Illara stepped inside and shut the door behind her. She did not linger in the threshold like she usually did, weighing exits and distance. She crossed to the bed and sat, hands folded in her lap as if she needed something to hold on to.

  Her eyes stayed down. Her mouth was tight.

  “I’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “Your history, the life you described, scares me. It has made me afraid to be near you, let alone travel with you.”

  I sat in the single chair opposite, too stiff, as if any movement might set her off.

  She went on before I could speak. “When Norman left, I was terrified of being alone with you.” Her fingers tightened, then relaxed. “And then you showed compassion. You didn’t get angry when I asked for a second room.”

  She lifted her gaze, just enough to look at my chest rather than my eyes, then forced it higher.

  “When you talked about manipulating those adventurers to further your own goals… it made me realise you could be doing that to me. It made me wonder if the comfort I feel around you is real, or something you’ve made me feel.”

  “Illara, I…”

  “Let me finish, please.” The words were firm, but her expression was not. Something pleading showed through it, and it made me swallow the rest of what I wanted to say.

  I nodded once.

  She took a breath, shallow and controlled.

  “I keep thinking back to when you rescued me two weeks ago.” Her voice dipped, almost reluctant. “You didn’t ask for anything in return. You gave me space until I trusted you enough to choose you myself. Why would you do that? I’m just a village girl.”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands again.

  “I’m not important. I don’t know anyone important.” She shook her head, small and helpless. “So I can’t even understand why you would pick me to manipulate. Which is why I keep telling myself maybe you aren’t.”

  Then her eyes found mine properly, and I felt it like a cold touch.

  “And then there’s the other part of you.” She spoke more quietly now. “The joy you seem to take from violence. The way your face changes when people scream.”

  My stomach tightened.

  “When I first met you, I saw the efficiency. The skill. The ease.” Her nails pressed into her palm. “It looked long-honed. Like you’d done it all your life.”

  She breathed out, and it sounded like it hurt.

  “But at other times, you’re kind. You helped with the harvest for nothing. You comforted me when I was frightened. You even tried to help Sera tell Ash what she feels.” Her brow drew together. “None of that matches what you told Norman. It’s like you’re two people.”

  She swallowed. The sound was small, but I heard it.

  “And what scares me most is that I don’t know which one is in control.”

  Silence settled between us. I could hear the inn’s muffled life beyond the walls, footsteps, a laugh, someone calling for breakfast. It all felt very far away.

  I had to stop lying. If I kept trying to patch the story, I would lose her anyway. I had already grown too close to her to pretend that would not matter.

  “Illara,” I said, and my voice came out rough. I tried again. “I am two people.”

  Her eyes widened, but she did not move.

  “I’m both Geoff and Drisnil.”

  Confusion crossed her face. “Who’s Geoff?”

  I drew a breath and felt how thin it was.

  “The person speaking to you now is Geoff,” I said. “I came from another world. I arrived here nearly twenty years ago, but not like this. I was… a ghost.”

  Illara’s shoulders tensed, as if she was bracing for a trick. I kept my hands still. I kept my voice steady.

  “I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t touch anything. I couldn’t speak to anyone. I just watched.” The words tasted bitter, as if saying them made them true again. “I spent months with a goblin village because there was nothing else to do. Then Cain came with a party. Jenna. Norman. Triss. Chris.” I paused, watching her face, trying to see whether any of it was landing. “They destroyed the village. I followed them after that, trying to understand humans, trying to understand this world.”

  Illara’s expression had gone very still.

  “We eventually reached Holver,” I said. “That’s where I saw your parents. Theo and Iza.”

  At her name, Illara’s eyes flickered.

  “I watched them fall in love.” My throat tightened. “I watched you being born. I watched Iza die.”

  Illara’s lips parted, but no sound came.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I cleared my throat. There was no gentle way through it.

  “Before you were born, I had a careless thought. About how often mothers die in childbirth here.” I forced myself to meet her eyes. “And then your mother died. I can’t prove it, but I think… I might have caused it.”

  The colour drained from Illara’s face. For a moment she looked like she might stand and walk out, and I could not blame her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t even understand what I was, what I could do. But I couldn’t forget it.”

  She stared at me, breathing shallowly.

  “So I made a vow,” I said. “To see you safe for the rest of your life. Because I felt responsible.” My hands clenched on the chair arms, then loosened. “I watched you grow up. Nineteen years. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t help. I couldn’t do anything until the day I saw you in trouble.”

  Her eyes glistened, but she did not wipe them. She looked as if she was afraid that moving would break something.

  “And then,” I said, “I thought of Drisnil.”

  Illara’s brow furrowed.

  “She was a villain from a story I made in my old world.” I swallowed. “I needed someone with the skill to protect you. Someone who could move in this world when I couldn’t.”

  I leant forward slightly, careful not to crowd her.

  “And then I was in a body. Her body. Behind the bandits.” My voice dropped. “After twenty years of being nothing but a witness, suddenly I could act. I let Drisnil take control to save you. That’s what you saw.”

  Illara’s fingers dug into the blanket.

  “I’m not pretending the massacre didn’t happen,” I said. “I’m working on not needing her. On keeping hold of myself. I will never allow her to hurt you, or anyone you love.”

  Illara’s voice came out thin. “Was that you on the road? With the bandits we captured?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “That’s why the fight didn’t go easily.”

  She sat back, staring up at the ceiling as if it was simpler than looking at me.

  “Let’s say I believe you,” she said finally. “What then? What stops Drisnil from slipping free one day and murdering me?”

  The question hit like a blade, clean and cold.

  “You’ll have to trust me,” I said. “That it won’t happen.”

  Illara’s gaze returned to me, sharp now, searching.

  “Do you have anything else to confess?”

  I needed a clean slate. If I was asking her to stand beside me, I could not keep handing her half-truths. Besides, I needed her help with Percy and Barnabus. There was no point trying to build anything on silence.

  “Twenty years ago,” I said, “I followed Percy, who you’ve met, and Captain Barnabus as they went on a mission for the village. They were only scouts back then. Not high rank. Just two men sent to investigate rumours of bandits near Holver.”

  Illara’s eyes stayed on my face, searching for the moment my voice would slip, or my expression would betray the lie she expected.

  “I watched Percy find an encampment of refugees,” I went on. “He poisoned them because he thought they were bandits.”

  Illara’s fingers tightened on the edge of the blanket.

  “They weren’t.” The words came out flat, and I hated how small they sounded for what they meant. “When he realised, they decided to slaughter the rest to cover the mistake. They buried them in a pit. Women. Children.”

  Illara did not interrupt, but her breathing changed. Shallower. Controlled.

  “What they didn’t know,” I said, “was that Ash managed to get away. Tabatha found him later, out in the snow near the village.”

  I paused, not for drama, but because my throat had closed and I needed to force it open again.

  Illara’s voice came careful. “If you saw that, why have you been working with Percy? Don’t you hate him?”

  I looked down at my hands so I would not have to watch her face when I answered.

  “I’m doing it to build trust,” I said. “To get close enough that he can’t wriggle out of it. I want justice for Ash.”

  The word felt thin. It always did.

  I swallowed. “And yes. Part of me wants revenge.”

  Illara’s reply was immediate. “Geoff, you can’t. If you do what you’re thinking, you become the same as them.”

  Heat rose behind my eyes. Not anger at her, exactly. Frustration. The helplessness of it.

  “We can’t let them walk away,” I said. My voice lifted despite me trying to keep it steady. “Not after that. If they were capable of it once, they’re capable of worse.”

  “Then report them,” she said, and the firmness in her tone sounded like something she was borrowing from someone braver.

  “To whom?” I asked. “They hold the two most senior positions in this town’s military structure. No one believes me over them. And I have no proof.”

  Illara stared at me for a long moment.

  “If you go through with this,” she said quietly, “I will leave you. Forever. You will never see me again.”

  For a heartbeat, it felt like my chest stopped working. I had known she could walk away, of course. Knowing it and hearing it were not the same.

  My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

  Illara took a breath, as if she had expected to have to fight me, then forced herself to keep going.

  “How about this,” she said. “We gather evidence. We use someone neutral, someone with real influence here. They present it to the lord. Then Percy and Barnabus can be arrested properly.”

  The idea hit like cold water. I sat very still, testing it in my mind, searching for the flaw that would make it impossible.

  “I think the local Solvarn leader may help,” Illara added. “You’re part of his pantheon. He might listen.”

  I had not considered that angle. I had been so focused on what I could do with my own hands that I had forgotten there were other ways to hurt men. Slower ways. Public ways.

  “It might work,” I said, and I hated how much I wanted it to, how relieved a part of me felt.

  Then the darker part of the thought rose up, uninvited. If it did not work, if the town turned its face away, if Percy and Barnabus laughed behind closed doors, then there would be nothing left but the truth of what they had done.

  I kept my voice even. “Alright. We try it your way.”

  Illara did not look relieved. Not really. She just looked tired, as if she had traded one fear for another.

  Illara was quiet for a long moment. Then she straightened, as if she had made a decision she could not afford to waver from.

  “We’ll do it my way,” she said. “We gather evidence. We involve the Solvarn leader. We give the town a chance to act.”

  Her eyes met mine, steady and searching.

  “And this will be a trial,” she continued. “Not for Percy or Barnabus. For you.”

  I felt my stomach tighten.

  “I’ll watch what choices you make. How you react when things don’t go the way you want. Whether you reach for patience or for blood.” Her voice did not rise, but every word landed. “That’s how I’ll know who is really in control.”

  She hesitated, just briefly.

  “Geoff,” she said softly, “or Drisnil.”

  The silence that followed felt heavier than any threat.