The next day, Illara and I went to see Norman so we could plan our return to Holver and decide exactly how we were going to convince Jenna to join us in this quest for truth.

  Norman’s tower looked even more worn in daylight. The stone was stained dark with age, and the door hung crooked on its hinges like it was tired of pretending it still belonged on the frame. We brought breakfast, partly because Norman deserved it, and partly because I had learned that scholars were far more cooperative when fed.

  Norman answered the door looking rumpled and pleased with himself, ink still smeared on his fingers.

  “Good morning,” I said, holding out the bundle. “How goes your book?”

  “All done,” Norman replied, taking it with obvious gratitude. “Or as done as it can be while I’m still disappointed I can’t put my name to it.”

  “How are you going to publish it, then?” I asked.

  Norman winked. “Don’t worry. I have contacts.”

  His grin was so smug it bordered on unbearable.

  He stepped aside to let us in, then settled back into his chair like the tower was a throne rather than a ruin.

  “So,” he said, leaning forward. “I assume you’re here to plan the trip to Holver.”

  “Yes,” I said. “When do you think we can leave?”

  Norman didn’t even pause. “Today.”

  Illara blinked. “Today?”

  “It’s winter,” Norman said, shrugging. “But I’ve nothing better to do, and I would rather be doing something useful than staring at paper and going blind.”

  His smile widened, the same eager scholar’s grin that always showed up when trouble was nearby.

  “That works for me,” I said, then glanced at Illara. “How about you?”

  Illara hesitated. “I think it’s fine. It would be good to see everyone again. But as you know Drisnil won’t be allowed back in the village.”

  Norman waved a hand dismissively, like exile was a small inconvenience rather than a problem.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll talk to Jenna for you. Worst case, you could wear a disguise, Drisnil.”

  I searched Drisnil’s memories. Disguises were common. There were powders and paints and scent-masking herbs. There were cloaks enchanted to blur features. There were masks made from lacquered bark that could fool even careful eyes.

  I had none of those.

  “I don’t think I can manage a proper disguise with what I’ve got,” I admitted. “But I can stay outside the village if necessary.”

  Illara looked faintly unhappy at that, as if the idea of me waiting alone in the snow bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

  Norman’s quill hovered above his desk.

  “What exactly did you do,” he asked casually, “to get exiled?”

  I sighed. “I saved the village from attackers.”

  Norman’s eyebrows lifted.

  “And then,” I continued, “I got carried away and nearly attacked Jenna.”

  Norman laughed, open and bright.

  “Oh, you poor fool,” he said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t last three heartbeats against Jenna. Be grateful she didn’t smite you outright.”

  “Glad someone finds it funny,” Illara muttered.

  Norman grinned at her like she’d just confirmed his point. “It is funny. Mostly because you’re still alive.”

  He leaned back and gestured vaguely toward the window.

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  “Regardless, I’m sure you can camp outside the village just fine. Nice open field. Everyone can keep an eye on you.”

  His tone was joking, but there was a truth beneath it. Jenna wouldn’t take chances. And neither would the villagers.

  Norman rose, already collecting his things. “I’ll grab what I need. Meet you at the gate in an hour.”

  He shooed us out the door like we were an inconvenience.

  As we stepped back into the cold, I couldn’t help thinking about Jenna.

  If she agreed to help, we might finally have a way forward.

  And if she didn’t…

  Well.

  That was what the open field was for.

  We gathered our supplies and met Norman at the gate.

  The trip to Holver should have taken less than a day, but with Norman’s shuffling pace I’d already resigned myself to camping overnight somewhere cold and miserable.

  Then we reached the gate, and Norman revealed his surprise.

  A horse and cart waited beside the road.

  “I’m too old to walk long distances now,” Norman said, wearing that same smug, cheesy grin, “so I figured we could do with some transportation.” He patted the cart as if he’d personally invented it. “Hop on. Let’s go.”

  It was, embarrassingly, the first time I had ever ridden in a horse and cart. Even in my old world. I’d driven cars, sat on buses, taken trains, but never this. There was something almost quaint about it, like stepping into a story I used to read as a child.

  The cart had no suspension, though, and any romance vanished the first time we hit a rut.

  We felt every bump. Every stone. Every uneven patch of road.

  Still, the weather gave us one small mercy. Cold and cloudy, yes, but no snow.

  Illara leaned against me as we travelled, quietly trying to steal warmth where she could. She didn’t say much. Neither did I. Norman, on the other hand, filled the silence with relentless enthusiasm, talking the whole way about his studies, his theories, the fragments of forgotten histories he’d collected like treasures.

  I tried to listen. I really did.

  But his voice had a way of turning even the most fascinating subject into a lullaby.

  Whenever he paused, I murmured a “Mmm,” or a “Yes,” just convincing enough to keep him going, while my mind wandered elsewhere.

  By nightfall, we could just make out the distant lights of Holver.

  That sight hit me harder than I expected.

  I’d lived there for nearly twenty years. Long enough that the outline of the place had carved itself into me. Even now, seeing it again felt like looking at something I used to belong to, something that had moved on without me.

  At some point along the road Illara had fallen asleep, her head resting against my shoulder, rocked by the steady motion of the cart.

  I nudged her gently.

  “We’re here.”

  Illara blinked awake, rubbing at her eyes. She yawned and sat up, hair mussed, looking softer than she ever did when she was fully alert.

  “Oh… good,” she murmured, and then her gaze fixed on the village lights. Something in her expression changed, quiet and yearning.

  Norman stretched dramatically beside us.

  “Ugh. My back is sore. I will be pleased to get into a proper bed.”

  Illara turned to me, suddenly hesitant.

  “Drisnil,” she said, “is it alright if I stay with you tonight?”

  For a heartbeat my chest tightened.

  I wanted to say yes.

  Not because I needed her. Not because I couldn’t manage one night alone. But because I’d gotten used to her presence, the way she anchored me, the way she made the silence less sharp.

  But saying yes would be selfish.

  Theo was her father. Ash was her brother. She hadn’t seen them in weeks, and none of us knew how long this peace would last.

  So I forced myself to shake my head.

  “No,” I said gently. “You should spend time with your family. You don’t know when you’ll get the chance again.”

  Illara’s face fell, disappointment flickering across it before she could hide it.

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  Norman smirked.

  “Get a room already.”

  I let out an audible sigh.

  “I’m surprised,” I said dryly, “that two good friends can’t complain about being apart for one night without you turning it into something obscene.”

  Norman only grinned wider.

  Illara forced a smile too, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  Before we entered the village proper, I climbed down from the wagon and walked out into the field, where the ground was flat and open and far enough away that no one could accuse me of lurking.

  I found a spot that would do and set up a small tent.

  A simple campfire.

  A basic stew, more for warmth than taste.

  In the distance, I could hear voices, and then laughter, and then the unmistakable joy in Theo’s shout as he greeted his daughter.

  Illara’s return.

  Ash’s quiet presence.

  A family made whole again, at least for the night.

  I sat beside my fire and stared into the flames.

  Tonight was going to be long.

  Cold.

  Lonely.

  And I realised, with a bitterness I hadn’t allowed myself to feel until now, that I’d brought that loneliness on myself.

  My past behaviour had burned every bridge this village might have offered me.

  And tonight, hearing their joy from a distance I was no longer allowed to cross, I regretted it more than I wanted to admit.