Chapter 78 — She knew

  By the time the sun dipped low enough to stain the field amber, Garrick finally called an end to the day.

  “That’s enough,” he said, voice rough but satisfied. “You’ll only hurt yourselves past this point.”

  Hennel staggered back first.

  Dust clung to him like a second skin. One sleeve was torn clean through, the other barely hanging on. His hair stuck up in defiant, uneven clumps, and his posture screamed exhaustion—even if his mouth still hadn’t learned when to shut up.

  He took three more steps.

  Then stopped dead.

  There was firelight.

  Not much—just a small, carefully fed flame. Low, controlled. Enough to cook. Not enough to announce a camp to anyone with eyes and patience.

  On it—

  Fish, skewered and turning slowly.

  A bird, split and roasting.

  A hare, already portioned and laid near the embers, wrapped neatly in leaves to keep the meat from scorching.

  Ivaline sat beside the fire, calm as always, tending it with a stick. She adjusted the embers with precise movements, feeding the flame only what it needed. No sparks. No smoke.

  Ayra hovered near her, eyes glittering as she watched the meat cook. The bird—that one—was hers. She’d helped bring it down earlier, and the pride hadn’t left her face since.

  “…You cooked?” Hennel blurted.

  “Yes,” Ivaline replied simply, eyes still on the fire.

  Since Edric had taught her how to prepare meat properly, cooking in the wild had become routine. Fire control. Cleaning. Timing. Waste nothing.

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  It wasn’t comfort.

  It was survival.

  Garrick let out a low hum of approval as he lowered himself onto a rock.

  “Good,” he said. “Now we know at least one of us won’t starve if we’re stranded or forced to stay out overnight.”

  Hennel didn’t wait for permission.

  He snatched a fish straight off the skewer and bit down hard.

  “HAWTTTTT!!”

  He dropped it instantly, hopping in place and clutching his mouth.

  “Stupid brat!” Garrick snapped. “You could see the steam! Why didn’t you blow on it first!?”

  “Nom—nom—nom—!” Hennel answered through scorched determination, picking it back up anyway.

  “….”

  Ayra ate quietly.

  Hennel ran around with reddening lips and teary eyes.

  Garrick rubbed his temples like a man regretting every life decision that had led him here.

  Ivaline watched them all.

  Not judging.

  Not smiling.

  Just… observing.

  They finished the meal without further incident.

  When they were done, Ivaline buried the fire properly. Ash scattered. Stones returned. Tracks brushed away with a branch. Nothing left behind that didn’t belong.

  They returned to the city together, walking in tired silence.

  “At the guild,” Garrick said as they parted. “Tomorrow. Six sharp.”

  No one argued.

  Ivaline peeled off toward her small home.

  Ayra walked a little slower.

  She felt it again.

  That presence.

  A subtle pressure at the edge of awareness—not eyes, not intent. Just attention. She glanced back.

  A shadow detached itself from another shadow—just for a moment—before settling again farther away. Watching, but not stalking. Close, but never crossing the line.

  No malice.

  No threat.

  Ayra said nothing.

  After Ivaline disappeared into her home, the watcher slipped away.

  The report was delivered quietly.

  Corvix listened.

  He didn’t interrupt.

  Didn’t comment.

  When the spy finished, Corvix spoke only once.

  “Pull back farther,” he said. “If the girl can sense you, you’re too close.”

  A pause.

  “Watch the other one instead. Make sure she stays safe.”

  Another pause.

  “If something goes wrong—extract Ivaline alone.”

  The spy bowed and vanished.

  That night, Ivaline lay on her mat, staring at the ceiling.

  “He’s following us again,” she said aloud.

  ‘Yes,’ Chronicle replied.

  ‘But he never approaches. Never interferes.’

  “He delivers things,” Ivaline continued. “From Sir Corvix. Sometimes.”

  ‘Then he is Corvix’s man.’

  “Probably.”

  Neither Corvix nor his spy knew the truth.

  That Ivaline had noticed long ago.

  That the Chronicle had confirmed it.

  That they had chosen—together—to remain silent.

  Some watches were protection.

  Some were tests.

  And some truths were best left untouched—

  For now.