Ireturn to the house hollow-eyed and heartbroken, his absence already a physical ache in my chest. The charm he pressed into my hands before leaving burns against my palm—a piece of carved wood that somehow holds the weight of everything we shared and lost.
Talia takes one look at my face and knows.
"You care for him," she says softly. It's not a question.
I nod, unable to speak around the grief lodged in my throat like a stone. She pulls me close, her embrace both comfort and prison, the familiar scent of herbs and bread that means home and safety. But today even her motherly warmth can't touch the cold hollow where my heart used to be.
"You did the right thing," she murmurs into my hair. "Staying here, letting him go. It was the right choice."
Did I? Then why does it feel like dying? Why does every breath taste like ash, every heartbeat a reminder of what I've given up? Thoktar is gone, walking toward danger with nothing but his axe and the impossible hope that he'll find his scattered brothers. Meanwhile, I'm safe. Protected. Exactly where I belong.
So why do I feel like I've betrayed myself?
"Come," Talia says gently. "Help me with dinner. Keeping busy will ease the hurt."
But nothing eases the hurt. Not chopping vegetables, not kneading bread, not the mindless routine of domestic tasks that usually ground me. Everything reminds me of him—the way he watched me work, the careful questions he asked about my healing herbs, the reverent way he touched my hands like they were made of spun glass.
At dinner, Brom and Talia exchange worried glances across the table. The silence stretches until it becomes unbearable, broken only by the clink of spoons against bowls and the distant sound of wind through the eaves.
"Dark Elves have been seen in the eastern villages," Brom says finally, voice carefully neutral. "Taking people. Questioning farmers about... unusual visitors."
My blood turns icy. Thoktar was heading east, following old smuggler's paths Nazim mentioned. The Dark Elves are closing in, and he's walking straight into their net.
"How long ago?" The words scrape my throat raw.
Brom shrugs, but I catch the way his eyes slide away from mine. "Two days, maybe three. Hard to say exactly."
Too close. Far too close. If they were in the eastern villages two days ago, they could be anywhere by now. Could have found his trail, could be tracking him through the forest while he travels alone and wounded.
I want to run after him, to warn him, to throw myself between him and the danger closing in. But he's been gone for hours already, and I have no idea which path he took. By the time I could follow, the trail would be cold.
"We need to be careful," Talia says, reaching across to squeeze my hand. "All of us. Until this threat passes."
After dinner, I retreat to my room and try to sleep, but rest refuses to come. Every sound makes me jump—is that hoofbeats on the road? Dark Elf magic crackling through the night? Thoktar returning because he's changed his mind?
But it's only wind and settling timber, the normal sounds of a house at rest.
Hours pass in restless tossing before I hear voices from the kitchen below. Hushed, urgent whispers that pull me from my bed like fish hooks. I creep to the stairs, bare feet silent on worn wood, and press myself against the wall to listen.
"—dangerous to keep quiet about this," Brom's voice, lower than usual but clearly audible. "If they find out we knew and said nothing..."
"I know," Talia replies, and I hear tears in her voice. "But what choice do we have? What choice did we ever have?"
My heart stops. They're talking about Thoktar. About the wounded orc they've been harboring in their barn for days, the creature they helped nurse back to health before sending him away.
"That orc brings trouble," Brom continues. "Even gone, he brings trouble. They'll question everyone, search every building. And when they find traces..."
"Protect Forla," Talia whispers. "That's all that matters. Protecting our daughter."
The word hits like a physical blow. Daughter. They see me as their child, would do anything to keep me safe. Even...
Even this.
"The authorities will know how to handle it safely," Brom says, and my world tilts on its axis. "Better to tell them now, voluntarily, than have them discover it on their own."
Authorities. Dark Elves. They're going to turn him in.
I want to burst through the kitchen door, to scream and rage and demand they stop this madness. But something keeps mefrozen on the stairs, paralyzed by the terrible understanding of what I'm hearing.
