Page 26

The gathering began to disperse after that. Fira left first, claiming early archive duties, though she accepted Gruha's offer to wrap a few pies for breakfast with surprising grace. Dora and Leilan helped clear the table, still trading bits of gossip as they stacked dishes by the washing basin.

I found myself lingering, reluctant to leave the warm circle of lamplight and companionship. Uldrek seemed to feel the same, nursing the last of his wine as the common room gradually emptied.

"I should help with the cleanup," I said, half-rising.

Gruha waved me back down. "Leave it. You look dead on your feet."

"I'm not—"

"Go rest," she said firmly. "Or at least sit quietly. You've earned it."

Gruha disappeared into the kitchen, followed by Dora and Leilan carrying the last of the dishes. Their voices faded behind the half-closed door, leaving Uldrek and me alone in the sudden quiet of the common room.

The fire burned low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the scarred wooden floor. Outside, the rain had softened to a gentle patter, just enough to create a soothing rhythm against the shutters. Uldrek stood and stretched, his tall frame silhouetted against the warm glow of the embers.

"Tea?" he asked, gesturing toward the warm pot at the hearth's edge.

I nodded, suddenly aware of how tired I actually was. The day had been long—from work at the Archives, to training, to the unexpected confrontation with Daric, to the even more unexpected kiss that followed. My body ached in ways both familiar and new.

Uldrek poured two mugs of tea and brought them to the small table tucked into the corner—away from the main dining area, closer to the hearth's warmth. I followed, settling into the chair across from him. The table between us was narrow enough that our knees almost touched beneath it.

"Good day?" he asked, pushing one of the mugs toward me.

I wrapped my fingers around the warm ceramic, letting it chase away the chill that had crept into my hands. "Strange day," I corrected. "But not bad."

He smiled, the expression softening the sharp angles of his face. "You took down a guardsman and kissed an orc. I'd say that qualifies as good."

Heat rose to my cheeks. "I didn't exactly plan either of those things."

"That's what made them interesting," he said, his voice dropping lower. "You surprised yourself. And me."

I took a sip of tea to buy myself time, to steady the sudden flutter in my chest.

"We should talk," he said finally, his eyes serious. "About what happens next."

A flicker of apprehension ghosted through me. "What do you mean?"

He gestured vaguely around us. "This place. Tinderpost House. It's temporary, yeah? For people who need somewhere safe while they figure things out."

I nodded slowly. "Yes. The sanctuary program has limits."

"How long do they let people stay?"

"It depends," I said, thinking back to the papers I'd signed when I arrived. "Generally thirty days. Though Gruha mentioned extensions are possible."

Uldrek nodded, his fingers tapping lightly against the side of his mug. "You've been here what… almost thirty days now?"

"Twenty-eight," I said automatically. I'd been counting, marking off each day of safety like a tally etched into my bones.

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his tea. "You'll need somewhere new. Once this place runs out the clock."

There was something in his voice—a careful neutrality that didn't quite mask the tension beneath. I felt myself growing still, watchful.

"I know," I said cautiously.

The silence stretched between us, filled with the soft creaking of the house settling around us and the distant murmur of voices from the kitchen. Uldrek shifted, his knee bumping mine under the table.

"I've been thinking," he said finally, not quite meeting my eyes. "Maybe we could find something. Together."

The words hung in the air, deceptively simple. But I understood their weight, the future they held tangled within them.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "You don't have a place," I said softly. It wasn't a question—I knew he'd been staying at the barracks when he wasn't with the caravan.

He looked up then, his gaze steady and clear. "No. Not yet. But I'd find one. If you wanted."

The earnestness in his expression made my chest ache. This wasn't Gavriel's polished certainty, his practiced charm that had always felt like a finished tapestry—beautiful, complete, with no room for my thread.

This was Uldrek offering a beginning. Raw materials. A question mark where a period might have been.

I didn't answer right away. Instead, I let myself feel the weight of the choice before me.

Not just practical considerations—though there were many—but the deeper truth of what he was asking.

Did I want to build something with him? Something real, beyond the claiming mark, beyond the necessity that had brought us together?

Outside, the rain tapped gently against the roof, steady and patient.

I reached for my mug again and held it between both hands, the warmth grounding me. For years, the only future I let myself imagine was one I built alone—no doors left open, no hands reaching for mine. I didn’t trust anyone to stay. And I hadn’t trusted myself not to make the wrong choice again.

But here was Uldrek, not asking me to leap, not demanding promises. Just offering space. The invitation to choose something together.

I lifted my gaze and met his.

“We’d need a large door,” I said quietly. “Thick walls. I don’t like drafts.”

His face broke open into that rare, crooked grin that undid me every time. “I was thinking good windows,” he said. “For the view.”

The smile tugged at my mouth before I meant to give it. “You think we’ll have time to look out windows?”

“I hope so,” he said, a little softer now. “Would be nice. Someday.”

Someday .

That used to be a word I avoided. It sounded too much like hope—not sharp or urgent, but slow and dangerous, like rising floodwater. Now, sitting across from this man at a scarred table warmed by candlelight and cooling tea, the word didn’t scare me the same way.

“Okay,” I said, barely above a whisper. “We can look.”

He blinked, uncertain for just a second, like he hadn’t expected me to say yes. But then he leaned back in his chair, that wolf’s fang at his throat catching the firelight. His eyes found mine, and something settled in them—less surprise than relief.

A promise that he meant it. That he’d follow through.

A floorboard creaked above us—probably Hobbie moving Ellie in her sleep. I reached forward, gently clinking my mug against his. The soft ceramic tap felt oddly like a vow.

“To doors. And windows.”

Uldrek huffed a laugh. “And locks,” he added. “Strong ones.”

“And pie,” I said seriously. “If we live together, someone needs to learn Fira’s recipe.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “You volunteering?”

I grimaced. “Absolutely not. Have you seen what I do to kitchens?”

He chuckled low in his throat, and for a few heartbeats, all I could feel was that sound warming the corners of something long-frozen inside me. That laugh—rough and real—wrapped around something I didn’t know I needed: comfort with no attached conditions.

For a long while, we simply sat there. Just breathing in quiet air, drinking tea gone lukewarm, and listening to the slow hush of the rain sliding down the shutters.

That was the thing I hadn't expected when I first came to Everwood—peace that smelled like woodsmoke and honey pie, not spells and wards.

Peace that sounded like shoulder-shaking laughter and a mug clinking gently on scarred wood.

“I don’t know how to build anything real anymore,” I said into the hush. “Not really.”

Uldrek reached across the table, not for my hand, but to nudge my mug toward me again. Just that—a gentle insistence not to stop.

“You don’t have to know everything,” he said. “You just have to start.”

I nodded, the weight of that truth anchoring me back into myself.

In another room, a log shifted in the hearth, and upstairs, a soft creak marked Hobbie returning to the chair beside Ellie’s bed. I imagined her there—watchful, half asleep, small as a teacup and as fierce as a blade.

And I imagined tomorrow. Not a dream, not a trap. Just more of this. Warmth, steadiness. Maybe even windows with a view.