Jason first realized Charlotte was there because she didn't react the way others did.
It was late morning when he came back to the inn, dust still clinging to his boots and the faint stiffness of overused muscles settling into his joints. The outer ring had been quieter than expected, the temporary reinforcements holding well enough that people had begun to trust the ground again. That trust made him uneasy, but there was nothing more he could do without turning maintenance into control.
He stepped inside the inn and let the door close behind him, the familiar shift in sound washing over him. Voices, cutlery, the low murmur of people who had decided the day was worth sitting through rather than rushing.
Mira was behind the counter, arguing with Aldric in a tone that suggested this argument had been ongoing for years and neither of them expected to win it today.
Jason moved toward the empty space near the window, reaching automatically for the chair he usually took.
Someone was already there.
She sat with her back half-turned toward the room, posture relaxed but not careless. A small stack of folded cloth rested on the table beside her, neatly arranged, the kind of order that came from habit rather than fussiness. She was stirring a cup of something slowly, watching the steam rise as if it were telling her something worth listening to.
Jason hesitated.
Not because the seat was taken—that happened often enough—but because she looked… familiar. Not in the way strangers sometimes resembled people from memory, but in the quieter way of someone who had shared space with him often enough to register without demanding attention.
She glanced up.
Their eyes met briefly.
She didn't flinch. Didn't smile. Didn't look away quickly either. Just a short acknowledgment, like recognizing a passing thought, before she returned her attention to the cup in front of her.
Jason took the chair across from her instead.
They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn't strain under its own weight. Outside, a cart rattled past. Someone laughed too loudly near the bar.
"You're late," she said, eventually.
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Am I?"
"For you," she replied.
He considered that. "Didn't think I had a schedule worth tracking."
She shrugged slightly. "People notice patterns. Some of us, anyway."
Jason leaned back in his chair, the wood pressing uncomfortably against his shoulders. He hadn't realized how stiff he was until he stopped moving.
"You're Charlotte," he said, more statement than question.
She nodded once. "You're Jason."
"That obvious?"
"You sit there," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the window seat he usually occupied. "You leave before the bells most mornings. You come back tired even on days when you shouldn't be."
Jason let out a quiet breath. "So you've been watching."
"Observing," Charlotte corrected. "There's a difference."
He didn't argue.
Mira passed by their table and paused long enough to set a fresh mug down in front of Jason. She didn't comment on the company. That, more than anything else, told him Charlotte wasn't new.
Jason took a sip. The bitterness grounded him.
"You work the outer ring," Charlotte said.
"Sometimes."
"You don't like ruins."
Jason's gaze flicked to her before he could stop himself. "Who told you that?"
"No one," she replied calmly. "You read the postings. You never take those."
He studied her more closely now. She looked ordinary in the way that often meant people overlooked her—dark hair tied back simply, practical clothes worn but clean, hands marked by work rather than ornament. Nothing about her demanded attention.
Which meant she was used to being ignored.
"That's a lot to infer," Jason said.
Charlotte met his gaze evenly. "You don't deny it."
He looked away first.
They fell into silence again, longer this time. Jason felt the familiar urge to fill it, to deflect, to redirect the conversation somewhere safer. He resisted it. Silence was only uncomfortable if you treated it like a problem.
Eventually, Charlotte spoke again.
"You've been strained," she said.
Jason stiffened slightly. "I'm fine."
"I didn't say injured," she replied. "I said strained."
He didn't respond.
Charlotte took a slow sip from her cup. "People think strain looks dramatic," she continued. "Like blood, or shaking, or collapsing. Mostly it looks like this."
She gestured lightly toward him. "Still walking. Still working. Just a little quieter."
Jason exhaled through his nose. "And what does it matter?"
"It doesn't," Charlotte said. "Until it does."
He turned back to her, irritation flickering briefly. "You always talk like that?"
She considered the question seriously. "Only when it's true."
Jason laughed once, short and without humor. "You sound like someone who's watched people break."
Charlotte didn't deny it.
Outside, the light shifted as clouds passed overhead, dimming the room slightly. Jason became aware of how long he'd been sitting still. His body protested quietly, a reminder that rest wasn't the same as recovery.
Charlotte noticed the shift.
"You should stop pushing for today," she said.
Jason blinked. "That wasn't a suggestion I asked for."
"No," she agreed. "It's one I gave anyway."
He studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't have the luxury."
Charlotte tilted her head slightly. "Of rest?"
"Of stopping."
She set her cup down. "Everyone who breaks says that."
Jason felt something tighten in his chest—not anger, not fear, but recognition. "And everyone who survives says they didn't."
Charlotte's lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "Survivors don't always survive well."
The words settled between them, unchallenged.
Jason stood slowly, testing his balance. "I've got work."
"So do I," Charlotte replied, rising as well.
She gathered the folded cloth from the table and tucked it under her arm. For the first time, Jason noticed the faint scarring along her forearm—old, poorly healed, the kind that came from accidents no one bothered to record.
They walked toward the door together.
Outside, the city moved as it always did, unaware of small alignments forming beneath its surface.
"Jason," Charlotte said as they stepped apart.
He paused.
"I wasn't telling you to stop," she said. "Just to remember that noticing things doesn't obligate you to carry them."
Jason met her gaze. "Then why notice at all?"
Charlotte considered that, eyes distant for a brief moment. "Because if you don't, you mistake collapse for surprise."
She turned and walked away before he could respond.
Jason stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching her blend into the crowd without effort.
Only after she was gone did he realize something else.
At no point had she asked him why he did what he did.
And at no point had she offered help.
Jason exhaled slowly and headed in the opposite direction, the weight in his chest unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
For the first time since Maldova, someone had seen the pattern forming—
and chosen not to interfere.
That unsettled him more than any warning could have.