignation, fuming even more. Reed wanted to smile at her weak protest, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

  They were already expected at the entrance. A tall, thin woman with tightly pulled-back hair stood at the boarding house gates. The wind ruffled her long, dark dress of an intricate cut. Her face held no emotion, as if she were entirely unaware emotions existed. When Reed approached, she nodded, stretching her thin lips into a smile.

  "Madam Eirene," he nodded in return, helping Meredith down from the horse. She angrily pushed Reed away, but Madam pretended not to notice. Adjusting the hood that concealed his elven ears, Reed gave an awkward smile as if in apology.

  "Welcome. Please, follow me." Gesturing toward the mansion, Madam scurried toward the front door with small steps. Reed glanced at Meredith, who stubbornly looked away.

  "Don't make me drag you," he said quietly, taking Meredith by the hand. She shot him a resentful look, broke free, and hurried after Madam Eirene.

  After a while, they were sitting in the owner’s office. The woman sat at her desk with a sigh, looking over Reed and Meredith.

  "Are you the one I spoke with yesterday regarding your daughter?" She raised an eyebrow, eyeing Reed’s companion.

  "Yes."

  "Are you surrendering her?" Asking the next question, Madam reached for a quill and pulled out a sheet of bleached paper.

  "No."

  "Are you familiar with the terms of residence?"

  "Yes."

  Their conversation felt like an interrogation. Over time, Reed was ready to do anything to make Madam stop staring at him and smiling foolishly every time their eyes met. Meredith remained silent, looking neither at Reed nor Madam. After asking one last formal question, Madam Eirene stood up and handed Reed a slip of paper with an address where the payments were to be sent. If they failed to arrive, Meredith would be forced to work for the boarding house after graduation until the debt was paid in full. Reed nodded, reaching for the paper. Madam hesitated, smiling again. Their eyes met, and she blushed slightly before finally letting go of the paper. He turned to Meredith, who sat like a stone statue, still refusing to look at him. Feeling a sudden awkwardness, Reed called out to her.

  "Shall we say goodbye?"

  Silence was the answer. The stillness hung in the room, lasting so long it became awkward and oppressive. A sigh escaped Reed’s lips as he gave up. Persuasion would not help. The only way to make her speak was now beyond his reach. Forcing a smile, he turned to Madam, thanked her, and, pivoting sharply on his heels, walked out. In the corridors, he encountered children and teenagers who stared at him, but Reed saw no one. Before his eyes stood Meredith’s emotionless face, refusing to look at him one last time.

  Flinging the door open, Reed greedily gulped the cold air, letting the wind blow over his burning face. He caught his breath, wrapped his cloak tighter, and strode down the stone path without looking back. He wanted to leave as soon as possible so that the place would no longer weigh on him. He wished time would move faster so he could forget the indifferent and cruel colors that painted yet another loss. The last person he cared for was left behind, and Reed truly wanted to forget Meredith so that the memory of her icy farewell would no longer haunt him.

  The wind whipped his cloak, cutting into his face with a frosty current. It promised the coming snow and the icy chills he had grown unaccustomed to during his time across the ocean. He didn’t hear the shout behind him at first, but when he realized someone was calling his name, he spun around. A lump caught in his throat. Meredith was running after him, calling out with all her strength. He sprinted toward her. Her tear-streaked face was the only thing Reed saw then. Falling to his knees, he caught Meredith, letting her throw her arms around his neck. She shook with sobs; they were bound to break free eventually. She cried, clutching his shoulders. Reed wrapped one arm around her while the other stroked her hair, trying in vain to soothe her.

  Their parting was agonizing, full of bitterness and the realization of the inevitable. He was torn apart by emotions, yet he could not allow them to escape. Only his tense expression betrayed how difficult it was for him. Pulling away slightly, Meredith left a hurried kiss on his cheek. Reed shifted, shielding her from the cold gusts of wind.

  "You aren't leaving for good, are you?" Meredith managed to choke out.

  "No," Reed whispered, stroking her head. His fingers slid to her face, wiping away the tears. He forced himself to smile. "Not for good."

  "Really?"

  "Of course." The word felt too heavy, and Reed looked down.

  "Please, Hector..." she pleaded one last time, with a special kind of desperation.

  "I cannot stay, ar'rel." He cupped her face in his hands.

  "What does that mean?"

  "I'll tell you when we see each other again." Reed lied shamelessly. Meredith didn't need to know what he had called her. Shame and bitterness had forced him to remember his mother tongue, a language spoken by few now. His mother used to call him that once, and Reed decided that Meredith deserved this word too. Enveloping her image in that warm, caring word, he brought the matter to a close.

  "Then come back for me."

  "I will." Meredith embraced him again, and Reed was glad she could not see his face or the shame that grew more visible in his features. Pulling away, he stroked her hair and said quietly, "It is time."

  "I can't stay here alone," she whispered, sobbing.

  "You aren't alone."

  Meredith winced, as if angry that Reed had misunderstood her. But he understood perfectly. He simply didn't know what to say.

  "We will surely meet again." Reed left a light, parental kiss on her forehead and stood up. On leaden legs, he walked to his horse. Once in the saddle, he allowed himself to look at Meredith again. She remained standing just a yard away, swallowing tears and tugging at the edge of her sleeve.

  "See you, Dita," Reed said, turning in his saddle. He smiled through the pain.

  Meredith returned a weak smile that radiated agony.

  "See you, Hector." She raised her hand in farewell.

  Reed spurred his horse, and soon Meredith was left behind. She became a fixed image in his memory, so distant that she might have been considered unreal. Only the bills he would pay for the next four years would remind him that Meredith existed. After that, even that would vanish. He would think of her like a dream he had never actually had. Meredith would become a shadow from the past—the only one that brought no pain. The road led back to his familiar life, colored in every possible shade of a sharpened sense of loneliness.

  An icy wind played over the deserted trail, tearing precipitation from the swollen, gray clouds. The first snowflakes began to swirl in the air. Wrapping his cloak tighter, Reed looked back one last time.