The woman's sleeve was burning.
That was the first thing I noticed. A small orange flame climbed the torn fabric near her wrist, and she struck it with her bare hand.
Then she reached for me.
"Elara."
Behind her, a roof collapsed.
The crash shook the ground beneath my feet. Sparks scattered into the dark, and I flinched as she bent over me, shielding my head with her body.
Somewhere nearby, someone was screaming a name.
I couldn't understand it. There was too much noise—the crack of burning timber, the shouting, a roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
I tried to step away, but my heel caught on something.
My legs were too short.
I looked down.
Small hands clutched the front of a pale dress. Ash had settled in its folds, and one knee was bleeding beneath the dirty hem.
Those were my hands.
That was my blood.
But—
"Elara. Look at me."
The woman knelt in front of me and caught my face between her palms. Her fingers trembled against my cheeks.
I tried to see her properly.
I needed to.
But smoke stung my eyes, and each time I blinked, her face seemed to slip out of focus. There was hair stuck to her mouth. Blood on her sleeve. A dark streak along her throat.
"Listen carefully," she said. "You must go into the trees."
I looked past her.
Fire crawled along the walls of a house. Its doorway stood open, but I couldn't see inside.
"Come with me."
My voice was small.
The woman's mouth moved, but no answer came.
Instead, she pulled me against her.
I buried my face in the hollow beneath her chin. Beneath the smoke and blood, there was a familiar scent, something I knew so well that my fingers tightened in her clothes.
For a moment, I stopped being afraid.
Then she let go.
"No." I caught her sleeve.
She looked over her shoulder.
Whatever she saw made her grip hurt.
"You cannot stay here."
I shook my head.
She pried my fingers loose, one at a time.
"Don't look back."
"Please—"
She pushed me toward the trees.
"Run, Elara!"
I stumbled, caught myself, and turned.
The woman was still there.
One hand lifted toward me.
Then something moved behind her.
"Run!"
Flames surged between us.
I tried to scream her name.
I woke before I could remember it.
---
My hand was reaching into the empty room.
For several seconds, I stayed like that, sitting upright in bed with my arm outstretched and my breath caught painfully in my chest.
The cabin slowly returned around me.
The crooked cupboard. The chair beneath the window. My dress hanging from its peg.
Morning light lay across the floor.
No fire.
I lowered my hand.
The air was cool, but sweat clung to my neck. I dragged in a breath, then another, waiting for the tightness in my throat to ease.
"A dream," I whispered.
Outside, someone called a greeting. Footsteps passed along the path, followed by the familiar squeak of a cart wheel.
I listened until the sound faded.
Only then did I look at my hands.
They were the right size again. A small scrape crossed one knuckle, left over from training. There was dirt beneath a nail I had forgotten to clean.
I turned them over.
Nothing burned.
And still, I could feel the woman pulling my fingers from her sleeve.
Are you there?
I reached inward for my wolf.
Usually, there was some response—a word, a flicker of irritation, the quiet reassurance of her presence.
This morning, I found only silence.
I closed my eyes.
Please.
Something stirred far beneath my awareness, then drew away before I could reach it.
She was there.
That should have comforted me.
Instead, I remembered the way the woman had looked over her shoulder.
Did you see it too?
My wolf didn't answer.
---
Getting dressed gave my hands something to do.
I washed my face, tied back my hair, and fastened my clothes. Twice, I missed the same button.
All the while, I tried to remember.
Not the dream.
Before it.
Before the cabin, before the storage sheds, before I had learned which paths to take when I wanted to avoid being noticed.
My childhood existed in scattered pieces. Rain tapping against a roof. A blanket rough beneath my chin. Someone humming while fingers worked a knot out of my hair.
I couldn't have said how old I was in any of them.
Or who had been there.
I had never questioned that very much. There had always been more immediate things to worry about: finding work, keeping warm, making myself useful enough to be allowed to stay.
Now the gaps bothered me.
I stood in front of the little mirror and tried to picture the woman's face.
Nothing.
But when I closed my eyes, I knew exactly how it had felt to be held by her.
That seemed unfair.
I could remember losing her.
I couldn't remember who she was.
---
Lysandra took one look at me and set down her jar.
"Sit."
"I've only just arrived."
"Yes. And already you're arguing."
Mira glanced up from a pile of clean bandages.
"You do look tired."
"I'm beginning to regret coming here."
"You can regret it sitting down," Lysandra said.
I obeyed.
She checked my forehead, then tilted my chin toward the window. I endured the examination until she finally stepped back.
"No fever. Did you eat?"
"I wasn't hungry."
"That wasn't the question."
Mira quietly pushed a small piece of bread across the table.
Outnumbered, I picked it up.
Lysandra waited until I had taken a bite before asking, "What happened?"
"I had a dream."
"An unpleasant one?"
I looked at the bread in my hands.
"Can you remember something in a dream that you don't remember when you're awake?"
She pulled out the chair opposite mine.
"Sometimes."
I looked up too quickly.
Lysandra noticed.
"That doesn't make a dream proof of anything, Elara."
"But it's possible."
"It is." Her voice remained gentle. "So is dreaming something frightening because you've spent days worrying about missing wolves."
I worried at the crust with my thumb.
"There was a fire."
She waited.
"Houses were burning. People were screaming. I think I was a child."
"You think?"
I held out one hand.
"They were smaller. My hands."
Across the room, Mira's scissors stopped.
I wished she would keep working.
"There was a woman," I continued. "She knew me."
"Did you recognize her?"
"Not her face."
"What did you recognize?"
I swallowed.
"The way she held me."
Lysandra's expression softened, and that nearly undid me.
I looked away.
"She told me to run. She kept telling me not to look back."
"Did you see where you were?"
"Only houses. Trees. Nothing I knew."
"Anything that might have belonged to Silvercrest?"
"I don't think so."
Her gaze moved briefly toward the window.
"Does that mean something?" I asked.
"It means I'm listening."
"That isn't quite the same as answering."
"No," she admitted.
For a moment, there was only the faint bubbling of the pot near the hearth.
Then Lysandra rested her hands on the table.
"I can't tell you what you saw. And I won't give you an answer simply because uncertainty is uncomfortable."
I stared at her.
"I thought you'd say it was only a dream."
"Would you have believed me?"
"No."
"Then there wouldn't have been much point."
I let out a breath that almost became a laugh.
She touched my wrist.
"Write down what you remember. Before you spend all day trying to fill in the missing pieces."
"Why?"
"So that if it happens again, you'll know what was there the first time."
The suggestion felt solid enough to hold on to.
"And if I remember more?"
"Come to me."
I searched her face. There was concern there, certainly, but something else I couldn't name.
Perhaps I was looking too hard.
Perhaps, after waking from a dream like that, any hesitation would have seemed suspicious.
"Okay," I said.
I almost told her about my wolf.
The words rose to my tongue, then stopped.
I had already watched concern settle into the lines around Lysandra's mouth. I wasn't ready to see what complete silence from my wolf would put there.
So I finished the bread and asked what needed doing.
---
By midday, my fingers smelled of crushed herbs.
There was comfort in work that required attention. Leaves had to be sorted. Jars had to be labeled. Bandages had to be rolled tightly enough to hold their shape.
Whenever my thoughts wandered toward the fire, I gave myself another task.
Still, I listened when the door opened.
Two patrol wolves came for supplies. Neither had news of the missing.
Lysandra packed their medicines without asking the questions everyone had already asked too many times.
After they left, Mira tightened the knot around a bundle of bandages.
"The tournament pairings are supposed to go up today."
My hands stopped.
Somehow, there were still things in the world capable of making my stomach sink for entirely different reasons.
"I'd forgotten about those."
Mira looked amused.
"How?"
"I've been occupied."
"Panicking about something else?"
"Exactly."
Lysandra glanced over from her mortar.
"You can still withdraw."
I looked at her.
Yesterday, I might have mistaken the offer for doubt. Today, I heard the choice in it.
"I don't want to."
"Then don't."
Mira leaned forward.
"Even if you're paired with someone terrifying?"
"Thank you. That's helpful."
"I'm preparing you."
"For what? An early funeral?"
"For disappointment. I was hoping you'd say you were going to win."
A laugh escaped me.
"I've seen the wolves entering."
"So have I," Lysandra said.
"And?"
"And I asked whether you wanted to participate. I didn't ask whether you expected to defeat the entire pack."
I lowered my gaze to the bandage in my lap.
That was easier to admit when nobody was looking directly at me.
"I want to know if I can do it."
"Fight?" Mira asked.
"Stand there," I said. "With everyone watching. Without deciding I've lost before anyone touches me."
Neither of them answered immediately.
I smoothed the edge of the cloth.
"I've practiced alone for years. If I keep waiting until I'm certain I'm good enough, I might never stop practicing alone."
Lysandra nodded.
"Then you have your reason."
Mira smiled.
"And you did knock Kieran down."
I closed my eyes.
"There it is."
"It was impressive."
"It was one time."
"You could ask him to help you make it two."
I concentrated fiercely on rolling the bandage.
Lysandra's mouth twitched.
"That one is finished, Elara."
I looked down.
I had been winding the same loose end around an already completed roll.
Mira turned away, shoulders shaking.
I threw the bandage at her.
---
When my shift ended, Lysandra caught me looking toward the woods.
"How long?"
I blinked. "What?"
"How long are you planning to train?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"You've checked the sunlight three times."
I adjusted the strap of my bag.
"Only a little while. The clearing near the barracks."
Her amusement faded.
"With the patrols still missing?"
"It's inside the permitted area. I won't go near the river."
She considered me for a moment.
I resisted the urge to keep explaining. Too many promises would only make me sound less trustworthy.
"Tell the guard which clearing," she said at last. "And come back before sunset."
"I will."
"If something feels wrong, you leave."
"I know."
"I mean it, Elara. You don't need to understand a danger before you walk away from it."
Something in her voice made me stop adjusting my bag.
"I'll leave," I promised.
She nodded, though she still didn't look pleased.
Outside, I gave the nearest guard my destination.
Then I took the familiar path into the trees.
---
The clearing was exactly as I had left it.
A fallen log marked one edge. The practice post leaned slightly to the left, no matter how often I packed earth around its base.
Sunlight reached through the canopy in narrow patches.
From somewhere beyond the trees came the distant clatter of training weapons.
Close to the barracks.
Close to people.
I set down my bag and stretched.
The first few movements were awkward. My shoulders felt stiff, and my thoughts kept getting ahead of my feet.
I adjusted my grip on the wooden sword.
Again.
Step, turn, strike.
I pictured Kieran correcting my stance. The position of his feet. The slight bend in his knees. How little effort he seemed to waste.
I tried to imitate that.
On the next turn, my boot caught a root.
I stumbled sideways and barely stayed upright.
"Excellent," I muttered. "The trees have won."
But the attempt after that was better.
And the one after that.
Gradually, my breathing settled into the rhythm of the movements. My shoulders loosened. The familiar ache of effort spread through my arms.
For a little while, I was too busy to remember anything.
When I finally stopped, sweat had dampened the back of my shirt.
I sat on the log and drank.
You'd usually have something to say about that.
I waited.
No answer.
I lowered the bottle.
Especially the part where I nearly fell.
The silence felt different out here.
In the cabin, I had been able to blame the dream. At the healer's hut, there had been work, conversation, footsteps.
Here, I could feel how deliberately my wolf had withdrawn.
I closed my eyes and reached for her again.
There—a faint awareness, deep and guarded.
You don't have to explain it, I told her. Just let me know you're all right.
For an instant, something shifted.
Then it was still.
I opened my eyes.
"All right," I whispered.
It wasn't all right.
But I didn't know how to make her answer.
---
I should have gone home then.
Instead, I stood and returned to the practice post.
One more exercise.
Something simple enough to end on.
I tried to recreate the movement that had knocked Kieran down: the turn, the change in balance, the sudden force I still couldn't account for.
My wooden blade struck the post.
A dull knock.
I tried again.
This time, the impact jarred my wrist.
I hissed and lowered the sword.
Nothing.
Whatever had happened during our spar refused to happen here.
Perhaps Kieran had been off balance. Perhaps I had surprised him. Perhaps I had spent days wondering about a strength that had never belonged to me at all.
I stepped back.
The breeze changed.
Smoke caught at the back of my throat.
My body recognized it before my mind did.
I stopped breathing.
The clearing blurred, and for one horrible moment, I expected to look down and see a pale dress instead of my training clothes.
I stared at my hands.
Still mine.
Still grown.
I turned slowly.
No fire.
Sunlight lay across the log. My bag rested where I had left it. Leaves moved overhead, green and untouched.
I drew in a careful breath.
Nothing.
The smell had vanished.
"Someone at the barracks," I said aloud.
A cooking fire. A gust of wind.
There were explanations.
Then my wolf recoiled.
The feeling struck so suddenly that I tightened my grip on the sword.
Fear.
Hers.
I knew the difference. I had spent all morning living with my own.
This came from somewhere deeper—a sharp, desperate impulse to pull away, to hide, to get us out of the clearing.
What is it?
No words.
Only that terrible need to leave.
I looked toward the trees.
The path was empty.
Beyond it, I could still hear the distant sounds of training.
Lysandra's warning returned with startling clarity.
You don't need to understand a danger before you walk away from it.
This time, I listened.
I collected my bag, tucked the wooden sword beneath my arm, and started toward the village.
I walked quickly.
I did not investigate the trees.
And when a branch cracked somewhere behind me, I kept walking.
---
The first sight of the barracks nearly brought me to tears.
A pair of warriors stood outside arguing over a training bout. One laughed. The other shoved his shoulder.
Ordinary sounds.
Ordinary people.
I slowed enough to breathe properly.
The fear inside me had eased, but my wolf remained silent.
I could have gone to my cabin. Washed, changed, convinced myself that exhaustion had turned a passing smell into something frightening.
Instead, at the fork in the path, I turned toward Lysandra's hut.
She had asked me to come back if I remembered more.
I hadn't.
But I had left something out.
This morning, I had been afraid the dream might be a memory.
Now, with my wolf hiding somewhere I couldn't reach, I was afraid she remembered it too.