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He moves toward the shelves and runs his finger along the line of books. The gesture is familiar. I saw him do the same in the tower.

“But you weren’t dead. You were in that tower.”

“Yes.” His tone flattens again. “And no one came. Because they never knew I was there to find.”

“But now you’re back. What does that mean?”

He turns to face me, and the shadows in the room seem to deepen.

“It means the Authority has made a critical mistake.” His voice drops, becoming velvet-wrapped steel. “They believe their greatest threat has been neutered, trapped forever in a prison of their making.” The smile that lifts his lips sends a shiver up my spine. It’s predatory, belonging to someone who’s waited decades for vengeance. “And now, they will understand what it means to fear the dark again.”

My breath catches. I think, for the first time, I’m beginning to understand what I set free.

I haven’t just released a prisoner of war, I’ve unleashed something the Authority has good reason to fear.

“Where do I fit into all of this?” I voice the question that’s been growing since we arrived in Ravencross. “I helped you escape the tower, but now what? I don’t belong here.”

He considers me for a long moment. “You still wish to return to your world.” It’s not a question.

“Of course I do!” Frustration makes me snap. “Mylifeis there. My job. My apartment.Someonemust have noticed I’m missing by now. There has to be people looking for me.” But even as I say it, I question myself. How many peoplewouldnotice? It’s Christmas. My friends will be with their families. We had no plans to meet up before New Year.

Sacha’s expression softens slightly. “Your way home and my objectives may be more aligned than you think.” He returns to the table and takes a seat across from me. “Understanding more about the Authority and how much control they have now, will help me determine a path forward for you.”

Before I can reply, footsteps sound outside and the door opens. The woman reappears, accompanied by four younger girls, each carrying two buckets of steaming water. She speaks to Sacha, who nods.

“Mira thought you might wish to bathe,” he tells me. “She also has fresh clothing for you.”

The thought of washing away days of travel grime sends a wave of longing through me so intense it’s almost painful. I stand up immediately and follow the woman,Mira, through one of the doors set into the wall. Inside, there’s a deep tub. I watch as she lights asmall brazier set nearby, then gestures to the girls. They pour their buckets into the tub, steam rising, then depart with respectful nods.

Mira sets down a pile of folded clothing on a nearby chest, then places what I think is a cake of soap, a cloth, and a small bottle beside the tub.

“Kavir neresh.” She taps the bottle, and then points at my hair.

“For your hair,” Sacha translates from the doorway. The light hits his face, but his eyes don’t catch it. They never do. Even here, surrounded by warmth and flickering flame, there’s something in his eyes the light refuses to touch.

Mira says something else to him, her tone brisk despite the clear deference in her bearing.

“She says the girls are on their way back with more hot water, and then you can bathe.” His voice remains neutral, but I catch the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Mira thinks I’ve been remiss in not ensuring your comfort sooner.”

The girls return with more buckets, their eyes darting curiously toward me before they leave. Mira follows them. Sacha stays a moment longer, his hand on the doorframe.

“There is no rush. Take your time.” He pulls the door shut, giving me privacy.

For a moment, I just stand there. The heat from the tub fogs the air. Steam curls toward the ceiling, and the silence feels thick, almost sacred. My throat tightens without warning.

It’s just hot water. Soap. Clean clothes.

But after the desert wind and mountain cold, after days of beinga stranger among strangers, this small offering hits harder than anything else.

Stripping out of the mountain clothes the woman from the caravan gave me, I wince as fabric pulls away from scrapes and blisters I hadn’t even noticed. My skin is marked with dirt, scratches, and bruises—physical evidence of the journey from the tower to Ravencross. I step into the tub, and the hot water sends shocks of both pain and pleasure through my battered body.

I sink low. Let it take the weight of my body. Let it hold me. And for several minutes, I just lie there, eyes closed and head tipped back, soaking up the heat, letting it soothe sore muscles. Then I reach for the soap, lather it up and scrub every inch of skin until it glows.

My hair is another story. The oil helps, but some knots are too tight, too stubborn, and I’m too tired to fight them.

A knock at the door announces Mira’s return with more hot water. I sink deeper into the tub, attempting to cover my body with the water, and call out for her to come in, hoping that she’ll understand my tone.

She directs the girls to pour the water into the tub, then sends them away and watches me for a beat. Reaching out, she touches my head, then makes a brushing motion with her hand. After a second’s hesitation, I nod. Keeping as much of myself submerged as I can, I shift so my hair falls over the tub’s edge. Without a word, she moves behind me, and takes over the task.