?The morning began with steam. Buckets sloshed, soap scummed in troughs, and children lined in rows while Sister Martel barked at them to scrub elbows, ears, and anything a hunter’s eye might frown at. Aurora did as the others did—though the water slid off her skin as if it didn’t know where to stay.

  ?

  ?Breakfast was bread and broth, bitter with sage. She lifted the spoon, touched it to her lips, and set it down again. Brandon shoved his empty bowl across the table with a grin. “If you won’t eat it, I will.” He scraped it clean in three swallows and winked at her. She let him; the ache in her chest eased a little just sitting near his warmth.

  ?

  ?By midmorning, they were walking in a line behind Martel, the Inner Ring shrinking behind them. The gates opened into the Outer Ring, where stone gave way to wood and hide, to campfire smoke and racks of drying meat. Hunters moved between stalls, their leather armor scarred, their laughter hard. The smell was sharper here—fur, iron, and blood boiled down into trade.

  ?

  ?“This,” Martel declared, “is the work that keeps the walls standing.”

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  ?A hunter met them at the path’s end, a man with an easy stride and scars that traced his jaw like careless handwriting. He carried a boar’s tusk on his belt and a pack that looked heavier than it was. “Name’s Garrow,” he said. “I’ll show you what we do.”

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  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ?He led them through the camp. Beasts were skinned on racks, tusks polished for sale, organs packed in salt. Garrow pointed to each station: “Meat goes to the kitchens, hides to the tanners, claws and teeth to the smiths. Nothing wasted. Even the bile sells, if you know which apothecary’s buying.”

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  ?Children wrinkled their noses. Some whispered “disgusting,” others “amazing.” Aurora said nothing. She was listening—not to the hunter’s voice, but to the silence between his words. The pulse of his intent was steady, but she felt a hitch when they passed a row of skulls. His warmth dimmed for a breath.

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  ?She raised her hand. “What about the ones you don’t know? The beasts no one’s seen before?”

  ?

  ?Garrow cocked his head. “That’s when the real work starts. You watch, you listen, you come back alive and tell the rest. Every new beast leaves a mark somewhere. The trick’s knowing how to read it.”

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  ?Aurora’s voice was flat, but the words quickened, as if she were chasing a shape only she could see. “What if it has no mark? What if it only takes, and leaves nothing?”

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  ?The hunter frowned. “Then it’s not a beast I know.” He tried to laugh it off, but his intent shifted again—thin, wary. “Why d’you ask?”

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  ?Aurora’s eyes did not blink. “Because it took my mother.”

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  ?The line of children went stiff. Martel stepped closer, her hand light on Aurora’s shoulder, firm enough to guide her silence. “That’s enough questions for today.”

  ?

  ?They moved on to the harvest section. Tools were handed out—hooks, knives dulled for training, brushes for cleaning hides. Brandon attacked his task with stubborn strength; Zara tested each stroke against her slate-scribbled notes. Aurora worked beside them, slower, but her hands steady. She traced the cut of a tendon like it was a letter she meant to memorize forever.

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  ?When the day ended, Garrow dismissed them with a wave. “You’ve seen the best of it,” he said. “Remember it that way.”

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  ?The children trudged back through the gates, smoke trailing on their clothes, blood-smell clinging to their fingers. Most were chattering, laughing too loud, eager to shake off what they’d seen.

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  ?Aurora walked in silence, her eyes on the stone walls rising ahead, her hunger tight in her chest. She had asked a question and heard no answer—but the silence was an answer of its own.

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