Hajin took the manor stairs one step at a time, a hand braced on the banister, Juna matching his pace. Every breath pulled at the fresh bandages wrapped around his ribs, but he waved off every single offer of help.
"You don't have to see him tonight, Idiot," she muttered, "he can sit in a cell until sunrise."
"I do have to, he came a long way."
Hans met them at the gate house door, snow melting on his shoulders. "The militia wanted to hang him an hour ago, the girl with the brand asked for a look first."
The holding room at Winter Gate was barely wider than a stall, lit by a single swinging lantern. Hajin stood in the doorway with his ribs wrapped tight, staring at the man kneeling in melted snow.
Kenny's right sleeve hung empty and pinned, his coat scorched through, burn marks crawling up his neck.
Broken cuffs still dangled from his one remaining wrist, rattling every time he shook.
He lifted his head, lips cracked, "Cousin."
'He still says it like we're family.'
