In hiding

We have the worst luck.

Just when I thought we could have one — just one — normal day...

Well, we kind of signed up for this when we decided to come to this city knowing basically nothing. Brilliant idea, Nate. Gold star for planning.

What even happens to us now?

The innkeeper said this wasn’t his first time seeing the city "go mad." So do they just riot for sport around here? Is this a Tuesday thing?

I rub my face hard with my hands, trying to shake the creeping spiral of thoughts. No good thinking about it now.

We’re not alone anymore.

We have her.

I glance over.

The kid — small, silent, tucked into Io’s arms like she’s trying to disappear inside her.

The scariest thing I had to go through at her age was being left at the checkout line when my mom ran off to grab "just one more thing." And even that was terrifying.

What’s this like for her?

How old even is she? Six? Maybe five?

Tiny. Fragile.

How do you even... take care of them at that age?

I think I read somewhere that kids don’t like being babied too much once they’re past toddler stage.

So... talk normally? Be gentle but not condescending?

God, I hope I don't mess this up.

I push myself off the floor, my legs protesting after all the adrenaline drained.

Io’s still sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed, cradling the kid like something precious and breakable.

She’s still wearing that stupid veil. I step forward, tug the knot loose, and toss the fabric onto the table without a word.

"Thank you," Io whispers, her voice sighing with relief.

Yeah.

She’s earned that, at least.

I hover awkwardly, then nod at the kid.

"Want me to take over?"

Io glances down. "I think she’s sleeping..." she murmurs, even softer now.

"Well, that was fast," I say, because of course it would be. After a day like today? Exhaustion is mercy.

Io tilts her head in a small gesture — a silent hand-off.

I move carefully, easing the sleeping girl from her arms and laying her gently on the bed.

She stirs a little but doesn’t wake.

I look at her face — still pinched with worry even in sleep.

She looks too small for all this.

"She must be exhausted," I say aloud.

Io pulls out a chair and sits at the small table. I follow, dragging another chair over with a soft scrape of wood against floorboards.

She leans her elbows on the table, fingers laced, staring down at the grain of the wood like it might give her answers.

"So," Io says quietly. "What now?"

Good question.

I glance back at the kid — at the girl sleeping like she finally found the last safe place in the world.

And for some reason, I think:

Whatever happens next... it’s not just about us anymore.

###

"So we have to take care of her..." I start, voice low.

"It's the only decent thing to do," Io finishes, just as quietly.

I glance at her across the table. She’s not playing it off with a joke this time.

She means it.

"Do you think we'll be able to go out soon?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"I..."

Io hesitates.

"I don't know," she admits, her voice tighter than before.

"Yeah..." I lean back against the chair with a heavy sigh.

"I don't know either."

We fall into silence.

Not the comfortable kind we sometimes share — this one's thick, heavy.

Outside, the muffled shouts and clatter still echo through the streets.

Is it getting quieter? Or is this just the eye of the storm?

"If it were just us," Io mutters after a while, "it would be easier..."

I manage a crooked smile.

"Isn't that what all parents say at some point?"

She huffs a tiny laugh — not playful yet, but not hopeless either.

"Probably."

Another pause.

I don't know who she's trying to convince — me or herself.

"You know..." Io says after a moment, staring at her hands.

"I'm glad we took her."

I look at her, surprised — not by the words, but by how certain she sounds.

She catches my glance and shrugs.

"How did you even sense her?" she asks, tilting her head. "With the whole crowd running, shouting, soldiers everywhere... I could barely think."

I rub the back of my neck, still trying to make sense of it myself.

"I don't know," I admit.

"It was like... constant noise, pressure from the crowd, you beside me — steady like usual — but then... there was this spark. Like a flicker. Different. Pure, maybe?"

I shake my head, frustrated.

"I have no idea. Is that just how Presence reacts to kids?"

Io gives a half-smile.

"Beats me. I don't have any kids to compare to."

"But didn't you tell me once you had a niece?" I ask, remembering one of her rare family mentions.

"Maybe I did," she says, dismissively.

"I'm not exactly close with my family..."

Right.

Her father. The village.

Yeah, I get it.

Another silence stretches between us — not heavy this time, just thoughtful.

"Maybe it's because you're learning Presence now, as an adult," Io muses aloud. "Your senses aren't dulled the way ours get when we grow used to them. Maybe it makes you... notice things the rest of us would miss."

I shrug.

"Or maybe it was just blind luck."

"Blind luck would fit," Io smirks, the old dry humor flickering back into her eyes.

I grin. Good. We're getting her back.

"But why her?" I wonder aloud.

"There were other kids in that crowd. Why feel just her?"

Io thinks for a moment.

"Maybe... because she was alone," she says softly.

"The others had someone dragging them away. She didn't."

The thought sits between us — heavier than anything else.

"Maybe it was some instinct kicking in," I mutter, half-teasing, half-serious.

"Father’s instinct."

Io snorts, a brief genuine laugh escaping.

Progress.

I glance at the kid again — small, curled up, still asleep.

Still no name.

Io never mentioned it.

Maybe she doesn't know it either.

Maybe it's time we ask.

###

The longer we sit here, the more this gnawing need builds in my gut — the need to understand what's happening. I can't just sit still with it all swirling around in my head.

I grab my ledger from the side table and flip to an empty page.

"What are you doing?" Io asks, curiosity cutting through the quiet.

"Making a mental map," I mutter, already scribbling.

"You write down the pieces and connect them with lines. Like this—"

I tilt the book toward her.

In the center of the page, a large circle: 'Lord R', with lines stretching outward like the spokes of a wheel.

Each connects to smaller circles: Grain, Soldiers, Riots.

Io leans closer, studying it with that calculating glint in her eyes.

"So you want to go through what we know," she says, quick as always.

"Exactly."

She gets it. She always gets it.

"Then," she adds, tapping the page, "from Grain, draw a line to Sick People."

I nod and sketch it in.

"Add one to Riot," I say.

"And connect it to both Grain and Soldiers," she finishes.

We spend the next while like that — building our messy spiderweb of chaos.

Rumors, sightings, gut instincts, things we'd overheard in half-snatches. Everything we could think of.

After a while, I sit back and trace my finger along the lines.

"So," I summarize, "Lord R connects directly to the grain shipments, the soldiers around the city, and the unrest building up."

"And the grain," Io adds, "links to the sick people... and the riots."

I tap the side of the page.

"Wait — this should go here too."

I scribble 'Three poor men' in a new circle, linking it to both Riot and Grain.

"Why?" Io asks, frowning.

"Those three guys surrounded in the church square," I remind her.

"I have a guess about what happened to them."

"You think it's the grain?" she says, catching on.

I feel the itch — that old familiar spark — rise behind my ears, sharper than it has been in months.

"There was a disease back home," I say, words tumbling out. "From eating bad grain... er, er... ergot! That's it!"

Io blinks, surprised at my sudden excitement.

"And ergot can cause hallucinations. If I remember right, some pretty serious ones."

She folds her arms, face hardening.

"So they ate the grain... got sick... and the crowd decided they were possessed."

Her mouth twists — sadness, disgust.

"They beat them because they were sick."

"And one more thing," I say, circling back to my diagram.

I add another line from Grain: Ergot - 'Dirty streets'.

Io quirks an eyebrow.

"Dirty streets?"

"What, I’m trying to be gentle about it. It causes nausea and diarrhea, I think."

Honestly, writing 'shit on the street' felt a little too raw even for me.

Io shakes her head with a tiny, exasperated smile.

"So it all comes back to the grain," she says finally, sitting back in her chair.

"Yeah..."

I stare at the messy web we've created.

Every single thread, every broken piece of the city — it all ties back to Lord R.

Before either of us can say more, a small sound interrupts us.

A soft little "Hm."

We turn.

On the bed, the kid — our unexpected housemate — has woken up.

She’s sitting upright now, blinking at us sleepily.

I glance at Io.

Time to shift gears.

###

I get up first, catching Io's eye and signaling with a small wave.

Let me try — that's what I mean.

The kid already seems to know Io, at least a little.

Introductions feel like the right first step.

I crouch down near the bed, careful to lower myself below her eye line — trying to seem smaller, less scary. At least, I hope that's how it works.

"Hi," I say gently. "You had a nap. Feeling okay?"

She gives a small nod. Tiny. Careful.

"My name's Nate," I continue, pointing at myself with an exaggerated gesture.

"And you are...?"

She looks down at her lap, twisting her fingers. No sound.

Did I scare her?

Is she just shy?

"Do you know your name?" I ask — and immediately second-guess myself.

That sounded dumb. Or worse, insensitive.

But after a breath, she nods again.

Okay. Progress. Kinda?

I shift a little, trying to think of something — anything — to keep this moving.

Absentmindedly, I start tapping the side of my ledger, still open in my hand from earlier.

She notices.

Her small hand reaches out and points at the ledger.

"You like this?" I say, holding it up for her.

She studies the page intently — our messy mind-map scrawl and all.

Her eyes scan over it, deliberate, careful.

Then she points — small finger landing on a letter: 'L'.

And after a moment’s search, another: 'U'.

I blink.

"Lu?" I ask, cautious.

She nods — a smile cracking through the shyness.

"Wait — Lu. Is that your name?"

Another nod, bigger this time. A little proud even.

I turn toward Io, my mouth half-open in amazement.

She's already smiling, soft and wide.

Smart kid.

"Hello, Lu," I say, offering her my hand for a handshake. "Nice to meet you."

She reaches out — tiny fingers wrapping around mine with surprising firmness — and shakes.

Io steps forward next.

"Hello, Lu. Remember me? I'm Io," she says, crouching low, offering her hand the same way.

Another handshake. Another small, sunny smile from the kid.

We’re getting somewhere.

Lu.

Another two-letter name to match Io.

Feels like fate just gave us a nudge.

Lu watches us both carefully, tilting her head like she's putting pieces together.

Then Io leans a little closer, wrapping an arm lightly around my shoulders.

"Nate," she says, pointing at me, "is my husband."

She says it so matter-of-factly that even I have to smile.

Lu looks between us and gives an exaggerated nod — the 'ohhh I get it now' face only little kids can pull off.

Simple enough.

We’re her 'people' now.

Maybe it’s better this way — not a lecture, not complicated.

I glance at Io.

"When did you get so good at talking to kids?" She whispers.

I smirk.

"I don't know. Maybe she's just super smart."

Just as I'm about to say something else, a tiny growl rumbles through the room.

Lu freezes, then clutches her stomach with a sheepish look.

I can't help it — I laugh.

"Guess that answers the question of what to do next," I say.