Tessa stepped out of the Mistglass Rest with her coat fastened high and the soft, steady hum of the town rising around her. The early afternoon sun filtered weakly through the clouds, turning the stone streets pale and quiet beneath its touch.

  Rellen was already waiting near the edge of the walkway, leaning lightly on a post as if he'd never left. She fell into step beside him without a word. He didn’t make a comment about it—just turned smoothly and started walking.

  “Weaver’s Row,” she said after a minute. “That’s where I heard we’d find her. Vasha.”

  Rellen nodded. “Second terrace down. East side of town.”

  Tessa gave him a glance. “You’ve been?”

  “Walked through this morning. I like to get the layout when I arrive somewhere new.”

  Of course he did.

  She let him lead the way, the quiet between them broken only by the soft clack of boots against stone and the occasional murmur of a street vendor calling out their wares. The higher terraces were still busy with the flow of local foot traffic—traders, harvesters, craftsmen hauling spools of cord and carved looms—but fewer tourists now. Fewer travelers, too. This far from the capital, most people didn’t come just to browse.

  And as they walked, she noticed again how Rellen’s attention was never really with her.

  He scanned the street ahead with the practiced ease of someone who didn’t want to seem like he was watching—but was. His gaze brushed over workers hunched over looms, over the young boy rolling dyed thread into neat loops, over a hunched figure sweeping dust into a bin outside a cutter’s shop. He wasn’t staring. Wasn’t nosy.

  But he noticed. All of it.

  Tessa squinted sideways at him. “You always memorize towns like this?”

  Rellen’s answer was casual. “I like knowing where I am.”

  “Useful habit for a tourist.”

  “Useful habit for anyone,” he said, not missing a beat.

  She didn’t argue, but the thread of suspicion curled tighter. He was polite, careful, smooth—but nothing about him rang random. No one who said they came for sightseeing actually paid attention like that. Still, she didn’t press.

  They descended a short set of stairs into a more open terrace—the stone here worn smooth by generations of foot traffic. Bright strands of dyed yarn fluttered between beams overhead, and colorful cloths hung like ribbons from the second-story balconies. The scent of old dye, fresh bread, and a hint of mana in the air gave the area a lived-in, vibrant feel.

  Tessa slowed slightly, scanning the signs overhead. “Which one?”

  Rellen nodded toward a storefront near the far edge, where a weathered wooden sign hung crookedly from a post. A narrow carving ran across its surface—a downward spiral of mist, stylized into a braid.

  “Her place,” he said.

  Tessa adjusted the strap on her satchel, her jaw set.

  “Alright,” she muttered. “Let’s meet the woman who leads tours into a death fog.”

  Rellen grinned faintly. “Optimism. Good.”

  The shop was cooler inside, the filtered light from the terrace reduced to a hazy blue-grey. Tessa paused just past the threshold, taking it in.

  The interior was a clean kind of utilitarian—practical shelves, everything stored with care but no attempt at decoration. Heavy ropes hung in coiled loops along one wall, next to racks of filtered masks with reinforced valves. Hooks carried lanterns fitted with fog-proof glass, and a long table near the back bore harnesses, tools, gloves, and boots worn smooth by use. A faint hum of ambient mana hung in the air like static—residue from crystal dust and the deep fog tunnels below.

  Behind the counter stood a woman like carved stone—broad through the shoulders, grey hair tied back into a tight braid, face sun-browned and creased. She wore heavy gloves and a leather apron, her arms bare and dusted in fine grit. She looked up without smiling.

  “You here for the tour?”

  Tessa stepped forward, nodding. “We were told you run them.”

  “I do,” the woman said, already reaching below the counter. She pulled out a wide leather binder and flipped it open, revealing rows of neatly filled pages. “One tomorrow. Morning run, shallow route. No cutting—just observation.”

  Tessa tilted her head slightly. “How far in?”

  “Down to the bloom line,” Vasha said, not looking up. “About four hours round trip. You’ll see raw crystal growths, a few stabilized nodes. Vein’s steady this time of year, but we don’t dawdle.”

  Tessa nodded slowly. She knew better than to treat this like sightseeing.

  “Just the two of us joining?” Rellen asked from behind her.

  Vasha glanced up briefly. “You’d make four. Got two outsiders already signed up. Quiet types.”

  She turned to them fully now. “You ever walked under the fog line?”

  They both gave a shake of the head.

  “Then you listen to what I say,” she replied without judgment. “No showing off. No wandering. If I give a call, you move.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Rellen nodded. “Understood.”

  Vasha returned her attention to the binder and jotted a note. Tessa stood quietly, watching the woman work. She hadn’t expected a pitch, but still—Vasha’s tone was as matter-of-fact as a clerk recording deliveries. It felt like signing up for a dangerous shift, not a scenic outing.

  “No cutting,” Vasha said again, flipping to a form. “No touching the bloom clusters. Fog gear’s included—filters, lanterns, rope harness. You wear everything, or you stay here. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Tessa echoed.

  The woman tapped the bottom of the form. “Five silver a head.”

  Tessa blinked. That was steep. That was too steep, actually. Especially for what amounted to a walk through foggy caverns with some vague educational value.

  She had money. This courier job would make her solvent again. She frowned slightly, weighing the decision. Without fanfare, Rellen reached into his coat and laid down ten silver coins on the counter.

  Tessa turned sharply. “You didn’t have to—”

  “I know,” he said mildly, not quite looking at her. “Think of it as an apology. For inviting myself.”

  Vasha didn’t blink. She swept the coins into a worn box, stamped the page with a symbol of approval, and closed the binder with a dull thud.

  “First light. Here. Don’t be late.”

  It wasn’t a threat. Just fact. Tessa gave a nod, murmured a thanks that might’ve been directed at either of them, and stepped outside.

  The afternoon breeze met them again—cooler now, tugging at the ends of the bright weaver’s banners. Rellen fell into step beside her.

  “You didn’t have to pay,” she said again, quieter.

  “I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

  They walked in silence for a few moments.

  “You’re still weird,” Tessa muttered.

  “But useful,” Rellen said, and when she shot him a sideways glance, she saw the faintest edge of a smirk hiding behind the otherwise polite mask. She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward just a little. Not a smile, not quite. But close.

  The sun had dipped low, spilling long shadows over the terrace paths as Tessa made her way toward the stables. Lanterns had started to flicker on one by one—dim and warm, casting a golden haze over the stone. The air smelled of moss, wood smoke, and the faint mineral sharpness of the mountain. Rellen walked a step behind her. Quiet, as usual. Observing.

  “You really don’t have to follow me around,” Tessa said without looking back.

  “I know,” he replied. “But I figured I should finally say hello to your mount. We did share a night together.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. The stables weren’t far. Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of hay, fur, and dried lichen. The occasional shuffle and snort echoed from deeper within.

  Larry was in the far stall, curled in the thick bedding of straw and moss blankets, his wide body puffed out with sleep. White feathers fluffed around him like he’d been dropped into a pillow factory. His oversized talons twitched now and then with some private dream.

  Tessa clicked her tongue gently as she stepped into view. “Hey, dandelion. Still in one piece?”

  Larry blinked awake, slow and owlish, then lifted his head with a lazy chirp. His eyes lit up when he spotted her, and with a rustling shuffle of feathers, he heaved himself upright in a flurry of movement and straw.

  “You’ve ruined that bed twice today already,” Tessa muttered, slipping into the stall and scratching under his chin. “I just fixed it this morning.”

  Larry leaned into her touch with a pleased sound, tilting his head and flopping back into a sitting position like a bag of flour resigning to gravity.

  Rellen lingered at the doorway, arms loosely folded. He raised an eyebrow. “He really is all feather and attitude.”

  “He’s majestic,” Tessa said flatly.

  Larry let out a sneeze-like chirp, as if in agreement, then eyed Rellen suspiciously.

  “We’ve seen each other,” Rellen said, holding out a cautious hand. “But I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

  Larry gave a low, guttural trill and nudged him—firmly—in the stomach with his forehead.

  Rellen stepped back half a pace, laughing. “Friendly.”

  “Or sizing you up,” Tessa said. “It’s hard to tell.”

  “He’s huge,” Rellen said, stepping further into the stall as Larry ruffled proudly and settled again into his bedding. “What do you feed him, failed apprentices?”

  “Cheapest organs I can afford,” she said with a smirk. “Which, to be fair, probably comes from failed apprentices.”

  Rellen crouched down slowly, eyeing the saddle. “This is new?”

  “Finished the last modifications yesterday,” Tessa said, tapping one of the thick side straps. “Repurposed old tack. Reinforced with treated leather. He outgrew the last one overnight.”

  Rellen ran a hand lightly along the edge. “Sturdy work.”

  Tessa shrugged. “It’ll hold. Long as he doesn’t suddenly remember he can jump off cliffs.”

  “He doesn’t fly?”

  “No,” she said.

  Rellen nodded slowly. “You two’ve been together long?”

  “Since he hatched,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Picked him up when he was the size of a melon. Didn’t mean to keep him. But… he had other plans.”

  Larry huffed, feathers settling, and closed his eyes again. They stood in silence for a moment, watching him drift back into sleep. The sounds of the stables were distant—soft chewing, the occasional clink of chain or thump of hooves. Outside, the light was beginning to fade completely.

  “I should let you get some rest,” Rellen said at last, stepping back.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” Tessa said, then paused. “And… for the tour.”

  He gave her a brief smile. “Let’s see if it’s worth the coin.”

  Then he turned and disappeared down the corridor. Tessa lingered a moment longer, brushing the last bits of straw off Larry’s feathers before sitting beside him in the bedding. His breathing was deep and even now. Grounding.

  The light had gone soft and golden outside, the last of it slipping past the stable windows and pooling faintly across the floor. Most of the animals were asleep or close to it, their breaths slow and even in the close, hay-scented air.

  Larry was still curled up beside her, fast asleep again—if he’d ever really woken. His breath came in slow, muffled huffs, stirring bits of straw every now and then. Occasionally, one of his back legs kicked slightly, caught in some dream she’d never know.

  She stared at a loose knot in the stall’s wooden beam across from her, eyes unfocused. Rellen.

  He wasn’t like anyone she was used to. Most people were obvious, or tried too hard not to be. He did neither. Just watched, asked questions like he wasn’t planning anything by them—but of course he was. Everyone always was. And yet…

  She sighed softly, brushing some stray fluff off her trousers. He’d followed her down to the stables, interacted with Larry without hesitation, and hadn’t said anything strange or pushy. Hadn’t made a show of knowing too much or pretending they were closer than they were. He’d just been… present. Solid.

  He’d paid for the tour. Just like that. Five silver for her, with nothing expected in return. Coin meant something. Even the offer of it. She knew that. Had lived by that for years. So what did that mean?

  Was he trying to impress her? Gain her trust? Or—Tessa frowned slightly—was that just something friends did?

  She didn’t really make new friends anymore. Not since school, not since the neighborhood ties had started fraying after her family fell out of favor. Most of her “circle” now were people who’d known her mother, or had once respected her sister. The rest were just… convenient. Familiar. But Rellen wasn’t any of those things.

  And he seemed like he wanted to be something. Even if it was just someone well-acquainted. Someone to share a meal with, or walk beside for a while. Tessa looked down at Larry’s side, where her fingers had found their way into the soft feathers just beneath his wing joint. He didn’t stir.

  “I still think he’s a shifty fucker,” she whispered.

  Larry didn’t react.

  “But I guess,” she added after a pause, “people are allowed to be that. As long as they don’t hurt you.”

  Her voice was quieter now, nearly swallowed by the straw and wood around her.

  “And maybe I don’t hate having someone around.”

  That felt almost like admitting something important. But not quite. Not yet.