She didn't move.
Neither did he.
The door shut behind Elias, and for a long second, the room held its breath.
She stood near the window, body turned just slightly to the side—poised to bolt or strike, whichever came first. Her boots were damp with road dust, her coat too light for someone who'd planned to stay long.
Elias didn't raise his hands, but he kept them visible.
"I'm not going to call for anyone," he said calmly. "You've got the upper hand, and I'm not looking to change that."
Still nothing.
"No one's coming to check on me," he added. "But if they did… they'd probably trip on the stairs and forget why they came."
Her eyes narrowed slightly—almost a smile. Almost.
"I don't know who you are," he said. "But if you're hiding, I'm not in your way."
"You didn't panic," she finally said.
"I didn't have time."
A small beat passed.
"I've seen people panic for less," she muttered. "You're either brave or stupid."
"Bit of both, maybe."
That earned a short exhale through her nose—not quite a laugh.
She watched him a moment longer, then asked, "You from the coast?"
"No."
"From inland?"
"Not from this world," he said before he could stop himself.
She raised an eyebrow. "That's a dramatic way to avoid the question."
"I'm not avoiding it."
"Right," she said, clearly not convinced—but also not calling him a liar. Just… uncertain.
He didn't press the point. And she didn't push it further.
Not yet.
She stepped closer to the wall, half in shadow now. The mark on her brow caught the light—just long enough for him to see it clearly.
Three crescent arcs, linked in a single curve.
She didn't explain.
Instead, she asked, "What do you feel when you look at the moon?"
Elias hesitated.
"Peace," he said. "Like everything's slowed down just enough to think."
That surprised her.
Not shock. Not fear. Just the faintest hint of recognition.
"Most people don't say that," she murmured.
"What do they say?"
"They don't notice it at all."
She folded her arms.
"There are things in this world tied to the moon. Old things. Quiet things. The kind you only feel if you're already listening."
Elias said nothing.
"I didn't expect to find anyone like that here," she added. "Especially not in a tavern room."
He finally leaned forward slightly. "What are you looking for?"
She paused.
Then, voice low: "A name. A place. A way to stay ahead of the ones looking for me."
She looked up.
"And maybe someone who still remembers what the moon is."
She looked toward the window—not out of it, but at the glass itself. Checking the edges. Watching the reflection. Listening for sound that didn't belong.
"You say you're not from this world," she said eventually.
He stayed quiet. There was no point repeating it.
"That's a bold claim," she added, still watching. "A dangerous one. Especially if you believe it."
"I do."
She didn't scoff. Didn't laugh. But her eyes narrowed, thoughtful—not accepting, not rejecting.
"You don't sound like anyone I've met," she admitted. "And you speak about the moon like it matters. Most people here don't."
"It does," Elias said. "I don't know why. I just know it does."
That gave her pause.
A long one.
"Then maybe that's enough," she said. Not agreement. Not trust. But a small concession.
She stepped a little farther from the window, shoulders still tight.
"There are people who've forgotten. And then there are people who've made sure we forget. Who want the moon to be something distant. Silent."
Elias felt his throat tighten. "Who?"
She hesitated. Something hard passed through her expression, and her voice dropped to barely a whisper.
"The Lunate Order."
She didn't look at him as she said it. She looked at the floor. As if even speaking the name might draw eyes.
"They don't worship," she said. "They control. Or try to. They bury what can't be owned."
"And you're hiding from them," Elias said.
"I'm hiding," she corrected. "Running makes noise."
They stood in silence for a moment, not quite allies, not quite strangers.
Then—laughter from below.
Heavy boots hit the stairs like they'd lost a fight with gravity.
Elias closed his eyes for half a second. "Rauel."
The door handle jiggled, then opened just enough for the man's voice to slide through.
"There you are," Rauel called, leaning halfway into the room. His cheeks were red, his eyes glassy but alert. "My drinking circle collapsed. One's got a wife, one's got a job, and I've got neither—so you're up."
Elias stepped in front of the girl without making it obvious, blocking the narrow view from the door.
"Thanks," he said, casual. "But I was going to try and get some more practice in."
Rauel squinted at him. "That sounded dangerously responsible."
"Figured I should start somewhere."
Rauel pointed at him like that was somehow offensive, then grunted. "Suit yourself. If I drink enough for two, I expect a medal."
The door closed behind him, his footsteps retreating back into the hum of the tavern below.
Elias waited a beat. Then turned.
She hadn't moved from the shadowed edge of the room—but the tension in her arms had eased.
"You covered for me," she said quietly.
"I figured it was easier than explaining."
She studied him again, eyes searching—not for threats now, but for signs. Something unspoken. Something familiar.
"There's a piece of it nearby," she said at last.
Elias frowned. "Of what?"
She looked at him, full in the face this time.
"The moon."
He didn't speak.
"It's not whole," she continued. "Not anymore. What's left of its essence is scattered—hidden. Most don't even know it's missing."
Her voice lowered, more steady than soft.
"One of those pieces is here. In this city. And it's not safe."
"I'm going to try to save it," she said. "Even if I have to do it alone."
Her gaze lingered on him—not soft, not hopeful. Just steady.
"You didn't panic. You didn't ask the wrong questions. You covered for someone you didn't know."
She shifted slightly, like the words tasted wrong coming out.
"I don't know what that makes you. But I haven't seen it in a while."
She looked back toward the shuttered window, the last of the sun slipping past the slats.
"If you're still here tomorrow," she said, "I'll tell you what I know."
And that was it.
Not an invitation.
Just a choice left hanging in the quiet.
She looked back toward the shuttered window, the last of the sun slipping past the slats.
"If you're still here tomorrow," she said, "I'll tell you what I know."
And that was it.
Not an invitation.
Just a choice left hanging in the quiet.
Elias didn't answer right away.
He leaned back in the chair, the edge of one ring still resting between his fingers.
A piece of the moon.
In danger.
In this city.
He didn't know if he believed her. He didn't even know if he was supposed to.
But he hadn't lied when he said the moon mattered to him. He'd always felt something in its presence—something steady, something real. Even if he couldn't explain it.
And now, something in him whispered that this moment wasn't just another quiet conversation in another unfamiliar room.
It was a fork in the current.
He looked up at her again.
"I'll be here," he said.
Just that.
And she nodded once. No smile. No thanks.
Just mutual understanding—and the smallest shift in the room. Like they'd both agreed on something without speaking it.
"I'll be here," Elias said.
Just that.
She nodded once. No smile. No thanks. Just a simple acknowledgment between two people who weren't quite strangers anymore.
Then, without another word, she turned and stepped through the open window—silent, practiced. Gone before the breeze even shifted.
Elias sat still.
One hand resting on the edge of the table, fingertips brushing against the cloth roll of training tools. He didn't reach for them.
He just stared at the empty space where she'd been.
He hadn't gotten her name.
And then—
CRASH.
A sharp, splintering sound from the hallway—loud enough to shake the walls. Elias shot to his feet, chair scraping behind him.
He yanked open the door—
And stopped cold.
Across the hall, Kaelen's doorway had vanished—obliterated by a tangled mass of thick vines and twisted roots, rupturing through the frame and curling down into the floorboards like something trying to escape or dig its way in deeper.
The air reeked of damp soil and something acrid.
He took a step forward—barely breathing.
And somewhere inside that overgrown mess—
Something moved.