The village is already awake.
People move through the square quietly, yet with purpose—carrying water, tending animals, building fires. Traditional tasks for a traditional place. It’s like stepping into a historicaldocumentary, except everything is real and I’m the awkward modern intruder who doesn’t belong.
A few villagers glance my way. Their gazes linger just long enough to make me uncomfortable before sliding away. Nobody approaches. Nobody speaks.
Just watch and whisper.
Great.
I hunch deeper into the cloak and start walking. I need to find K. Need to… What? Apologize for snapping at him yesterday? Explain that I wasn’t angry at him, just hurt and confused and completely out of my depth?
Yeah, that’ll go over well.
I wander through narrow paths between stone buildings, trying to look purposeful instead of lost. The architecture is beautiful in a stark, functional way—thick walls, small windows, slate roofs weathered by centuries of mountain storms.
No power lines. No satellite dishes. No cars or even bicycles.
These people live like it’s still the 1800s.
Or maybe they just never left.
A woman emerges from a dwelling ahead, carrying a basket of what looks like root vegetables. She’s maybe forty, sturdy build, with dark hair pulled back in a braid. She sees me and pauses.
I freeze, uncertain whether to approach or retreat.
She makes the decision for me, setting down her basket and crossing the path. “You look for your mate?”
Mate?
I’ve heard Elena and Caleb use the term. Some of the others in the Aurora Collective, too. But K? My mate? No. That doesn’t track.
“Um… sure, okay,” I say awkwardly. “The man I’m traveling with. Do you know where he went?”
She nods, gesturing toward a path leading away from the village center. “The stream. For washing.” Then she pauses,studying me with the frankness of someone who lives without social media filters. “He carries old blood. You can see it in his eyes.”
The casual observation makes me pause.
“Old blood?” I keep my voice light, curious. Not alarmed. Not like my brain is screaming, “What does that mean? What do you know? Does everyone here recognize what K is?”
She shrugs. “My grandmother spoke of such things. Men who walked these mountains before the new ways came.” She picks up her basket. “Be careful with him, girl. Old blood runs hot.”
She leaves before I can ask what that means.
Old blood runs hot?
I follow the path she indicated, my mind churning.
Freaky. Just fucking freaky.
What the hell was that all about?
The thought cuts off as the path curves, and I see him.
K.
Standing in the stream.
Completely, gloriously naked.
