As the sun sank again, Mrs. Kendrick brought another basket—this time stew, bread, and cider—and wished them another quiet night. Trey lit the new lanterns along the western fence before they climbed the silo ladder again.

  The fields shimmered bronze in the fading light. Somewhere beyond the treeline, a bird cried—a long, echoing sound that made the air feel thinner.

  "Same post as before?" Luna asked.

  Trey nodded. "Same post. Different story."

  The second night settled slower, heavier.

  Lanterns threw long ribbons of gold across the barley, and the fields hissed softly under the wind. From above, the farm looked peaceful—too peaceful.

  Trey propped his boots on the railing and leaned back, watching Luna pace the narrow platform.

  "Careful," he said. "If you fall off, I'm not catching you. I bruise easily."

  "I'm checking visibility," she replied, peering toward the west. "If bandits really come from that side, we can't see much past the barley."

  "True. Solution: become terrifying enough that they never try."

  "That's your professional strategy?"

  "Worked for the goose."

  Luna sighed. "The goose attacked because you kept chasing it!"

  "I'm attractive, I know."

  He reached into the food basket Mrs. Kendrick had left and tossed her an apple. "Eat. And while you chew, let's make this educational."

  She raised a brow. "Educational?"

  "Training mission, remember? We'll call this Improvised Defense Class." He picked up the same hoe she'd carried earlier and twirled it like a quarterstaff—show-off, but balanced. "Rule one: reach is your friend. You don't have Quanta strong enough for force strikes yet, so you make up for it with distance."

  She took the hoe from him, weighed it, and gave an experimental swing that sliced through empty air with a clean whistle.

  Trey's grin softened into something almost proud.

  "See? You've got the stance. Keep your elbows loose—no, not that loose. You're fighting, not dancing."

  "I was top of my class at rhythmic disaster," she muttered.

  He chuckled. "You'll thank me later when you're not skewered."

  They practiced a few turns in the lantern light—him guiding her grip, correcting her angle.

  It felt strange: the clink of the metal head, his voice quiet but sure, their shadows moving over the curve of the silo.

  Then the wind shifted.

  A faint metallic rattle broke the stillness—like a latch brushing wood.

  Soft.

  Wrong.

  Out of place.

  Luna froze mid-step. Trey was already analyzing—weight shifting, shoulders angling, eyes narrowing toward the sound.

  "You heard that, right?" he whispered.

  She nodded.

  Something brushed against the barn's wooden slats—a deliberate, dragging scrape.

  Trey snuffed one lantern with his fingers. Half the platform sank into shadow.

  "Rule two," he breathed. "If we can see them, they can see us. If they can't see us—"

  "We're dangerous," she finished.

  A quick, tight grin.

  "Exactly. Come on."

  They descended the ladder, rungs creaking under their boots. At the bottom, Trey extended an arm—not touching her, just signaling: stay behind me.

  Two shadows slid between the barley stalks, bending the grain. Steel caught the lantern-glow.

  Trey crouched behind a grain crate, voice barely wind:

  "Two. One ahead. One circling. Watch the flank."

  Luna gripped the hoe until her knuckles ached.

  The first bandit reached the nearest lantern post.

  Trey moved.

  Fast—too fast for the bandit to react.

  He slammed into him, pinning him hard to the dirt. The man thrashed—then with a sudden jerk, headbutted Trey under the jaw.

  Trey hissed in pain but didn't loosen his grip.

  The second bandit broke from the barley—blade raised.

  He came in from behind.

  Trey felt him.

  He shifted instantly, sword already swinging toward a defensive sweep—

  —but Luna was closer.

  She didn't think.

  Something hot shot through her chest—fear, fury, instinct—clean and sharp.

  She lunged.

  Boots skidding.

  Hands gripping too tight.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Hoe swinging from her hip with all her weight behind it.

  CRACK.

  She struck the bandit hard across the forearm—from behind—sending his blade flying into the dirt with a metallic scream.

  He howled, stumbling, clutching his arm. Luna followed through with the momentum, landing between him and Trey like she'd meant to do it.

  The bandit stared at her—wide-eyed—then bolted, vanishing into the barley.

  The first one scrambled after him, limping hard.

  Silence dropped like a curtain.

  Just Luna's heartbeat—loud, furious, alive.

  Trey nudged the fallen dagger aside with his boot and looked at her.

  His grin burst out like sunrise.

  "Well," he said brightly, "remind me never to stand between you and a hoe."

  Luna panted, still staring at the dark where the bandit fled. "I—he was going to hit you."

  "Yeah," Trey said, rubbing his ribs. "And you hit him first." He gave her a mock bow. "Zero hesitation. Very heroic."

  She swallowed. "I didn't even think."

  "That's the best kind of thinking," he said softly. "Instinct saves you."

  He stood—this time with a wince.

  "You're hurt," she said.

  "Only everywhere."

  A shrug. "Occupational hazard."

  She shot him a look, but her hands were trembling. Trey noticed, and his smile softened into something warmer.

  "You did good, Luna."

  Her cheeks warmed. Lanternlight swayed between them.

  Trey crouched to inspect tracks. "They weren't here to steal. Just testing defenses."

  "Will more come?" she asked quietly.

  He flicked her a lopsided grin. "Let them try. We're terrifying."

  She snorted, breathless.

  By dawn, neither of them had slept.

  They'd taken turns pacing the silo, lanterns burning low, watching the barley ripple in long, uneasy waves. Every rustle felt like a threat. Every shadow looked like a man returning with friends.

  When the first sunbeam crept across the fields, the whole farm smelled of smoke, dew, and churned earth.

  Trey sat on the edge of the stable trough, hair a mess, forcing a scowl through the stiffness in his face. He pressed the heel of his hand against a bruise blooming purple along his jaw.

  "You're sure you're fine?" Luna asked for the third time.

  "Yes," he said. Then winced. "...Mostly yes."

  Luna folded her arms, unimpressed. "You nearly took a blade to the back, Trey."

  He grinned. "'Nearly' is the key word."

  Before she could argue, Mrs. Kendrick bustled out carrying a basket that smelled like heaven—stew, bread, cider, and worry.

  "I heard there was trouble last night," she said, setting the basket beside them. "Two men near the silo?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Luna said. "They tried to get close. We chased them off."

  Mrs. Kendrick looked Trey over, eyes narrowing. "And you look like you got run over by an ox."

  "Pretty close," Trey admitted cheerfully.

  "Goodness—hold still."

  She cupped his chin, turning his face left and right, inspecting the bruise along his jaw. "Does this hurt?"

  "Yes," he answered.

  She smacked the back of his head lightly. "Good. Means you're alive. Now eat."

  She marched off muttering about reckless young guards and proper breakfast.

  When she was gone, Luna crouched in front of him, eyes sharper than the morning cold. "Why didn't you tell me he hit you?"

  "Where's the fun in that?" Trey said. "Besides, I had you for backup."

  "You didn't even know I moved!"

  "Exactly! Teamwork!"

  She threw a bit of straw at him. He caught it without looking, still smiling.

  But when he spoke again, his tone softened. "Hey. You did well last night. I mean that."

  Luna blinked. Compliments weren't his usual currency. "Thanks," she said quietly.

  By noon, the air shimmered with heat and the sound of wagon wheels. A convoy of four carriages rolled up the dirt road, banners snapping in the wind—each marked with a striking insignia:

  a golden sun split by a black compass rose, its golden points glinting like stars. Beneath it, faint lines curved like waves—trade routes etched in light.

  It gleamed against the green lacquer of the merchant wagons.

  Luna shaded her eyes. "That emblem... looks expensive."

  Trey didn't answer right away. His posture had gone still—too still. Then, as if remembering she was watching, he leaned back on the bench, smile sliding back into place.

  "Probably just a big trading guild," he said lightly. "Let's stay out of the way. Job's done."

  So they did—sat on the fence line at the far edge of the field, watching the merchants unload sacks of grain, the farmers counting and weighing. The bustle drifted over like a hum.

  "Hard to believe people live off this kind of rhythm," Luna murmured. "Quiet. Predictable."

  Trey flicked a blade of barley off his knee. "I know you'd rather be back with the Pines. Being unstable's a charm."

  A man peeled away from the caravan—a tall, broad-shouldered figure with jet-black hair and a fine traveling coat the color of storm clouds. His walk was confident but easy, like someone who owned half the valley and didn't need to prove it.

  He stopped opposite Trey, took one long look at him—then suddenly pulled him into a hug so tight Luna thought she heard a bone crack.

  "My little Train-train! What a surprise seeing you before term break!"

  Luna, who had just started to lunge toward them, froze. Train-train? The name hit her like a thrown horseshoe—and so did Trey's expression as he awkwardly wrapped his arms around the man's waist.

  "Didn't expect to see you here either, Clyde. Now let go before you dislocate my spine."

  But Clyde only rocked him side to side like a mother cradling a toddler.

  "Not until you say you miss me!"

  "I'd rather perish."

  Luna blinked. "Clyde?"

  The man turned to look at her, grinning with a warmth that could melt armor.

  "Ah, you must be the partner this rascal's been paired with all this time. I'm Clyde Lancaster—Trey's big brother. And those," he gestured toward the carriages with an easy sweep, "are the Lancaster merchants. Our family business."

  Luna's eyes widened. She pointed at the caravan. "Wait, that's your family? The fancy merchants?"

  Trey said, peeling himself out of the deadly strangle. "Told you I was rich."

  "You joke around all the time! How could I know that one was true?!"

  "Fair point."

  Clyde laughed. "Don't tell me you never mentioned us, Little Train." He gave Luna a teasing look. "And nice to finally meet you, Mira."

  Trey's grin vanished like someone cut it off with a knife.

  "No. This is Luna. And don't start."

  Clyde raised both hands, still smiling. "Oh—my mistake. Nice to meet you, Luna."

  Mira. The name landed sharp in Luna's chest. Beautiful name. Too beautiful. She looked at Trey—suddenly seeing him in a dozen new lights: rich, with loving family, and a girl named Mira.

  "Clyde," Trey said evenly, "walk with me, will ya?"

  Clyde gave Luna a good-natured nod before following his brother toward the treeline. They walked in step—same posture, same lazy confidence—one older, steadier; one lighter but with the same shadows under his smile.

  From her distance, Luna couldn't hear what they said—only saw gestures: Trey handing Clyde a small folded paper, his shoulders stiffening, sometimes nodding toward her, a brief clasp of arms before Clyde headed back to the wagons.

  When Trey returned, his grin was back, but his eyes didn't match it.

  "All wrapped up?" she asked lightly.

  "Most of it's boring family business," he said, brushing dust off his coat. "You'd fall asleep halfway through."

  "Uh-huh."

  He smirked. "You'd make a terrible spy, by the way."

  "Maybe I just don't trust you," she said, rolling her eyes.

  He looked at her then—not with his usual mischief, but something gentler.

  "Good. That's what'll keep you alive."

  For a heartbeat, a shadow crossed his eyes—gone as soon as it came, replaced by that easy, contagious grin.

  She nodded slowly. The merchants were still loading up; Clyde stood near the wagons, giving orders with the same easy authority Trey had carried in smaller, quieter ways all week.

  Luna looked at him, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

  "So... who's Mira?"

  Trey froze just long enough for her to notice. Then he exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh.

  "Old friend—a good one. Loudmouth. Terrible sense of direction."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it." He tilted his head, grin wider. "Why, jealous?"

  Luna made a face. "Just curious."

  "Good," he said, eyes glinting. "As my number-one fan should always be."

  He turned toward the fence, ending the topic with the casualness of someone who'd had too much practice at avoiding it.

  Mrs. Kendrick's voice floated from the porch, breaking the still air. "You two done? There's bread left if you want it before heading out!"

  Trey's grin brightened again, effortless. "Bread first, secrets later."

  They left that afternoon under a bronze sky, the wind chasing ripples through the barley. From the road, the silo looked small and harmless again.

  Luna glanced once at Trey. He was humming some nonsense tune, as though nothing in the world had changed. But in the back of her mind, the name Mira lingered—soft, beautiful, and heavy with questions she wasn't ready to ask again.