Seraphina returned to Hearthwood’s Central Square with gold in her palm and no intention of answering further questions. The spatial pocket in her guild ring sat empty—objective complete. The rest of the morning could fend for itself.

  Her stomach growled.

  Strategy required fuel.

  She turned toward the nearest stall. Hearthwood fed people the way it handled most crises: quietly, competently, and with mild domestic judgment.

  The scent found her first—roasted flatbread, honeyed root-veg, something spiced and caramelized enough to make restraint irrelevant. The vendor assessed her boots, the utilitarian cut of her clothes, the alert stillness of someone who solved problems before noon—and asked nothing. Food appeared.

  Competence respected competence.

  She sat on the low edge of a planter grown from living bark, balance perfect, elbows unapologetic, and ate like someone who had missed breakfast because a noble idiot tried to turn an arena into a bonfire.

  Flatbread first. Then skewers. Then a small bowl of something that might have been soup if it hadn’t decided halfway through to become a stew. She chewed. She breathed. Her shoulders lowered fractionally with every bite.

  “Oh,” she murmured around a mouthful, eyes briefly closing. “Yes. That’s the stuff.” Mana stabilized. Sarcasm Output dropped two notches. World once again tolerable.

  She was halfway through contemplating a second skewer when she felt it. Not mana pressure. Not threat. Familiarity.

  Rowan stood three paces away, arms folded, every movement measured. Her posture was relaxed but unyielding, the kind of poise born from rigorous discipline and constant observation. Midnight-black hair framed a sharply symmetrical face; emerald eyes, bright and calculating, scanned Seraphina with a precision that made scrutiny feel like an art form rather than judgment.

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  Seraphina froze mid-bite. Slowly, she lowered the food.

  “…You,” she said.

  Rowan raised a brow. “You vanished.”

  “There was a duel,” Seraphina replied defensively. “Some shouting and fireball during breakfast. Also paperwork. And then everyone started looking at me, so yes I chose the Grove.”

  Rowan’s gaze flicked to the skewer. The crumbs. The entirely unashamed posture. “And then you ran.”

  “I conducted a strategic withdrawal,” Seraphina said. “For sustenance.”

  Rowan stepped closer, eyes scanning her—not invasively, but thoroughly. No burns. No tremor. Boots solid. Aura… annoyingly contained.

  “You went into the forest,” Rowan said.

  “Yes.”

  “Alone.”

  “Yes.”

  Rowan paused. Just a fraction too long.

  “…For herbs,” Seraphina added.

  That earned her a look. Flat. Assessing. The kind that had weighed battlefields and found them wanting.

  “And did you,” Rowan asked mildly, “manage not to destabilize anything ancient, sentient, or irreplaceable?”

  Seraphina considered. “Define destabilize.”

  Rowan sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, then sat beside her without asking. Close enough that Seraphina could feel the steady, grounding presence she’d missed that morning like an ache she hadn’t named.

  “You caused an incident,” Rowan said.

  “I was present for an incident,” Seraphina corrected. “Important distinction.”

  "You stood against an Adept spell… and didn’t strike.”

  “Also an important public service.”

  Rowan huffed despite herself. “The Academy is still arguing about whether your actions are reckless—or strategically disruptive.”

  “Good,” Seraphina said, taking another bite. “Ambiguity buys time.”

  She glanced sideways. “You came to fetch me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Officially or…?”

  Rowan tilted her head. “Unofficially.”

  Seraphina relaxed further, if that was possible. “Then eat something. You look like you’ve been arguing with trees.”

  “I have,” Rowan said dryly. “People are worse.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a moment—Heartwood breathing around them, stalls murmuring, life continuing as if no one had nearly ruptured a noble heir’s core that morning.

  Rowan finally spoke. “You handled yourself well.”

  Seraphina blinked. Looked down. Picked at the edge of her bowl. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You didn’t need to,” Rowan replied. “That’s the part that scared them.”

  Seraphina smiled faintly. “Good.”

  Rowan studied her, then added quietly, “Next time you disappear, tell me first. I need to know where leverage lies.”

  Seraphina glanced at her. Really looked. “…Okay.”

  Rowan’s expression softened—just a fraction.

  “Finish eating….” she said. “Then we’ll decide where you’re allowed to go without starting a council session.”

  Seraphina brightened immediately and reached for the second skewer. “See?” she said cheerfully. “Much healthier outcome.”