"You have to speed things up."
Dea's voice snapped inside his skull, cold and relentless.
Cassian kept his back against the stone wall across the street, watching Amy through the tavern window. He knew the urgency better than anyone. The shadows of his past weren't going to remain stalled in the North forever, but rushing this meant disaster. Flank her again? Show up out of nowhere twice in a single day? Her guard would spike. She was oblivious, but even sheep noticed when the same wolf crossed their path twice.
So he waited.
It took forever. From his perch in the shade, he watched her wipe down oak tables, haul heavy wooden trays, and take order after order. She moved like a waterwheel in a heavy current—turning, turning, carrying weight through identical, relentless arcs with terrifying patience. But all things ran on fuel. And with people most of the time, that fuel was fear. Fear of poverty, fear of pain, or fear of a man.
Finally, the tavern's heavy oak shutters slammed closed. Another agonizing wait, and Amy stepped out through the side door, pulling a threadbare cloak tightly against the evening chill.
Cassian pushed off the wall, stepping into the lantern light and raising a hand as he closed the distance.
Amy blinked, standing dead still on the cobblestones like her brain needed three seconds to process him before she offered a small, hesitant wave back.
"Hello."
"Hello," she said softly.
"You seem a bit dazed." He let a mild, teasing smirk touch his lips. "I did tell you I'd be back, didn't I?"
She gave a small nod, eyes dropping to her boots.
"So... what did you want to talk about?"
That an entity living in my head picked you as a potential accomplice. That you need to throw away your quiet, pathetic life and run from the horrors of the world with a dead man.
"What did you mean yesterday," Cassian asked instead, keeping his voice light, "when you asked what color Norrath was?"
A deep blush rushed up her neck, staining her cheeks a violent crimson. She looked away immediately.
"It's silly. It's just... sometimes I see things as colors. Places. Feelings. Words." She hung her head, like she was bracing for a blow.
"Okay?"
Amy snapped her head up, her striking blue eyes wide.
"Okay? That's all you have to say? No 'why are you saying something so weird?' No 'that's completely stupid'?"
Cassian shrugged. "It's odd, certainly. But that doesn't make it stupid. People carry all sorts of strange traits. I've met men who can sense rain three days out in their bones, and others who think the moon talks to them. Seeing colors in words is harmless."
She fell silent, staring at him like he was speaking an ancient tongue. Great. Hopefully that didn't set him back. He couldn't afford a misstep now.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Fire away."
Her gaze drifted downward, locking onto the steel at his hip. "What's the sword for?"
Cassian's hand rested naturally on the leather-wrapped pommel, his thumb tracing the worn crossguard.
"Protection."
"From what?"
"Thieves. Wild beasts. Monsters lurking in the high passes. The roads aren't kind when you travel as far as I have."
She nodded in slow agreement, her right hand absently reaching down to fiddle with the canvas pouch tied at her waist.
"You keep touching that sack."
"It's coin." She looked up into his eyes.
"Not enough?"
"Not enough." A long, heavy sigh drained the remaining energy from her shoulders.
Silence stretched between them. Cassian gritted his teeth. This isn't working. These cryptic exchanges on dusty street corners were taking too long. The invisible noose around his throat was pulling tighter by the hour. He needed leverage. He needed to know what kept her bound to this place so he could sever it.
"Well, nothing is ever truly enough, is it?"
Amy frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Satisfaction is a state of mind. A choice we make. Things are only ever 'not enough' because we convince ourselves they aren't."
She stared, turning the words over. Slowly, her hand dropped away from the canvas pouch, tucking it beneath her cloak. "I suppose... there is some truth to that."
"Do you like it here?" He gestured toward the surrounding district. "In Solmere?"
"Yes."
The speed of her response made his chest tighten. Not good. A girl attached to her home was a girl who would fight back if forced to leave. If persuasion failed, dragging her out in chains was going to be an absolute nightmare.
Amy's eyes darted past his shoulder, her expression hardening into sudden concern. Cassian turned on his heel, his hand dropping toward his hilt. A small, agitated crowd of townsfolk was gathering around an old man standing atop a rain barrel near the central square.
"What do you think is going on over there?"
Without answering, Amy marched directly toward the gathering. Cassian fell in behind her, eyes scanning the surroundings.
The old man in the center was red-faced, sweating profusely, waving a piece of crumpled parchment.
"They're coming! I'm telling you all, they've already crossed the river! They said so themselves!"
Amy leaned toward a burly man at the edge of the ring.
"Who's coming?"
"This old nut thinks the Northern guards have crossed into the southern territories," the man scoffed, shaking his head. "Says they're searching town to town for someone."
Cassian froze.
The universe came to a violent halt. His heart stopped beating. His lungs refused air. The chaotic noise of the crowd bled into an absolute, ringing silence—and then everything restarted at a sickening speed. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped beast.
No. This isn't happening. Not this fast.
Don't lose control, Cassian. They aren't in this street. It's a rumor. A routine patrol. But one look at the pale, frightened faces around him killed that lie instantly. The North didn't send search parties south of the border for routine business.
"Where did you hear this, old man?" Cassian's voice sliced through the mutterings with sharp edge.
The old man turned, thrusting the parchment forward. "My son is stationed at the Northern border post! He sent a rider with this letter yesterday! Read it yourself if you have the eyes for it! They're sweeping every district! They are coming!"
It was over. They were closing the trap. A matter of days before the border guards reached Solmere, and then this city would become a kill box.
He looked at Amy. The slow, calculated approach was officially dead. Dea was right. If he couldn't convince this girl to abandon her life and run within forty-eight hours, he was a dead man.
Amy offered a quick, formal bow of her head. "I have to go now. Things to do at home. People waiting. It was... nice chatting with you again, Cassian."
She turned on her heel and hurried down the dark alleyway toward her farmstead.
Cassian watched her recede until the night swallowed her whole. No more guessing. If she wouldn't open her mouth and tell him what bound her to this place, he'd tear the answers out of her house himself.