Soren
The walk back from the house was a gruelling test of Soren's endurance.
Eira was a dead weight in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder.
The sedative she had taken had turned her limbs to lead.
Soren kept his head down, the brim of his hood pulled low. Every time his boots crunched on a stray pebble, he flinched.
The Mid-Tier at night was usually a place of low hums and the distant smell of hearth fires, but tonight, the silence felt fake.
Halfway down an alleyway that cut toward the apothecary, Soren stopped.
He felt a prickle at the base of his neck, the unmistakable feeling of eyes watching him.
He shifted Eira's weight and used his elbow to press his cloak tight against his belt. His hand brushed the hard, cold glass of the lantern.
It was dark, hidden beneath layers of heavy wool. There was no way any violet light had escaped.
And yet, the feeling of being hunted persisted.
He quickened his pace, his long strides eating up the ground.
He didn't look at the houses he passed; he focused on the rhythm of his own breathing and the soft, drug-induced sighs of the girl in his arms. He had to get back. And quickly.
In his very arms, he was carrying the only person who had looked at his violet light and seen a man instead of a monster.
When he reached the back door of the apothecary, he kicked it twice, sharp and hard.
The bolt slid back, and Mrs. Gable appeared, her face illuminated by the warm, orange glow of her lantern.
Her eyes went wide as she took in the sight of Soren, sweating and wild-eyed, holding a half-conscious Eira.
"Soren! What-"
"Inside," Soren whispered, pushing past her into the warmth of the shop.
He laid Eira down on the long, scarred wooden table where she usually sorted herbs.
Mrs. Gable was on her immediately, checking her pulse and peeling back an eyelid. She sniffed the air near Eira's lips and sighed, a mix of relief and frustration.
"Poppy and valerian," Mrs. Gable muttered, reaching for a damp cloth to wipe Eira's forehead. "The silly girl. She tried to drown her brain. It'll wear off by morning, but she'll have a head like a cracked bell." She looked up at Soren. "What happened? I told you where the house was, I didn't expect you to bring her back like a casualty of war."
Soren leaned against the counter, his chest heaving. "I don't know what happened, Mrs. Gable. She was sitting by her father, screaming at me not to touch him, then begging me not to let go."
Mrs. Gable's expression softened. She began to brew a strong, bitter tea. It was an antidote to the sluggishness of the sedative.
As the kettle whistled, she paused, looking at Soren's hands.
"Soren," she said softly. "Aside from Eira... what is bothering you? You look like you've walked through the Veil and back."
Soren stared at the floor. "Nothing. I'm just tired."
"Don't lie to me, boy," she countered, sliding a mug of water toward him. "You're vibrating like a struck tuning fork. What saw you out there?"
Soren took a deep breath, finally looking up. "I think someone followed us. From the house all the way here."
Mrs. Gable went still. "Did your light break through? Was the lantern exposed?"
"No, no," Soren said quickly, clutching his cloak. "I checked. It was buried deep. No one could have seen the violet."
"Then why the fear?"
Soren ran a hand through his dark, messy hair, looking pained. "Because I'm starting to think... I'm starting to think someone knows my face."
He looked at the rows of tinctures and jars, feeling the weight of his own stupidity. "Before I met Eira... before Milla took me in... I wasn't intentional about hiding. Down in the Lower-Tier, the people didn't care about faces. I went out with my lantern uncovered all the time. I was just another boy with a bad light. I didn't think anyone cared enough to remember me."
He looked back at Mrs. Gable, his eyes filled with a sudden, sharp clarity. "But the Wardens have records. They have memories. If a Warden saw me at the river a year ago, and sees the same person carrying the Healer's daughter tonight... they don't need a violet light to know who I am."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Mrs. Gable set the tea down, her face turning grave. She looked at Eira, sleeping soundly on the table.
"If they know your face, Oakhaven isn't safe," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "The Wardens are patient, Soren. They won't strike the moment they see you. They'll wait to see who else you lead them to."
Soren's blood ran cold. "Milla. Eira. I'm putting you all in danger."
"We chose this danger the moment we opened the door," Mrs. Gable said firmly. "But you can't go back to the bakery. If someone followed you, they might be watching there tonight. You stay here. We have a guest room upstairs."
She walked to the front door, bolting it and drawing the heavy velvet curtains.
"We have to talk to Milla," Soren said. "If I have to leave... if I have to run..."
"We will discuss it tomorrow," Mrs. Gable interrupted. "When Eira is awake, and the sedative has cleared from her head. We'll bring Milla here at dawn. We'll figure out a way to get you past the gates, or into the woods."
She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "But for now, you rest."
Soren didn't feel like resting.
He felt like a trapped animal. He walked over to the table and sat on a stool beside Eira. He watched the way her eyelashes fluttered in her sleep and the way her hand, small and pale, twitched against the wood.
He stayed there in the dark, his hand hovering just inches from hers, listening to the wind howl against the windows of the shop and wondering which shadow outside was the one that was waiting for him to move.
He thought of his clocks, the gears and the regulators he wanted to build.
He realized then that time was no longer something he wanted to measure.
Time was something he was running out of.