The morning was quiet.

  Not peaceful—just the kind of quiet that came after something broke.

  The fire was long out. The sky was grey with soft clouds, the kind that threatened rain but never followed through.

  Astrid walked in silence, boots pressing soft into damp earth.

  Kurai was just ahead. Not too far. Not close either.

  They hadn’t spoken much since camp. Astrid wasn’t even sure what she’d say if they did.

  He hadn’t run. He hadn’t pulled away. But he hadn’t really looked at her either.

  Still—he was walking beside her. That had to count for something.

  Her fingers brushed the brand on her arm. Still tender. Still a reminder.

  She glanced at him.

  He’s trying. That’s more than before. Maybe it’s a start.

  The silence between them wasn’t cold anymore. Just... waiting.

  Like the forest itself was holding its breath.

  And then the forest changed.

  Not with a crack or shift — but subtly. The ground softened underfoot. Moss swallowed stone. The light shimmered through leaves that no longer seemed to belong to a season at all.

  Astrid slowed.

  Kurai had already stopped.

  "We’re not alone," he said.

  No birds. No wind. Just that feeling in her spine — like something clever and ancient had just smiled at her from the dark.

  Why is everything here always so damn creepy.

  They moved forward cautiously until they reached a hollow.

  A figure waited there.

  The Pact-Maker didn’t have a real shape. Its outline flickered — tall, twisted, beautiful, impossible. Its eyes were always too sharp. Its voice never matched its face.

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  "Ah. The bridge and the blaze. I’ve been expecting you."

  Astrid instinctively stepped in front of Kurai.

  "What do you want?"

  "I mean you no harm, little bridge. I offer answers. But not for free."

  Astrid huffed. "Yeah, no thanks. We’re good. Now run along, go annoy someone else."

  I don’t think this thing is from the council, it feels older.

  Its face twisted, cycling through shapes — then paused, briefly, as Kurai.

  "You said you wanted truth," it said. "I can give it to you."

  It turned toward Kurai.

  "I can help you cross the bridge you’re afraid to burn."

  Kurai stiffened.

  "What kind of price?"

  Kurai—what the hell?

  Astrid shot him a glare, but he didn’t look back.

  "Something personal. Something with roots."

  Its gaze landed on her first.

  "Perhaps a memory? Of the one you swore to protect? That would buy you much."

  Astrid didn’t move.

  Her jaw locked.

  "Pick a different bridge. This one’s closed."

  Not Charlie. Not a chance in hell.

  She glared at the Pact-Maker, and it recoiled — just slightly.

  "Protective. Loyal. Tired of guessing. You’ve walked beside him, haven’t you? Seen how he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking?"

  Astrid’s stomach twisted.

  "Such a precious thing, that kind of looking. He doesn’t know what to do with it. He thinks silence will keep you safe. But he’s wrong. Isn’t he?"

  She narrowed her eyes. "Don’t pretend to know him."

  "I don’t need to pretend. He would tear himself in half to give you peace."

  Its voice curled like smoke.

  "But you don’t want peace. You want truth. And so does he."

  It turned to Kurai. "I could help him speak, answer questions with no answers. If one of you is willing to pay."

  Astrid said nothing.

  "A bridge with a strong foundation," it mused. "Well then, what of the fire that burns too brightly?"

  The Pact-Maker leaned toward Kurai.

  "You burn to know why the world whispers your name without knowing your face. To give her the answers she seeks. Don’t you?"

  Kurai looked at Astrid. Then back.

  "What do you want?"

  "Kurai—" Astrid tried to step in, but the Pact-Maker's hand was suddenly over her mouth.

  Its hand was ice-cold.

  Her rage burned hotter.

  Kurai don’t you dare.

  The Pact-Maker tilted its head, voice softening into something almost reverent.

  "No simple trade for you, blaze-born. You guard one memory more fiercely than flame. A moment you return to — even when you swear you're numb. Quiet. Ordinary. But precious."

  Kurai's breath caught.

  The Pact-Maker smiled, fanged and slow.

  "You were laughing. Not alone. The world was heavy, but something in that moment made you forget. Just for a breath. Just for her."

  Astrid blinked.

  Her brows knit — confused.

  Concerned.

  But not understanding.

  Not fully.

  Kurai didn’t move.

  Didn’t deny it.

  Didn’t meet her eyes.

  What memory is that? she almost asked. But the answer felt... too close. Too dangerous.

  The Pact-Maker leaned in, eyes gleaming like molten gold.

  "Give me that. And I will give you truth."

  Astrid shoved the creature off her with a growl and stepped between them.

  "Don’t."

  What is he doing? What the hell kind of memory is that?

  Kurai didn’t meet her eyes.

  "You want answers," he said. "Let me do this."

  "No," Astrid snapped. "You don’t get to decide what I need."

  "You deserve to know."

  "You were going to give something important. I don’t know what it was, but… that look on your face—why would you throw that away?"

  Let Kurai look at her, conflicted — as if he wants to speak but can’t.

  She could barely breathe.

  "You think this is what I want? That this will fix everything?"

  He finally looked at her — quiet. Raw.

  "I don’t know what else to give."

  That undid her.

  Her voice cracked.

  "Damn it, Kurai. I don’t want memories or sacrifice or riddles. I just want *you*. I want you to stop hiding behind silence and just tell me the truth."

  She saw it then — the weight of the memory in his eyes.

  The fear of letting it go.

  The Pact-Maker was silent now, watching with delight.

  Then it leaned in —

  soft as breath, sharp as a blade:

  "She will not leave. Even if you ask her to. Even when you show her the worst parts. Even when the fire rises and you lose yourself. Even when your blood burns and your name breaks open the sky — she will not leave. She will burn beside you."

  And then — it vanished.

  No payment taken.

  No truth given.

  Just silence.

  And the echo of something neither of them could take back.

  Kurai stood very still.

  Astrid reached out, placing a hand over his clenched fist.

  "Next time," she said, voice low but firm, "talk to me before offering the creepy forest goblin anything."

  A pause.

  "Because I’m not losing you to some riddle-wrapped asshole. And you’re not getting out of this that easily."

  Kurai didn’t speak.

  But he didn’t pull away either.

  She didn’t know what scared her more — that it spoke like a seer, or that it might be right.