Eira
Eira's eyes snapped open.
For a moment, she couldn't remember why her head felt like it was stuffed with wet wool.
Every time she blinked, the room seemed to tilt.
She was lying on the small sofa in the living quarters above Milla's bakery, a thick wool blanket tucked to her chin.
In the corner of the room, illuminated by a single candle, sat Soren.
He wasn't watching her. He was hunched over a small wooden stool; the faint clink-clink of metal hitting metal was the only sound in the room.
"Soren?"
He froze, then turned his head. The relief that washed over his face was so visible it made her chest ache. He dropped the tweezers and was at her side in seconds.
"Don't try to sit up too fast," he whispered, his hand steadying her shoulder. "That medicine you took was heavy stuff."
"What happened?" she asked, rubbing her temples. "The house. My father. I remember being there, and then..."
"You collapsed," Soren said plainly. "I carried you back. We're at the bakery. Milla and Noa had to stage a minor fire in the shop just to get us through the door without the customers seeing."
Eira groaned, the memories of her breakdown at her father's bedside hitting her. She remembered screaming at Soren. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken that tincture. I just couldn't... I couldn't look at him anymore and know that I was helping the person who-"
"I know," Soren interrupted softly. "You don't have to explain it."
He went back to his stool, but he was restless. "We have a bigger problem, Eira. On the way back from your house, I felt someone following us. I kept the lantern hidden, but I think I've been recognized. I've lived in the Lower-Tier all my life, covering my face once. If a Warden scout saw me, it's only a matter of time before they connect the dots to this bakery."
Eira sat up. "If they come here, they'll arrest Milla and Noa for harbouring you. They'll seize the shop."
She stood up unsteadily, looking for her satchel. As she moved toward the dresser, her clothes caught on a partially open drawer. Something snagged her sleeve. It was a small, tattered book. It fell to the floor, landing on an open page.
Eira reached down to pick it up. It was Milla's diary. She shouldn't have looked, but the messy, frantic scrawl on the page caught her eye.
October 14th, it read. The flour shipment is late again, but my savings jar is almost full. Three more years of the Lantern Festival specials, and I can finally buy the lot next door. I'll knock down the wall and create a real tea room. No more cramped ovens. Noa can have the upstairs to himself. Finally, something that belongs to us.
Eira felt a cold lump form in her throat. She looked around the small, cozy room, at the mismatched chairs, the smell of baking bread that seeped through the cracks, the life Milla had spent eighteen years building from nothing.
"She's worked her whole life for this," Eira whispered, her voice trembling. "Soren, look."
Soren stood up and read the entry over her shoulder.
His face went grim. He knew what it was like to have a dream snatched away in a single night.
He looked at the tiny, half-finished clock on his stool, then at the heavy cloak draped over the chair.
"We're going to destroy it for her," Eira said, looking at him with watery eyes. "If Kaelen brings the Wardens here, they'll burn this place to the ground just to find a trace of violet light. We can't let her lose everything because of us."
Soren took a deep breath. For the first time since she'd known him, the fear in his eyes was gone, replaced by a flat resolve.
"I'm leaving," he said. "Tonight. If I'm not here, there's no crime to charge her with. I'll head for the woods."
"Not you," Eira corrected, her voice gaining strength. "Us. I'm going with you."
"Eira, no. You have a life here. You have your father-"
"My father is a shell, Soren! And my life is already over if I stay here and watch you get executed. I know the mountain passes."
Soren looked like he wanted to argue, but the sound of Milla's laughter coming from downstairs silenced him. He nodded once.
"Pack light," he said. "We tell Milla at dawn."
The conversation the next morning was short and bitter.
Milla had cried, then she had gotten angry, then she had packed enough dried meat and bread to last a month. She didn't try to stop them.
She saw the look in Eira's eyes and knew that the girl had already left Oakhaven in her head.
As the sun began to set on their final evening, the bakery was quiet.
The festival rush had died down for a few hours. Soren was checking the straps on his pack when Eira walked into the kitchen.
"Soren," she said softly. "Before we go... before we leave Oakhaven for good... there's one place we have to go."
Soren didn't look up. "The gates are under watch, Eira. We should go through the cellar tunnels."
"The river," she said.
Soren flinched. The memory of the churning, icy water and the sound of a body plunging below the bridge was always just beneath the surface.
"No," he rasped. "Why would we go there?"
"Because that's where it started," Eira said, stepping closer. She reached out, but didn't touch him, giving him the space to breathe. "You've been carrying the weight of that bridge for a year. You think you're a monster because of what happened in that water. I think... I think if we stand there, and you see that the river is just a river, and the bridge is just wood... maybe you'll feel free."
Soren's breathing was ragged.
He looked at the door, then back at his hands. "I can't..."
"You don't have to," she said quickly. "I won't pressure you. If it's too much, we'll go the other way."
Soren stood in silence for a long time. He looked at the violet lantern on the table. He was tired of being afraid of a memory.
"Fine," he whispered. "One last time."