The unfamiliar road welcomed his weary steps.
Night had settled around him. Not sudden. Never dramatic. Just the slow dimming of a world deciding it had been loud enough for one day. Lanterns lined the street, their glow repeating with a regularity no sane man could explain. Somewhere distant, a door closed. Nearby, a man laughed too loudly. Windows creaked, carrying the low hum of wind. The small irritations of a peaceful night anchored whatever reality Sawyer chose to cling to.
Footsteps echoed in a single cadence—then doubled.
The sound did not surprise him.
Sawyer took two more steps before stopping beneath a lantern. Its flame guttered as he drew near, light thinning, sliding across wet stone and catching weakly on the dark seam of his coat. He shifted his weight, heel grinding softly against the pavement.
"Sawyer," the voice said again, closer now. "Is that name real?"
That stopped him properly.
He straightened, fingers loosening at his side, then turned. The motion was unhurried, practiced—someone who had learned long ago not to show what startled him.
"Yes," he said. "It's real."
Footsteps ceased.
Aluna stepped into the edge of the lantern's glow, careful not to cross fully into it. The flame brightened as she did, rising steadier, warmer. She adjusted her sleeve with her thumb, eyes never leaving his face. The Song around her remained drawn tight, like a breath she had chosen not to release.
"You never gave it."
Sawyer glanced down the street before answering, eyes tracking the sway of lantern-cast shadows retreating ahead of him.
"No."
"Well, no one asked," she continued, shifting so the toes of her boots aligned with his. "No one wanted to."
Lantern light traced faint abrasions along his knuckles as he flexed his hand once, then let it fall still. Silence moved between them with the wind.
The lantern hissed softly. Somewhere nearby, a shutter creaked closed.
"You followed me," Sawyer said.
"Yes." She inclined her head slightly.
"For answers?"
"For context."
Sawyer's eyes narrowed by a fraction. He stepped half a pace aside, angling himself so he could see both Aluna and the street beyond her.
They stood while the night carried on without them. Laughter spilled from farther down the road—too loud, then abruptly cut off. A man staggered past at the edge of the light and spared them no glance.
Sawyer's gaze slid past her again.
Warm light pooled at the end of the street—an inn. The glow pulsed as the door opened and closed, carrying the clatter of mugs and the low murmur of voices.
Aluna followed his line of sight. Her shoulders eased slightly.
"My companions are staying there," she said. "I was heading back when I realized you'd chosen the same direction."
Sawyer exhaled through his nose.
"Convenient."
"Yes," she said, dry amusement touching her voice. "For once."
They resumed walking, their strides out of sync—his longer pace forcing her to shorten hers, her steadiness quietly tempering his. Aluna brushed rain from her sleeve as they moved.
"Will you tell me what you plan to do now?" she asked.
Sawyer slowed at the edge of the inn's light. Warmth touched his face, dulling the night's sharpness.
"No."
Aluna stopped too, turning to face him fully, chin lifting just enough to meet his eyes.
"Why not?"
He adjusted the strap across his shoulder, leather creaking faintly.
"Because if I do," he said, "you'll stop asking the wrong questions."
Her fingers stilled.
"And what should I be asking?"
Sawyer's gaze flicked past her—to silhouettes lingering near the inn, pretending not to watch.
"Whatever comes to mind."
The door opened again, light spilling across the street and breaking the moment apart. Voices called out. Someone laughed.
Sawyer stepped forward, hesitating at the threshold.
Aluna noticed. She tapped his arm once—gentle, firm—and went ahead.
He scoffed softly and followed.
Warmth swallowed them whole.
Heat from the hearth rolled over Sawyer's face, carrying the smells of roasted meat, damp wool, and spilled ale. Conversation layered thick enough to blur into a single presence. For a moment, it almost felt normal.
"Aluna?"
Agnes had risen halfway from her chair, fingers still curled around her mug. Relief crossed her face—then confusion.
Sawyer stood just inside the doorway, coat dark with travel, lantern light clinging faintly to his shoulders. He hadn't announced himself.
He simply was.
Agnes blinked. Once. Then again.
"…Oh."
Bran turned. Faust leaned sideways.
"That's—" Bran paused. "Did we miss something?"
Faust squinted. "I don't think so."
Kristaphs stared at Sawyer, expression slowly contorting as if trying—and failing—to reconcile reality with expectation.
Aluna stepped aside slightly. "No. You didn't."
Sawyer gave a small nod. Not a greeting. An acknowledgment.
No one spoke for a moment—not from fear, but because the scene refused to arrange itself into anything familiar.
Agnes took a sip before setting her mug down. "So," she said carefully. "You followed her?"
Bran's brow twitched.
"I followed him," Aluna corrected.
Kristaphs leaned back in his chair, arms folding. "That tracks," he said. "I think."
"No, it doesn't," Bran replied.
Sawyer shifted his weight, aware he was the variable none of them had planned for. He didn't reach for a chair.
Aluna cleared her throat.
"Sawyer," she said. "That's his name."
Agnes frowned. "Huh." Then waved it off. "I wanted to be first to ask." She sighed. "Your killing intent earlier kind of erased the thought."
Faust nodded solemnly. "That'll do it."
Agnes looked back to Sawyer, head tilting—not accusatory. Curious.
"You're not from here."
Sawyer didn't argue.
"And," she continued, glancing at the table, "you helped earlier. In a roundabout, mildly terrifying way."
"Mildly?" Faust muttered.
Bran snorted.
Agnes ignored them. She leaned back against the table, arms folding—not defensive. Decisive.
"So," she said, meeting Sawyer's eyes, "why don't you stay with us tonight?"
The words lingered—simple, unforced.
Sawyer raised an eyebrow.
"That's an invitation?"
"It is," she said. "Call it thanks."
"For what?"
"For not letting things get worse," Agnes replied. "For saving us. Kind of."
Bran nodded. "Yeah. Kind of."
Faust shrugged. "It'd be stranger to pretend you weren't here."
Kristaphs tilted his head, still studying Sawyer. "Also," he added, "I'm curious how much worse 'worse' can get."
Sawyer glanced around the table—open faces, uncertain but not hostile. An empty chair. Half-eaten food.
"One night."
Agnes smiled, relieved. "One night."
She hooked the chair out with her foot. "Sit. Before this gets any more awkward."
Sawyer did.
The chair scraped softly against the floor as he settled, the sound cutting briefly through the din of the tavern before being swallowed whole. Conversation surged back around them, cautious at first, then resuming as if the interruption had never occurred.
Almost.
Agnes gestured vaguely at the table with her mug.
"Right. So. We're all sitting. That's good. Less ominous than standing."
Bran snorted into his drink.
"You say that now."
Kristaphs leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes never leaving Sawyer.
"I preferred him looming," he said. "It felt honest."
Sawyer ignored that.
Faust, who had been quiet for almost a full minute—an anomaly in itself—cleared his throat.
"So," he said carefully, "are we just… not talking about the guild thing?"
Aluna stiffened slightly.
Agnes shot him a look. "We are absolutely talking about it."
"Later," Bran added. "Preferably after food."
Sawyer's gaze flicked to the plates, then away again.
Kristaphs tilted his head.
"You don't eat?"
Sawyer answered without looking at him.
"I do."
"Good," Kristaphs said. "That would've complicated things."
A server approached then, hesitating just long enough to clock Sawyer before forcing herself forward with professional resolve.
"Another?" she asked Agnes, already reaching for the mug.
Agnes nodded. "And—" she paused, glancing at Sawyer. "What do you drink?"
Sawyer considered the question.
The pause stretched just long enough to become noticeable.
"Water," he said finally.
The server blinked. Once.
"We… have ale?"
"Water," he repeated.
She nodded quickly and retreated, relief clear in her shoulders.
Faust watched her go.
"…He scared her."
"Everyone scares someone," Bran said. "Usually me."
Kristaphs smirked.
"Usually on purpose."
The food arrived shortly after—plates clattering down, steam rising. Agnes pushed one toward Sawyer without ceremony.
"Eat," she said. "You're allowed."
Sawyer glanced at her.
"I wasn't asking permission."
"Good," she replied. "Because I wasn't giving it."
That earned a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. But close enough that Aluna noticed.
She watched him as he ate—slow, methodical, precise. No wasted motion. No hurry. As if each bite were being assessed rather than enjoyed.
Bran noticed too.
"You've been on the road a while," he said.
Sawyer nodded.
"Longer than most," Faust added, attempting levity. "Judging by the… everything."
Sawyer swallowed.
"Long enough."
Kristaphs drummed his fingers on the table.
"You don't move like someone who's passing through," he said. "You move like someone on a mission."
Sawyer met his eyes for the first time.
"Old habit."
The rogue's grin widened.
"I like him."
Agnes rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."
A brief silence settled—less awkward now, more contemplative. The tavern noise filled it easily.
Faust shifted.
"So," he ventured, "are you staying because you want to… or because Agnes practically forced you?"
The ranger choked on her drink, barely managing to respond. "Faust—"
Sawyer took another drink of water.
"Both."
Bran nodded approvingly.
"Honest answer."
Aluna finally spoke again.
"You didn't have to accept," she said quietly.
Sawyer looked at her.
"Yes," he replied. "I did."
She searched his face.
"Because?"
He gestured vaguely at the table.
"Because people who offer shelter without leverage are rare."
Agnes blinked.
Then she laughed.
"Gods, listen to him," she said. "That's either the nicest thing anyone's said about us—or the saddest."
Kristaphs raised his mug.
"To low standards."
They clinked, laughter breaking out more easily now.
Sawyer didn't join in—but he didn't retreat either.
He stayed.
And for the first time since stepping off the road, the silence around him didn't feel like a warning.
Just space.