The road out of Hawthorne twisted like an old scar across the hills, rutted with wagon tracks and edged by brittle winter grass. The morning was cold, the kind of damp chill that soaked into armor and bone.
Devin stood at the border checkpoint, a squat stone outpost just before the fork that led east to the neighboring town of Aldcroft.
A thick fog hung low, turning the border markers—black-iron spears stuck in the dirt—into looming ghosts.
Devin barely noticed.
He stood perfectly straight, silver-edged Knight cloak pinned neatly over his left shoulder. His hair was tied back for once, no wind to tug it loose. His eyes roved the border, alert, even if they were half-lidded in apparent calm.
He hated this assignment.
Standing in for Russell.
He could hear his brother's voice in his head, cold and precise:
"Don't improvise. Don't argue with the patrol captains. Just be there."
He was Russell's insurance policy.
Russell had sent him here to prove the Knights weren't ignoring the border, that they took the plague threat seriously.
Because the rumors had spread
The Moonglows were infected.
Healers were failing.
Desperate families were trying to flee Hawthorne entirely.
The neighboring towns wanted Hawthorne sealed off.
Devin had blindly put his trust in Mira, so he was anticipating her next move now that ash breath has struck.
Devin could see their patrols across the line—a gaggle of worried Aldcroft militia in green cloaks, leaning on spears and crossbows, peering through the fog at the real soldiers in Hawthorne's colors.
A captain in the Knights' livery approached Devin from the outpost.
"My lord. The refugees at the east fork were turned away. No breach."
"Good."
"But there's word of smugglers trying to move infected for coin."
Devin's jaw flexed.
"We deal with them when we catch them. Burn the carts. No trial."
The captain hesitated only a moment, then saluted.
"Yes, my lord."
Elias leaned against the checkpoint wall nearby, arms folded, watching the exchange.
Unlike Devin, Elias wore no official Knight colors today—just a dark travel cloak over well-cut tunic and breeches. But his hair was tied back, twin swords at his hips.
The founding families knew who he was.
So did everyone else.
Devin turned toward him, voice low.
"You're quiet."
"Watching."
"Judging me?"
Elias smirked, lifting one eyebrow.
"Always."
Devin snorted once, a ghost of amusement breaking through.
Then it was gone.
He surveyed the line of wagons waiting to be checked. Even from here, he could see the fear in the drivers' faces. A mother clutching her coughing child. A merchant sweating so hard it soaked his collar.
Ash Breath.
And they all looked at the Knights like they might either save them or kill them.
Elias finally sighed and pushed off the wall.
"You hate this."
"I'm standing here like a statue while people are dying. While my brother—"
He cut himself off.
Elias didn't push.
"You're not wrong."
They watched in silence as another cart was inspected and sent away.
Devin's fingers drummed once on his belt.
"Russell's playing politics."
"It's what he does."
"He's not here."
"And you are."
Elias' eyes sharpened.
"Tell me you're not tempted to just cross the line and go help them yourself."
Devin didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
For a moment, the wind gusted and Devin's cloak snapped like a banner.
The Knights guarding the checkpoint straightened a little more at the sight.
Devin didn't even notice them. His eyes were fixed on the fog beyond the line, on the worried Aldcroft militia. On the future.
He whispered so only Elias could hear:
"This town is falling apart."
"It's not just this town," Elias replied quietly.
Devin's jaw worked.
"I can feel her."
Elias' gaze softened.
"Elora."
Devin looked away.
"She's scared. Trying to hide it. I can't—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "Focus. I have to focus."
Elias clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"That's what I'm here for. To make sure you do."
Devin didn't shrug it off.
But he didn't thank him either.
The fog rolled in thicker.
Somewhere in it, a scream echoed faintly—a warning from the next patrol line.
Devin's head snapped up.
"Go."
He and Elias moved at once, boots striking stone and dirt in unison, the other Knights following in their wake.
No hesitation.
___________
Elora didn't realize she had fallen asleep at first.
She only knew the fire had burned low, the shadows shifting like animals on the walls.
And then she wasn't in Mira's old, cramped sitting room anymore.
She was home.
***********
Warm light poured through large windows. Curtains rippled in a gentle breeze. The smell of herbs and baked bread filled the air.
She was small again—seven, maybe eight. Her feet were bare on the polished floor.
"Elora!"
Her mother's voice floated from the kitchen. Musical, bright.
Elora ran to her, skidding a little on the rug.
Her mother turned, wiping her hands on her apron. She was beautiful in a calm, lived-in way—emerald eyes, curls piled loosely atop her head. Her laugh lines deepened when she smiled.
"Slow down before you kill yourself on my clean floors."
Elora squeaked and slowed, giggling.
Her father appeared in the doorway behind them, tall and broad-shouldered in a simple white shirt rolled to the elbows. His hair was dark, eyes shining with warm amusement.
"Did she fall yet?" he asked.
"Not this time," her mother teased.
"There's hope for her then."
He crossed to them and lifted Elora easily into his arms. She squealed in delighted protest.
"Daddy! Put me down!"
"Never."
He kissed her temple.
Her mother leaned in and pressed a kiss to Elora's cheek too, then one to her father's lips.
The three of them stood in the sunny kitchen, wrapped in the scent of baking bread, laughing.
The memory blurred at the edges, like watercolors left in the rain.
Later.
Elora lay in bed, covers pulled up to her chin. The window was cracked open to let in the sound of crickets.
Her father sat at the edge of the bed, smoothing her curls back.
"What's wrong, firefly?"
Elora sniffled.
"I had a bad dream."
He smiled gently.
"About what?"
"I was lost. And you weren't there."
He shook his head.
"Impossible."
"But I couldn't find you."
He cupped her cheek, warm and callused.
"Listen to me, Elora. Even if you can't see me, even if you think I'm gone—I'm always here."
He tapped her chest, over her heart.
"Always."
She sniffled again, tears drying.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"Sleep. We'll be here in the morning."
But there was no morning.
Later the next day
Her mother crying at the table. Her father with his head in his hands.
Whispers about leaving. About danger.
About Hawthorne.
She remembered watching them fight, not understanding the words but understanding everything.
She had pressed her small palms to her ears to drown out the sound.
The house empty.
Her mother carrying her, whispering frantic prayers.
"We have to go. We have to go."
Elora clinging to her neck, half-asleep.
Her father ahead of them on the road, turning back constantly, eyes haunted.
The wind howling through black trees.
Elora twitched in her sleep, whimpering.
*************
She woke with a small, choked cry.
The fire was almost dead.
The old chair creaked as she sat up too quickly. Her chest hurt.
She pressed a hand over her heart as if she could hold it in place.
Daddy. Mama.
I'm here now.
But you're not.
She sucked in ragged breaths, fighting the tremor in her lips.
Tears welled and fell before she could stop them, sliding hot over her chilled skin.
She wiped them away harshly.
"Stop. Stop."
But she couldn't.
She leaned forward, clutching her knees to her chest, shaking.
She felt so young suddenly. So small.
And so alone.
Mira was asleep in the other room.
Jessi was fighting for her life in the back bedroom, breathing in painful rasps.
Devin was…
She swallowed.
She didn't even know where Devin was.
Maybe he didn't know she was crying.
But she felt him, in the back of her mind—distant, guarded. Angry. Sad.
She choked back another sob.
"You're such a baby," she whispered to herself bitterly.
"They're gone. They've been gone. Grow up."
But it didn't help.
Her parents' faces flickered behind her eyes. Her father's promise, tapping her heart.
Always here.
A lie.
She pressed her face into her arms and let the next sob tear free.
When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were red and swollen.
She sat back in the chair, breathing hard, drying her tears on her sleeve.
Outside, the wind keened against the shutter.
She shivered.
Her voice cracked in the silent room.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"I don't know how to help anyone."
"I don't want to lose anyone else."
She pressed a hand to her chest again, feeling her heart slam painfully.
I won't.
Not if I can stop it.
She exhaled, long and shaky, letting her shoulders settle.
Her tears dried.
Her back straightened.
She was still trembling inside.
But her eyes were hard.
"I'll save them," she whispered.