Eve shrugged, the corners of her mouth softening. "Don't be a fool and get killed out there. Then my investment is wasted." She motioned to the door, unbarring it. "Go on. Rain's letting up a bit."
_______________________________________
They stepped outside, the downpour reduced to a steady drizzle. Thunder grumbled in the distance, echoing across rolling hills. The village lanes were deserted, most folk sheltering indoors. Havyn and Selene navigated the muddy street, water dripping from their cloaks, until they reached the old workshop near the well. It looked like it had once been a carpenter's shop: scraps of wood and sawdust littered a broad, sagging porch. On the far side, an enclosed overhang formed what might charitably be called a "lean-to."
A single rickety door led inside the workshop, and behind it was a small, enclosed space with a battered cot, a dusty table, and a stool. The roof overhead leaked in one corner, but the rest looked reasonably dry.
Selene exhaled shakily, running a hand over her damp hair. "Could be worse."
"Could be better," Havyn muttered, though he tried to keep his tone light. "I'll see if I can plug that leak." He rummaged around the workshop, finding a few strips of scrap wood and some nails left behind. The hammer was rusted, but workable. A short while later, he'd rigged a makeshift patch in the roof. It wouldn't last a storm, but it might hold until morning.
Selene sat on the cot, massaging her bandaged side. "At least we're out of the public eye."
Havyn sank onto the stool, wiping rain from his brow. "We have a plan. Tomorrow, I gather roots for Eve. You help her with potions. We stay quiet, keep watch for any signs of cultists." His eyes hardened. "If the Daughters really are near, we might pick up clues from the villagers. They must have stories, rumors. I won't let them take you again."
Her gaze flicked away. "They're stronger than you think. If they want me, they'll keep coming."
He reached out, gently cupping her chin. "Then we'll be ready."
She searched his face, tears trembling in her silver eyes. "You don't know how many times I've dreamed about having a moment's peace. A place like this—quiet, safe, no fear of being dragged back. And yet…" A shaky laugh escaped her. "Here I am, waiting for the next attack."
His thumb brushed her cheek, brushing away a tear. "We're both battered, but we're not beaten. Let's rest. The morning will bring new challenges, but maybe we'll find answers too."
Selene closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. "You really are insufferably loyal," she murmured again, voice tinged with affection.
He smiled faintly. "Guess so."
They settled in for the night as the storm raged on. Havyn coaxed a small lantern into life using an old flint found in the workshop. The feeble glow revealed spiderwebs in every corner, but it gave them at least some sense of comfort. Despite the tension of the day—and the weight of unspoken secrets—they fell into a fitful sleep, lulled by the drumming of rain on the patched roof.
In the Dead of Night
Some hours later, Havyn stirred awake to a soft hiss outside. Instantly alert, he quietly rose from the stool, glancing at Selene. She still lay on the cot, breath steady in slumber. The lantern had burned low, its flame flickering.
He strained his hearing, every muscle tense. Another whisper—like footsteps? Carefully, he approached the small boarded-up window, peering through a gap. The rain had eased to a drizzle, and faint moonlight seeped through the clouds.
A figure moved near the well. Hooded. Tall. Havyn's heart pounded. Cultist? The shape lingered by the well for a moment, then turned as if sensing Havyn's gaze. Pale moonlight revealed half a face—an older man with lines etched deep around his eyes. Not the Daughters' leader, but definitely not a random farmer. The figure glanced at the workshop, then vanished into the shadows, heading out of sight behind a row of stacked lumber.
Havyn debated whether to wake Selene. The man hadn't worn the black robes of the Daughters. Could he be a villager checking on something? Or a spy? The memory of Devon's warning about missing people sent a chill through him.
He quietly unlatched the door, slipping outside. Night air brushed his cheeks, carrying the damp scent of pine. He scanned the darkness, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing. The figure was gone, as if the shadows had swallowed him.
Cautiously, Havyn circled behind the lumber piles, each step soft on muddy ground. No one was there. No tracks aside from the ones half-washed away by rain. He exhaled, uneasy. Perhaps it was just a villager out late—Cinderbrook might have watchers patrolling at night. If so, at least the guard was doing their job.
Reluctantly, he returned to the workshop, securing the door. Selene stirred, blinking in drowsy confusion. "What's wrong?" she mumbled.
"Nothing," Havyn lied, forcing a reassuring smile. "Just checking the leak."
She nodded, eyes fluttering shut again, too exhausted to question further. He stood watch a while longer, scanning the darkness through the gaps in the boards. Eventually, he lay down near the door, arms folded under his head, drifting into a restless slumber filled with half-remembered nightmares.
Morning arrived with the calls of roosters and the gentle clanking of metal in the distance—someone tending to farm equipment or forging tools. Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the workshop walls, revealing swirling motes of dust. Havyn roused first, wincing at the stiffness in his limbs, the bruises leftover from their escape.
Selene was already stirring, pressing a hand to her side. She flexed her fingers, testing the ache. "Not as bad," she muttered, relief in her tone.
He nodded. "Eve's salve must be doing its job."
A knock on the workshop's door startled them both. Havyn rose, unbarring it. Harwick stood there, arms folded, the lines in his face more pronounced in the morning light.
"You two plan on lazing about all day?" he asked, tone gruff but not hostile.
Havyn half-grinned. "We were just getting up."
Harwick scanned the small shack. "Storm's gone, but the ground's soggy. I'll need help fixing a few of the perimeter fences. You good for that, or do I have to find someone else?"
Havyn exchanged a glance with Selene. "I can do the fences. Selene has to help Eve gather herbs or something."
Selene stepped forward, hood pulled over her hair. "Yes, I'll be with the herbalist. The less strain on my wound, the better."
"Fine," Harwick grunted. "Eve asked me to send you her way if you were awake. She's got chores lined up." He turned to Havyn. "I'll be in the southwestern fields, near an old orchard. Join me when you can. Just… keep your nose clean. Some folks are still nervous about strangers."
"Understood," Havyn said. "We'll do our part."
Harwick nodded once, then left, his boots squelching in the mud. Selene sighed as she gathered her cloak. "Want to come by the herbalist after you finish with the fences?"
He brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Yeah. Maybe we can coordinate with Eve about the creeper root search. Or I can collect it on the way, then bring it to her. We'll figure it out."
Selene gave him a brief, grateful smile. "We have a plan. Let's see if we can keep these villagers from turning on us."
"Or from stirring up any more trouble than they already have," Havyn murmured.
They headed out into the fresh morning air. Cinderbrook was busier now—men hauling wood, a woman herding goats along the lane, a pair of children splashing through puddles. Though a few gazes lingered on Havyn and Selene, none approached or spoke ill. Suspicion still hung in the air, but it wasn't as pointed as Havyn had feared. Perhaps the villagers were just as wary of conflict as they were.
They parted ways at the square: Selene continuing down the lane toward Eve's cottage, Havyn making for the southwestern fields. Each step away from her filled him with a small twinge of anxiety—memories of how easily danger had found them before. But the day's chores would keep them close enough to rally if something went wrong.