The infirmary was poorly lit, the only light coming from a lone oil lamp wobbling on a battered table. It sent uncertain shadows crawling over the old stone walls, as if even the lamp had better places to be. The room felt odd and unsettled, and it didn’t help that the air was full of the sharp smells of crushed herbs, strong salves, and that hint of iron that just clung to these ancient stones no matter how many times they were scrubbed. If these walls could talk, they’d probably just groan about all the pain and trouble they’d seen.

  Every so often, a healer’s voice would break the stillness—quiet but firm, making promises to unseen patients tucked away in corners. There was the scrape of a stool dragging, glass bottles gently bumping together, and the regular squeak of floorboards as someone hurried past. All together, it made for a place where everything felt balanced on a knife’s edge and nobody dared waste a single movement.

  Gai lay stretched out on a cot shoved into one side of the room, its wooden frame letting out a soft complaint every time he shifted his weight. He breathed slowly and carefully, aware of every inhale like it was an exam he was trying not to fail. Sweat dotted his forehead even though the room was chilly. Thick white bandages were wrapped tight around his neck, blotched with dried blood and edged by bruises so dark they looked almost painted on. Whatever that thing was, it had done its best to snap his windpipe before it died. Every now and then, his hands jerked at his sides, curling into fists and then opening again, as if his body couldn’t decide if the fight was really over yet.

  His eyes—bloodshot and heavy-lidded—locked on the ceiling, unfocused. The cold stone above him swam in and out as he replayed it all: the ambush, stubborn as a splinter, stuck in his thoughts. All those noises were back, too sharp—the click of claws on the floor, that warning chill right before everything went sideways. He could almost feel the pressure at his throat again, remember how the air refused to come. His jaw tightened at the memory; he lifted his hand toward the bandages but hovered there, fingers trembling, before letting it fall back to the rough blanket.

  The door gave a long groan as it opened, yanking Gai from his thoughts. He turned his head slowly; all he saw at first was someone outlined by whatever faint light made it in from outside. Captain Maric entered with steady steps—everything about him said ‘in charge,’ though tiredness had taken off some of the edge. The lamplight carved lines deep into Maric’s face; those were years’ worth of responsibility etched into skin. For all his tough exterior, there was just enough softness in his gaze to show worry for Gai underneath it all.

  Maric’s armour clinked softly with each step as he crossed the room toward Gai’s cot. Despite his attempts to move quietly out of respect for the sleeping patients around them, the sound was unavoidable. As he approached, he let out a heavy sigh that seemed to carry more weight than mere breath alone could hold. Pulling up a wooden stool beside Gai’s bed, he lowered himself onto it with deliberate care. The legs scraped softly against the floor, the noise cutting through the muted stillness like a blade.

  “Gai,” Maric began after a moment’s pause, his voice low and steady but tinged with something close to relief. “How are you holding up?” His words were simple yet carried an undercurrent that spoke volumes—a mixture of genuine concern and an unspoken acknowledgment of how close Gai had come to death.

  Gai turned his head, slow and stiff, to meet Maric’s eyes. It looked like it took all the energy he had left just to manage that. His gaze was flat but steady, a tired sort of determination lingering there. He barely managed a half-hearted shrug, more a twitch than anything else. “Still here,” he croaked after a beat, his voice rough and thin, almost as if it was being dragged out of him. It wasn’t bravado—just the simple truth, said like he’d meant to survive all along.

  Maric nodded solemnly, his expression softening ever so slightly as he lowered his gaze to study Gai more closely. “That’s good to hear,” he said simply, though there was no mistaking the relief hidden beneath his gruff tone. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, leaning forward slightly as if to emphasize the importance of what he was about to say. “But I need you to recount what happened,” Maric added carefully, his eyes locking onto Gai’s with unwavering intensity. “Every detail—no matter how small—could help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

  Gai closed his eyes briefly as if summoning the strength to relive it all once more. When he opened them again, they were clouded with something darker—pain mixed with anger and just a trace of fear. “We were returning to the barracks from Old Town,” he began slowly, each word deliberate as though plucked carefully from his memory. “The Boar’s Hat Tavern… Edgar had been making a fool of himself all evening trying to impress some waitress who clearly wasn’t interested.” The corners of Gai’s mouth twitched in what might’ve been a smile, just for a second, but any trace of amusement vanished almost as soon as it came.

  Maric’s mouth twitched with a hint of dry humor. “Classic Edgar—if bad poetry doesn’t do it, he just pours more ale down his throat and hopes for a miracle,” he muttered, the sarcasm cutting through his usual severity for half a second. But the glimmer of amusement slipped away as quickly as it came. His gaze sharpened, turning serious again. He leaned forward, lowering his voice so only Gai could hear. “We can trade Edgar stories another time. For now, I need you here with me. Tell me everything.”

  “We took the main road back,” Gai said after a brief pause, his brow furrowing as he delved deeper into his recollections. “Everything felt… off somehow—too quiet for that time of night.” His voice dropped slightly as though sharing some unspoken truth that chilled him even now. “And then we saw her, no we heard her first.”

  Maric sat up a little straighter, interest flickering across his tired face, but he kept quiet and let Gai continue.

  “She came running toward us, yelling for help,” Gai said, his voice uneasy. “Right in the middle of the road—tiny, wrapped in shadows. She looked lost. Scared out of her mind.” He hesitated, eyes narrowing as if trying to put a name to something that didn’t quite have one, then shook his head slightly—a silent admission that words weren’t enough.

  “Anders went over first,” Gai continued after a moment, fingers brushing the bandages at his neck before dropping back to the blanket. “He asked if she was alright… She just looked so damn pitiful. Like she’d break if you breathed on her.” His voice caught on that last word, a little raw with regret—clearly annoyed with himself for ever believing it.

  Maric cut in, gentle but insistent. “And after that?” he urged, not letting the heavy silence settle between them. His brow drew tight, eyes boring into Gai like he could pull the answer out by sheer will. “What did she do next?” There was no missing the edge in his tone—he wanted the truth, all of it, right now.

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  Gai exhaled shakily, swiping a trembling hand over his sweaty brow. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, voice rough around the edges. “We were just about to move her out of the street,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And then everything shifted. The air turned thick—hard to breathe—and it got cold, fast.” He paused, jaw clenched. “The shadows grew longer, and then—lights went out. One after another. She started saying something was after her. Hunting her.”

  Maric leaned closer, fingers curling white-knuckled around the edge of the table. “You’re saying it was shadows? You sure it wasn’t just nerves or too much ale?”

  Gai paused, jaw working like he had to chew through glass for each word. He shook his head once, firm. “No—wasn’t just me seeing things. Anders was talking to her, trying to calm her down, and then—” His hands balled up tight against the blanket. “All the light disappeared. Even Ander’s orb faded out. It was pitch black. Couldn’t see a thing.”

  Maric’s mouth tightened as he took that in, silent but clearly piecing together what it meant.

  Gai’s throat bobbed, voice dropping low, barely above a whisper, as if naming it might call it back. “That’s when it came out. Big—bigger than anything I’ve run into before. Hard to see, like it was made of the dark itself…except for those claws. Couldn’t miss those.” He let the silence stretch, jaw tight. “It went straight for me,” he managed, his voice frayed and uneven. “I only saw it at all because those claws caught what little light was left. After that—just teeth and black, and it was on top of me.” His hand drifted up to his bandaged neck, then dropped limply away. “If I hadn’t moved when I did… well, you’d be stuck chatting with a ghost right now.”

  Maric’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, eyes never leaving Gai as he waited him out. After a moment, Maric asked, voice low and tense, “Ever run into something like that before?”

  Gai shook his head. “Not even close,” he said, voice flat. “Edgar and Anders tried everything—Edgar hurled something that was supposed to blow it up, Anders set it on fire. Edgar managed to hack its arm off, but the damn thing just shrugged and grew it back like nothing happened.”

  Maric watched him carefully, leaning back just enough to get a better look at Gai’s face. “So what happened after that?”

  Gai’s voice wavered as he pressed on. He stared at the floor, jaw clenched, before forcing out the words. “It tore through Edgar and Anders like they barely mattered, just tossed them aside.” He paused, swallowing hard, then looked up at Maric, his eyes raw. “And then she was right next to me.”

  Maric frowned deeply but didn’t interrupt.

  "

  “Her eyes…” Gai’s face twisted, like he was trying to swallow down the memory. “They weren’t human anymore. No trace of fear, no kindness—just empty, like she’d left and something else was looking out.” He worked his throat, voice rough. “She lifted her hand—and before I even realized it, everything went black. It just closed in on me.”

  Maric’s face went rigid, unreadable except for the muscle that jumped along his jaw.

  “It smothered everything,” Gai said quietly, voice ragged. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t think straight at all.” He absently brushed his hands over his arms, as if the feeling still lingered.

  “Anders and Edgar are still hanging on by a thread because of what happened,” Maric said at last, his words even but heavy.

  Gai’s gaze snapped up at that, but he didn’t say a word.

  “Count yourself lucky, Gai,” Maric said, his voice flat but not unkind—a hard truth, with frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “If you hadn’t held your ground… they’d both be gone. No question.”

  The quiet that followed settled heavier than before, stretching out between them as they each let that reality sink in.

  It was Gai who finally broke it, his words barely more than a tired breath. “So what now?”

  Maric sat up straighter, jaw set. There was no hesitation—just grit. “Now? We shore things up. Double the watch if we have to. Make sure whatever did this doesn’t catch us sleeping again.” He met Gai’s eyes without flinching. “And we figure out who’s behind it all. No more surprises.”

  Gai managed a slow nod, some of the colour creeping back into his face. He straightened a little, shoulders still weighed down but set with stubborn resolve. “I’ll be ready,” he said—not loud, but you could hear he meant it. There was nothing showy in the words; just quiet certainty and the ache of someone who’d survived by sheer refusal to quit.

  Maric gave him a long look, eyes sharp as ever, reading everything that went unsaid. After a moment, one side of his mouth twitched upward—a rare sign of emotion. “Get some rest. You’re no good to me if you fall over trying to play hero,” he grumbled, but there was trust under the roughness.

  He pushed himself up from the stool, wood creaking in protest. His boots landed solidly on the worn stone as he crossed to the door. At the threshold, Maric paused and glanced back and gave Gai a short nod before slipping out and closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

  The latch clicked into place, and Gai finally exhaled, feeling the room close in around him again. The hush that followed seemed thicker than before—filled with old hurts and memories that wouldn’t leave him be. As his mind went spinning through all that had happened—Anders’ panicked shouts, Edgar’s strained breathing, that creature lurking at the edge of reason—a quiet rustle of fabric suddenly broke through and tugged him back to the present.

  “Penny,” he muttered, not needing to look up—no one else in the infirmary moved that quietly.

  She approached, careful not to rattle the tray balanced between her palms. Her steps were so soft on the flagstones he almost missed her coming. As she drew close, the lamplight skimmed over her Auburn hair and she offered him a small smile that did its best to be soothing, even if the crease of concern was still there. Without a word, Penny set the tray down within his reach.

  “Gai,” she greeted him, her voice low and soft, but steady. “You surviving in here?” There was no edge of pity, just genuine worry tucked behind the words.

  He managed something that could almost be called a smile. “Barely scraping by,” he rasped, his voice rough but honest.

  Penny nodded once—businesslike, almost. She stepped closer and rested a light hand on his arm, solid and real. “You did what you could,” she said, steady as ever, meeting his eyes so he couldn’t look away. “Not many people would have stood their ground the way you did.” She paused for a second before adding, “And don’t forget—you kept Anders and Edgar in one piece. Or mostly.”

  Her voice wobbled for half a heartbeat before she pulled herself together, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as if that alone might keep him from sinking under the weight of it all.

  Gai looked away, jaw clenched tight. Guilt flickered across his face as he stared somewhere past her shoulder. “Should’ve done more,” he muttered under his breath.

  Penny tilted her head, her brows drawing together with that peculiar mix of empathy and stubbornness she wore so well. “Listen, you did everything a sane person could’ve—and a few things most wouldn’t have tried. Anybody else would’ve been running for the hills instead of standing their ground against… whatever you want to call that mess.” Her hand lingered on his arm, grounding him for a second before she turned to the tray and started unwrapping clean bandages. “Right now, your job’s simple: let me patch you up and try not to undo my hard work. Anders and Edgar still need you around, even if they’d never admit it.”

  Gai watched her in silence, taking in the practiced way she moved—never flinching, never rushing, just methodical and calm. She’d mended more of his wounds than he could count; if anyone knew how bad things could get and kept going anyway, it was Penny.

  He drew in a steady breath and managed to look her in the eye. “I’m not letting them down,” he said—firmer this time, something solid cutting through his exhaustion.

  That earned him a brief, real smile from Penny. “Good. Knew I could count on you being too stubborn to quit.” She dabbed salve on his neck and set the new bandage with the kind of gentle care you’d use on cracked glass. The sharp scent of herbs hung between them—a necessary sting, but familiar enough now that it almost felt like safety.

  She worked without fuss or wasted movement; every action was thoughtful, every knot tied with just enough pressure—not too much, not too little. She knew when pain was unavoidable and never pretended otherwise.

  “You’ll be back on your feet soon,” she said, her tone light but her eyes leaving no room for argument. “I’d tell you to take it slow, but we both know you’re going to ignore me anyway.”

  “Thanks,” he said quietly, managing a small nod. There was nothing fancy in it, just honesty.

  “Anytime,” Penny replied, giving his arm an extra squeeze before slipping away toward another bed at the far side of the room. He watched her go, feeling the place settle just a bit less heavily around him.

  He eased himself back onto the cot, the ache in his body finally overruling stubbornness. Sleep crept up on him, but his mind kept circling those moments he couldn’t shake: Maric’s gruff worry; Penny’s quiet competence; Anders gasping for breath; Edgar swearing at whatever shadows came too close; and, always, her—watching, her yellow eyes fixed on him from somewhere he couldn’t see.

  But he let his eyes close anyway.