As soon as Kazou pushed open the shed door, a rush of cold air struck them, and then the sound of shifting gravel.

  A man stood just a few feet away, facing slightly to the side, holding a plastic bucket in one hand. He turned at the sound of the creaking door.

  For a second, none of them moved.

  He was in his late fifties, tall but slightly stooped, wearing a worn brown coat and rubber boots. His short gray beard twitched as his jaw tensed. His eyes — dark, sharp, and surprisingly alert — widened when he saw them.

  Kazou instinctively stepped in front of Natalie.

  The man stared at them. Their soaked clothes, the faint mud streaked across their coats, and the blankets clutched around their shoulders.

  Natalie spoke first, nervous and defensive. “Just the night. We were here just for the night.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. Then his brow creased.

  He looked them over again, slower this time. He didn’t look frightened, but something was calculating in the way he held himself. As though he wasn’t sure yet if he was staring at victims… or thieves.

  “You slept in my shed?” he asked.

  Natalie nodded.

  Slowly, he gave a small sigh and almost smiled—not warmly, but not cold either. “You look like ghosts.”

  He walked closer, setting the bucket down on a stump.

  Kazou was tense, his posture cautious, but the man didn’t seem armed.

  “What happened to you?” the man asked, tilting his head. “You’re freezing. Wet.”

  Kazou answered with the simplest lie that felt true. “We fell into the river. Last night.”

  “You fell into the river?” The man frowned. “In this weather?”

  “Accident,” Kazou said flatly. “We were trying to cross. Things got out of hand.”

  The man didn’t look convinced. His eyes lingered for a moment longer, then he turned and motioned toward the trees. “Come. You’ll freeze to death if you stay out here.”

  Natalie hesitated, glancing at Kazou.

  They had no reason to trust him. But they were exhausted, freezing, and soaked to the bone. And his voice didn’t have the slick, practiced edge of the others. No accent that tried to disguise something. No strange reverence for the name Casimir.

  Just a man. In the woods. With a bucket and muddy boots.

  Kazou gave a slight nod. “We’ll follow.”

  The man didn’t wait. He picked up the bucket again and walked through the trees.

  They followed several feet behind, slow, cautious.

  Through the sparse woods, a house came into view — a large, old countryside home with faded red siding and white shutters. A wide yard surrounded it, bordered by crooked fencing and rows of vegetables tucked under tarps and netting. A chicken coop sat nearby, and a small greenhouse, its glass fogged and cracked in places.

  The home looked old, lived-in, and real.

  Not like the castle. Not like anything tied to Casimir.

  The man led them around the side and toward a back door.

  “You two hungry?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Natalie blinked. “We haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “Then I’ll make soup. You can dry your clothes inside.”

  He opened the door and gestured.

  Inside, it was warm. Lived-in. There was an old wood stove crackling in the corner of a wide kitchen. Mugs hung from nails on the wall. Herbs hung drying near the sink. The smell of burning birch logs and something slightly herbal filled the air.

  They stepped in slowly, boots dripping.

  Kazou removed his coat first. Then the blanket. Natalie followed, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, teeth chattering.

  The man didn’t press them with questions. He just pointed to a radiator and said, “Leave the wet things there. You’ll catch your death otherwise.”

  They did as he said.

  He went to the stove and began pulling jars down from a shelf.

  Kazou’s voice broke the silence. “Thank you. For not asking more.”

  The man stirred something in a pot. “I’ve lived out here long enough to know when a story doesn’t need to be told right away.”

  Natalie sat down at the small wooden table near the window. She looked out, watching the breeze stir the trees.

  Kazou sat across from her. She looked tired, but her face was different now — still pale, but the panic had dulled. Something else was blooming beneath her exhaustion. Guilt, maybe. Or shame.

  The man didn’t speak again for a while. He just worked in silence, letting the warmth from the stove speak for him.

  Eventually, as steam curled from the pot, the man said without looking at them, “You’re not the first people to come through this forest in the middle of the night. You won’t be the last.”

  Natalie raised her eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  He finally turned toward her. His face was unreadable.

  “Some places attract the wrong kind of stories,” he said. “You’ll stay here tonight. After that… if you still want to run, I won’t stop you. But rest first. Warm up. Think clearly.”

  Kazou and Natalie exchanged a glance.

  For the first time in days, there was no immediate threat. No guns. No bad guys. Just soup, a radiator, and a man who hadn’t asked for anything in return.

  They sat in silence again, the wood stove crackling behind them. Then, footsteps echoed from the hallway, lighter than the man’s, uneven and curious.

  Kazou turned his head just as a small boy appeared in the doorway.

  He couldn’t have been more than seven. Pale, with a mop of brown hair that stuck up in places, and large gray eyes that blinked at them without fear. He wore wool socks and an oversized sweater that fell almost to his knees, its sleeves dragging past his hands.

  The boy stared at the two strangers at the table for a long, still moment.

  Natalie straightened a little in her chair, brushing wet strands of hair behind her ears.

  The boy looked at her, then at Kazou, then padded across the room toward the man at the stove.

  “Papa,” the boy said in Polish, tugging on his father’s coat. “Who are they?”

  The man glanced over his shoulder. “Just guests. They needed a place to stay.”

  The boy peered at them again. “Why are they so wet?”

  “They fell in the river,” the man replied simply. “Go get two more bowls from the cupboard, huh?”

  The boy obeyed without question, climbing up on a stool and opening the cabinet with practiced clumsiness. He was quiet, careful. Polite.

  Natalie watched him with a strange expression. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes lingered a bit too long, not out of suspicion, but something softer.

  She smiled.

  The boy turned to her, then shyly smiled back and quickly returned to his father’s side, helping carry the bowls over to the table.

  “Thank you,” Kazou said gently, nodding as the boy set them down.

  “You’re welcome,” the boy murmured, eyes wide, then sat down cross-legged on the floor near the stove, picking up a book he’d clearly left there before.

  The man ladled soup into the bowls — thick, with potatoes, lentils, and onion. He handed them out, then sat down with a groan.

  “I’m called Wojciech,” he said, finally introducing himself. “That’s my son, Marek.”

  Marek looked up from his book and gave them a small wave.

  “I’m Kuroda,” Kazou said, his voice soft. “And this is Natalie.”

  She nodded. “Thank you for… letting us in.”

  Wojciech gave a small grunt of acknowledgment and began eating.

  The three adults ate mostly in silence. The soup was hot, slightly salty, and tasted of dill. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of spoons against ceramic and the stove crackling quietly behind them.

  When the meal was done, Wojciech stood and collected the bowls. He washed them quickly, methodically.

  “You’ll sleep in the back room tonight. It’s not much, but it’s warm.”

  Kazou nodded. “That’s more than enough. We’re grateful.”

  Natalie still hadn’t said much. Her hand hovered over the edge of the table, fingers tapping lightly, like she was thinking through something heavy.

  Later, as Marek fell asleep on a couch under a knit blanket, Kazou and Natalie sat again near the stove.

  Natalie’s voice broke the silence. “He’s… a good kid.”

  Kazou glanced at her. “Yeah. He is.”

  She stared into the fire. “When I saw him, I remembered something… or maybe just wished I hadn’t.”

  Kazou didn’t push. He just waited.

  Natalie was quiet for a long time. Then, she looked over at Marek — sound asleep, his little chest rising and falling under the blanket.

  “I want to get out of here,” she said.

  Kazou looked back at her.

  “I don’t want to run anymore,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to play along either. We need to get out. Find a way to disappear. For good.”

  Kazou didn’t speak right away.

  But eventually, he nodded. “We will.”

  Outside, the stars blinked in the vast rural night sky, indifferent and unmoving.

  The fire burned low.