Thorn Orchard sat outside the dense streets, far enough that the air stopped smelling like fish and started smelling like leaves and dirt warmed by sun.
Rows of trees stretched under the sky, branches heavy with apples and pears and peaches—bright colors tucked into green like little treasures hiding in plain sight.
A man waved at me from between the rows.
White beard. Straw hat. A face that looked like it had spent decades squinting into sunlight and deciding life was still worth it.
"Mr. Thorn?" I asked.
"That's me," he said, grin widening. "You're the guild trainee."
I nodded once. "M-my name is Trey, sir. I'm ready to help."
He shoved a woven basket into my hands. "All right, then. Ripe apples and pears today. Twist gently. If it fights you, leave it. Bruised fruit makes angry buyers."
"Okay," I said. The basket felt heavier than it should've—like it carried responsibility along with wicker.
He pointed down the rows. "Start there. I'll be over by the pears. And Trey?"
I stiffened.
Mr. Thorn winked. "No heroics. If you climb something taller than you, I'll smack you with my hat."
Something in my throat loosened—almost laughter. "I won't climb."
"Good." He patted the basket like it was an animal. "Then let's get paid for not dying."
That sounded like the guild, just with more sunlight.
I started picking.
Twist. Lift. Set.
Twist. Lift. Set.
After ten, my shoulders loosened.
After twenty, I found rhythm.
After thirty, I got cocky.
That was my first mistake.
I reached for an apple higher up—shiny, like it wanted to prove it was special.
The branch snapped back and something smacked the top of my head—sharp enough to water my eyes and evaporate my dignity.
I staggered back, clutching my cap.
A red apple rolled off the brim and dropped into the grass like it was proud of itself.
I stared at it.
The apple stared back.
A bird chirped like it was laughing at me personally.
From down the row, Mr. Thorn called, "Gravity win again?"
"I'm fine," I lied.
"Apple didn't bruise you?" he shouted.
"It didn't," I muttered, rubbing my skull because my skull disagreed.
By midday, the sun sat on top of the world like it owned everything.
Mr. Thorn waved me over. "Break. Before you cook."
He led me under an oak tree where shade felt like cool water poured over my skin. He opened a picnic basket.
The smell hit so hard my stomach made a noise I couldn't pretend didn't happen.
Mr. Thorn's eyes twinkled. "That noise tells me you're not as brave as you act."
"I don't act brave," I muttered.
"Sure," he said, and handed me a slice of pie.
Apple pie.
The universe had jokes, and apparently it liked Myrina's kind of humor.
We ate and drank lemonade so sweet it made my teeth hurt in a good way.
Mr. Thorn leaned back, hat tipped over his eyes. "My father planted the first trees here. He said orchards are like kids. You don't rush them. You don't bully them. You show up every day and do the work."
Show up.
Every day.
Do the work.
It sounded like what I'd been doing—errands, cleaning, counting coins, surviving the silence.
Mr. Thorn peeked at me from under his hat brim. "You're thinking hard. That's dangerous around fruit."
"I'm… waiting for tomorrow," I admitted.
His exhale was slow. Understanding. "Then keep your hands busy today. It helps."
"It does," I whispered.
He didn't push. He didn't ask questions that would make my throat close.
He just let the shade hold quiet with us until my chest stopped feeling so tight.
***
When the baskets were full and sorted, Mr. Thorn wiped his hands on his trousers. "All right. Payment."
My stomach tightened anyway.
"Mr. Thorn," I said.
He looked at me.
I stared at his hands instead because my eyes still didn't know what else to do.
"Can I… ask something?"
He nodded. "Ask."
"I… want to bring my sister something," I blurted, and wished I could swallow the words back. "Instead of the fifty iron… can I take fruit? Just a small basket."
Mr. Thorn stared for one heartbeat.
Then he laughed—not mocking. Warm.
"You guild kids," he said. "Always trying to trade coin for heart."
My face burned. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant," he interrupted gently.
He grabbed a basket.
Not the smallest. Not even close.
He filled it with a mix—apples, pears, peaches—like he was building a better decision than mine.
Then he shoved it into my hands.
The weight surprised me so much my arms dipped.
"Here."
"But—the reward—" I started.
Mr. Thorn reached into his pouch and counted out iron coins anyway.
Fifty.
They clinked into my palm like my day had become real.
"I'm giving you both," he said, as if there was no argument to be had. "Fruit for your sister. Coin for you."
My throat tightened hard enough to hurt.
"That's… too much," I whispered.
"Then work hard and come back next time," he said. "Pay it forward. That's how orchards and people survive."
I stared at the basket.
It smelled like sun.
"Thank you," I said, rough.
Mr. Thorn waved a hand like he didn't want gratitude to stick. "Go on. Before the peaches decide to melt."
***
Back at the guild, the fruit basket drew attention like blood in water.
Barrek's voice boomed the moment I stepped inside. "HE DID FRUIT!"
My face ignited. "I said I didn't do fruit!"
Nerissa leaned over the counter, eyebrows lifting. "Well. That's a haul."
"It's for my sister," I said too quickly.
Nerissa's smile softened. She stamped my completion slip and counted out the fifty iron.
My pouch got heavier.
Four copper and twenty-eight iron.
Still not noble money.
But it stacked.
I tightened my grip on the basket handle.
"Nerissa," I asked, quietly. "How long will it… last?"
Nerissa blinked, then laughed softly. "Ah. Fruits and worry."
She tapped the basket rim. "Apples last longer. Pears too, if they're not too soft. Peaches…" She sighed theatrically. "Peaches are dramatic. Eat them first."
Then she added, practical again: "Keep it cool and shaded. And Trey—come tomorrow morning. If the first batch arrives, you'll hear it."
Tomorrow.
"Yes," I whispered, like speaking it would make it real.
***
That night, I set the basket just inside the house where it stayed cool.
It looked too cheerful for a house that missed someone.
I slept in pieces.
In one piece, Myrina came home and flicked a pebble at my forehead and called me an idiot for worrying.
In another, the fruit rotted before she ever touched it.
I woke before the sun fully decided to exist.
I packed a smaller bag—one apple, one pear, and a peach that looked like it wanted to live.
Then I ran.