Silence. Even Tooth stops reading, finger still on the page.
"Two nights?" My voice cracks. The light around me flares bright.
"I'll adjust some contingencies," Joss says smoothly. "Safe houses I keep ready. Routes that will confuse pursuit. I know people who can help."
She has all this ready? That seems... very prepared. But then, Joss is always prepared.
"You can't deliver her," Ruvan tells Arthur.
"If I don't, my entire guild dies." Arthur looks exhausted. "He'll burn them all."
"We'll figure something out," Joss says. "I have ideas. Maps. Contacts."
"I should go," Arthur says, standing carefully despite my healing. "Being here too long risks everything."
"Your boots are dying," I point out. "The sole's literally flapping. And when did you last eat actual food? You're all bones and exhaustion."
"Livvy, I don't think my footwear or diet is the priority right now."
"Health is always a priority. Tooth, do we have any spare boots? And maybe some dried meat? Jerky? Something with protein?"
Tooth looks up from his book. "Might have boots in storage. Size ten?"
"Nine and a half," Arthur says, then looks confused that he answered. Just like when we were kids—he never could resist practical questions.
"I'll check," Tooth says, carefully bookmarking his rabbit story. He walks past with several other books under his arm—one looks like a cookbook. His notebook has a list of words to look up later.
When we're alone, Arthur turns to me. "I can't protect you from this."
"You couldn't protect me six years ago either, but you tried." I touch his face gently. "That's what family does. Try impossible things."
"Mom would have loved this library," he says quietly. "Remember how she'd read to us? Even when we were too old for it?"
"She'd read recipes like they were epic poems." The memory makes my chest tight. "Made cleaning instructions sound like adventure stories."
"'Today, brave warriors, we assault the dreaded kitchen floor,'" we say together, and for a moment we're kids again, before everything went wrong.
"She had that whole system," I continue. "Color-coded by subject and emotional impact. Red books for when you're angry, blue for sad—"
"'Never read yellow books on Sundays,'" we finish together. "Bad luck, she said."
"I'm sorry," he says. "For leaving. For letting you think—"
"I know." And I do. The anger's still there but tired. "You did what you thought was right."
"I did what I thought would keep you alive."
"Same thing, from your perspective."
Joss reappears with maps already marked. "We should review these. I've identified vulnerabilities in your routines."
She spreads them out, pointing out weak points that seem obvious now. Arthur keeps doing that uncomfortable shift from childhood. The shadows stay agitated, pulling at my clothes.
After an hour of planning that makes me feel safer and more exposed at the same time, Arthur leaves with new boots (Tooth found some) and fresh bandages, plus a package of dried meat and nuts I insisted on. Joss disappears to "coordinate contacts," and Ruvan goes to increase security.
I'm alone in the library with Tooth's practice notebook. He's been copying passages about loyalty, about choosing between duty and what's right. His handwriting improves with each page. There's a list: "Words I learned today - courage, forest, brave, loyal."
Someone knows when I water the plants at six-fifteen. When I test paint colors against north light. When I count inventory while humming that song about merchants.
