Back to normal?

What was that?

A sharp, blaring sound jolts me from sleep — something between a trumpet and a hunting horn. I strain to listen, still half-dreaming.

“The city is declared safe! The insurgents and heretics have been arrested and await execution! Glory to Lord Rhenault!”

A soldier’s voice, loud and rehearsed, echoes through the street. Another sharp blow of the horn follows. Then it begins again, slightly farther away. He must be moving through the district like some twisted morning alarm.

So… that’s it?

That’s how we find out the lockdown is over?

My arm is numb — I look down.

Oh.

Io.

She’s fast asleep, her head on my shoulder, her body curled close in the shared warmth of the blanket. No wonder I can’t feel my arm — she’s been using it as a pillow.

I don’t move.

Not just because of the arm, but… because of her.

“Uhh… Nate?” she murmurs groggily. “What was that?”

“An announcement,” I whisper. “They say the city’s safe now.”

“Safe,” she echoes, as if testing the word. “So… we can go out?”

“Looks like it.”

A beat of silence.

“Today… we take Lu back, right?”

I pause before answering. “Yeah. That’s probably the best thing to do.”

Neither of us moves. The weight of it hangs in the quiet between us — soft breathing, the faint sound of Lu stirring, and the echo of boots still marching somewhere beyond the window.

“Io…” I say, breaking the stillness. “Have you noticed her presence?”

She blinks slowly, then nods. “Yeah… it’s something else, isn’t it? So pure. So steady. It’s like… it clears the air around her.”

“Calming,” I say. “Like everything else just… quiets down.”

“It’s only been, what, three days?” she whispers. “But that feeling — it pulls you in before you notice. You want to protect it.”

I nod, carefully, so I don’t disturb her. “We’re strangers to her. We’ve been improvising everything. But…”

“But it’s been good,” she finishes. “Weird, exhausting… but good.”

I smile faintly. Was this the feeling that kept my mom going all those years?

A breath passes between us.

“I… I’m going to miss her,” I admit.

“Me too,” she says, barely above a whisper.

Another moment drifts by, warm and quiet and full of unspoken things.

Then—

“Io?”

“Hm?”

“…My arm.”

She shifts slightly but doesn’t lift her head. “I can just get you a new one,” she murmurs, teasing.

Of course.

I smirk and settle back down. The arm can suffer a bit longer. Moments like this — soft, real, fleeting — they don’t come often. Especially not in a world like this.

And who knows how long this peace will last?

###

The morning passes without much fuss. We waited for Lu to wake up—she’s getting faster at that—and then got through breakfast downstairs with Beran.

But none of us brought it up.

Not yet.

The fact that today is the day we take her back.

After we finish eating, we stay seated a little longer than we need to. Io and I lock eyes. She nods at me—my cue. She asked me to be the one to tell Lu. I get why. Doesn’t make it easier.

I clear my throat. “Lu…”

She turns to me, eyes wide and trusting. That look makes this so much harder.

“The soldiers announced that the city’s safe now. We can go out again…” I pause. She’s listening, but already stiller than before. “So we think… it’s time to take you back. To the orphanage.”

No sugarcoating. No gentle delay. She’s smart enough to know what this means.

She doesn’t nod happily like she usually does. But she nods. Small, controlled. Maybe a little brave. It breaks my heart.

No one says anything for a moment. The table feels too quiet.

I glance at Io again. It's time.

Outside, the world is... changed.

The street’s cleared. The charred wood we’d seen through the window is gone, swept away or burned down to nothing. Some stones are scorched. The air still smells faintly of smoke and oil. Something happened here. I don’t know what.

We keep walking.

Then I feel something warm and small close around my hand.

I look down. Lu’s taken my right hand and she reaches out to Io. There’s a flicker of surprise on Io’s face, but she doesn’t hesitate. She takes it.

So the three of us walk like that—Nate, Lu, Io—down the street, her hands tucked between ours.

God, what must this look like to other people?

A family. We probably just look like a small family walking through the city.

A pretend one, maybe.

But it doesn’t feel pretend.

Io and I are already past the usual age to start a family in this world, I think. But with Lu between us, no one on the street would look twice.

We walk a little further, quieter than I’d like. Lu’s expression is subdued again.

“Hey,” I say, “want to try something?”

Io glances at me, curious. Lu lifts her head.

“I count to three, and we lift our arms. Okay?” I grin.

Io gives me a half-smile but doesn't say no. Good enough.

I start the rhythm: “One… two…”

I begin swinging my arm gently. Io catches on and mirrors it.

“And three!”

We both lift, and Lu sails up between us with a little laugh as we catch her and set her back down.

“Again?” I ask.

This time, I get a full, bright nod.

“One… two… three!” Up she goes.

“Weee!”

…Was that Io?

I blink. Then laugh. Hard.

Lu starts giggling. Then Io again. And just like that, we’re all laughing—loud and real and reckless—as we walk through the city. Three fools in the aftermath of a riot, lifting a little girl through the air like we have nothing else to do.

It feels good. Ridiculously good.

We give Lu two more swings, until we’re breathless and grinning.

But of course… This city won’t let us keep the joy for long. We step into the square, and the laughter thins.

###

So that’s what the soldier meant when he said executions.

Gallows.

Three men hanging lifelessly. A lone soldier posted next to them like some bored sentry. And a small crowd — not mourning, just watching.

Were they rioters? Just people in the wrong place at the wrong time?

It doesn’t matter. I feel the air drop ten degrees.

Io sees it the same moment I do. Without a word, she steps forward and blocks Lu’s line of sight with her whole body — just moves, instinct sharp and immediate.

We lock eyes. Pure horror reflected back at me. This… this is what peace means in this city?

A sick, mechanical part of me kicks in. I move before I think. I scoop Lu up into my arms and pull her close. Her face ends up pressed against my chest.

“Lu,” I whisper, trying to sound calm. Gentle. “Can you keep your eyes closed for a little while? Just for me?”

She nods. A tiny motion. She doesn’t say anything — she never does — but I feel her grip tighten on my coat.

We start walking. Fast. Nearly running.

Io leads ahead, weaving through the growing crowd, always one step in front, scanning for the next turn. I follow, shielding Lu from everything, even the air if I could.

There’s something else in the square. Something worse than what I see.

A feeling.

A pressure. Wrongness in the air — like something heavy is pulling down on my chest. Like gravity, but worse. Is this… is this what it feels like to sense death through the Presence?

I grit my teeth. Focus on my feet. Keep moving. Just keep moving.

“Still got your eyes closed?” I ask, a breath caught in my throat.

She nods again. Good. Good.

We finally break from the square and turn onto a side street. The light feels different here — quieter. Less sharp. We slow, though not by much. My legs are shaking.

Io steps beside me again. She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me and nods. I nod back.

“I’m not putting her down,” I say quietly. “Not yet.”

Another nod from Io. We don’t know what else we’ll run into before we reach the church. I’m not taking any more chances. No more scars today if I can help it.

Whatever comfort we had this morning — the laughter, the hand-holding — is gone now. Ripped away in an instant. I don’t even know what I feel.

Anger?

Fear?

Grief?

I just know it hurts.

The only thing I know for sure is that we have to keep walking.

###

The way to the church isn’t a victory march.

It’s bleak.

People look hungry — maybe more so than before the lockdown. Some faces are hollow, some just distant. There are no more bodies in the street, but that’s a damningly low bar for progress.

Io leads the way, turning off the main road toward the rear of the church compound — a collection of smaller, weather-worn buildings clustered together like an afterthought. It’s my first time seeing where Lu actually lives.

So this is it. The orphanage.

We stop in front of a narrow wooden door. Io knocks — two short raps.

A few moments later, it creaks open.

An older man in a robe steps out. His face is lined with age, but his expression is soft — warm, like the kind of warmth you borrow from a grandparent’s smile.

“Hello,” he says kindly. “I see you’ve brought Luma back.”

Luma?

Io and I glance at each other. That’s her name?

“Luma?” I repeat.

“Yes,” the priest nods. “The blonde girl who loves to wander. Our little Luma.”

I look down at her. Luma. Lu. The pieces click neatly into place. A real name. And somehow, still ours.

I lower her gently to the ground. “You can open your eyes now,” I whisper.

She looks around slowly, her face guarded.

Then she sees the priest — and instead of running to him, she turns and grabs onto my leg. Her arms wrap tight around me. I freeze for a second, caught off guard.

Io kneels down beside us. “Hey, Lu… it’s alright…” she says softly.

Luma shifts and clings to Io like a lifeline, burying her face into her chest. Io hugs her back with steady arms. There’s something in her voice that’s almost… cracking. Like she’s keeping it together with the last threads of composure.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” she murmurs.

I kneel beside them. Luma shifts again and hugs me next. I wrap my arms around her and close my eyes.

I don’t know what to say.

I just hold her.

She pulls back. Her eyes are shining — but it’s not her tear that falls.

It’s mine.

I smile at her the best I can. That’s all I have left to give.

“Luma…” the priest calls gently. It’s time.

She turns slowly. He pats her on the head. A second man steps out and silently leads her inside. She turns one last time, hand raised.

I wave.

Io waves.

She waves back — small, hesitant — and then disappears down the corridor.

The door shuts.

Silence.

I swallow hard, clearing my throat. “Sorry…” I mutter, half-apologizing for losing my composure.

“Thank you for bringing her back,” the priest says kindly.

“She stayed with us during the riots,” Io offers.

“I’m glad. It seems she was in good care.”

We don’t answer. There’s nothing else to say.

He dips his head and turns to leave. The door closes behind him.

I turn to Io. She’s already watching me.

Her hand rises. She wipes a tear from my cheek with a tenderness I didn’t know she had. No words. Just that touch.

Then she hugs me — tight.

It’s becoming our thing, I guess. Our way of keeping the world away.

“I really like that kid,” I whisper.

“Me too,” she says softly.

We stay that way a moment longer.

Two people clinging to something that just walked away.

Eventually, she steps back. “Let’s go,” she says.

“Yeah.”

And we walk.

###

The walk back was quiet. Not peaceful — just... muted. Like the city was holding its breath after what it showed us.

I kept turning down side roads, back alleys, anywhere that meant fewer people. Fewer eyes. I didn’t want to brush against the crowds or hear a merchant shout about radishes like nothing had changed.

Nate didn’t complain once. He just kept squeezing my hand every few steps. At first, I thought it was him getting overwhelmed again — too much noise, too much presence. But the way his fingers curled in, steady, like a heartbeat... no. That wasn’t it.

He was grounding himself. Or maybe grounding me.

When we made it back, he didn’t say a word. Just stepped into the room and collapsed onto the bed like his strings had been cut. Face-first into the blanket. The same way I had, not that long ago.

Maybe it’s just our turn-taking now — one holds together while the other folds.

I sat down beside him, then lay back slowly. He shifted a little when I did, making room, not quite looking at me. We both stared up at the ceiling, our shoulders just barely brushing.

“You know…” I said quietly. “That’s the first time I’ve seen a man cry.”

The words came out before I could second-guess them. They’d been walking with me the whole way back, clinging like fog.

“...Sorry you had to see that,” Nate murmured.

I turned my head just enough to see the edge of his face. “Don’t apologize,” I said. “It... it made you look whole.”

He frowned slightly. “Whole?”

“Like a more complete person,” I said. “Not cracked in the middle pretending to be fine.”

He was quiet after that, so I added, “My father... I’ve never seen him drop a single tear. Not even that winter.”

The worst one. When the snow didn’t stop and the food did.

“I wish he had,” I whispered.

That memory slid under my ribs before I could stop it. Tight and sharp. My hands curled into the sheet, and just like that, Nate’s fingers found mine again. He didn’t say anything. Just held on.

The silence stretched between us. Outside, the city was coming back to life — the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer, a vendor shouting about fish, the jangle of tack on a passing mule. The same rhythm as always.

But we hadn’t found ours yet.

“You know, this morning…” Nate’s voice was quieter now. “I’m a wreck.”

“I know,” I said. “Me too.”

I hadn’t realized how deep it cut until now, with stillness pressing against me. All that grief packed into such a short moment — it shouldn’t be enough to change your shape. And yet.

“When she grabbed my leg,” he said, trying to force a laugh, “honestly, it’s a miracle I didn’t collapse.”

“...It’s so quiet now,” I said. “Not just the sound. The feeling.”

“Remember how she munched that potato? Loudest little thing for someone who doesn’t talk.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at my mouth. “Or her running in circles out back. What was that even about?”

“She had an idea,” Nate said. “I think.”

“Did you see her curled up beside you?” he asked, voice cracking at the edge.

“I caught a glimpse when I woke up.”

Without really thinking about it, I shifted and curled up beside him, drawing my knees in, my face toward his side. Not touching. But close enough.

“...Eehh?” he made a surprised noise behind me.

“What?” I asked, teasing. “Didn’t expect me to do it?”

“Yeah, obviously!” he said, caught between laughing and choking on it.

“Well, thank Lu for the idea.”

Silence again, warmer now.

“To be honest… it’s nice,” I admitted.

He shifted next to me, more playfully this time. “Well then, how about this?”

I felt his arm stretch tentatively across me — not grabbing, just resting. Light. Testing. I didn’t move. Not until he started pulling back.

“...You hate it, right?” he asked. I heard the doubt edge in fast. “I’ll move—”

“Put it back,” I said softly.

He froze. Then did.

“…Tighter,” I added.

And he pulled me in — not possessive, not rough. Just enough to feel it. A warmth I hadn’t realized I’d been starving for.

Is this what safety feels like? This weight. This stillness. Like the world can wait outside the door for once.

“It’s nice…” I whispered.

“Really?” he said, surprised.

“Why would I lie?” I asked, finding steadiness again. “How about you?”

There was a beat. “...Ugh. Also nice.”

I smiled against the pillow. “Is your face getting red?”

“...N…yes.”

I let the silence return again, this time softer. We were still curled like that when I asked, “Can we stay here for the rest of the day?”

A beat.

“...I’d like that,” he said.

And I believed him.

###

Well. This is… a development.

Not complaining. I just didn’t expect that after all that’s happened—my awakening, the riot, days of chaos with Lu—we’d end up like this. Curled up on a bed. Together.

This feels like a milestone I didn’t see coming.

We were already… close. In that way people get when they’ve survived something together. Shared silence, shared worry. But this? This feels different. More… intimate.

…What the hell am I thinking?

Is this just two people clinging to each other in a city that doesn’t want them? Two outsiders, backed into a corner, finding comfort where they can?

Or is this becoming something else?

And… do I want it to?

I need a distraction. Something strategic. Tactical. Anything that doesn’t involve untangling whatever’s going on in my head—or heart.

“So,” I start, voice low, “we’re staying here today. What about tomorrow?”

“I still have the contract from Viktor,” Io mumbles. Her voice is muffled—because her face is practically pressed against my chest.

Right. Focus. Planning.

“He said we can take it to the archives, didn’t he?”

“They’re run by the church,” she murmurs.

“So we go there, see what we can dig up. Maybe snoop around a little?”

“If there’s anything worth snooping.”

“Think they’d keep the good stuff in a public archive?”

“I wouldn’t.” Her tone is matter-of-fact.

“So… we improvise,” I say.

“You should be used to that by now,” Io replies, dry amusement creeping into her voice.

“Hmmm. But what do we say if they just take the contract and don’t let us in?”

“We ask to look into something.”

“Like what?”

She shifts slightly. “We have a name. The Keslers. People don’t always have those here… so maybe we’re ‘looking into our family history’ or whatever.”

Huh. That’s actually smart. From the outside, we do look like a couple. And the Kesler name—my name—is a plausible reason to access records. Io keeps using it like it’s a useful tool, not a weight. I admire that. Even if I still flinch a little every time I hear it.

“And if we’re in and things go south, you can always knock out a priest,” Io adds lightly, something mischievous in her voice.

“Sure, I’ll just gonk the nearest holy man. No way that could go wrong.”

She snorts.

Okay. That’s a plan, then. Sort of. Go to the archives, play the curious family historians, try not to commit felony assault.

I’m just settling back into thought when Io lifts her head. “Your turn.”

“…What?”

“Curl up like I did. Try it.”

“You want me to curl up into a ball?” I ask, skeptically.

“Yes,” she says, entirely too pleased with herself.

I sigh, let go of her, and do my best approximation of a human potato. “Happy?”

“Very.” She shifts, arms folding around me. “Now I complete the experience.”

She’s… hugging me. Sort of. Not just using her arm like I did. Full body commitment. That’s Io for you—always all-in, no half-measures.

“…You realize we’ve been kind of clingy lately,” I mutter, mostly to cover how nice this feels.

“Maybe,” she replies. “But I think it’s helping.”

She doesn’t have to explain. I get it. After everything—after that morning—this is the first thing that’s made me feel like the world’s not falling apart.

And yeah. It’s nice. Warm. Steady. Like something to hold onto.

I could get used to this.

We lie there quietly for a while. The kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled. Then Io, soft and certain, says:

“I need you with me, you know.”

I swallow, chest tightening.

“I… need you too,” I say.

So much for not thinking about it.