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An unexpected pang shot through me—not jealousy, exactly, but something close to it. Not because he was talking to others, but because he wasn't here, with me, on this night of all nights.

The conversation flowed around me, Daric and Fira falling into some good-natured argument about proper sword technique. I nodded and smiled at appropriate moments, but my attention remained split—half here, half across the room where Uldrek now stood with Thok, deep in conversation.

"...don't you think?" Daric's voice broke through my distraction.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, turning back to him.

His smile didn't falter. "I asked if you'd be keeping your position at the Archives now that everything's settled."

"Oh." The question caught me off guard. I hadn't thought much beyond today. "Yes, I suppose so. It's good work, and Edwin has been very supportive."

"Good," Daric said, his tone warm. "Everwood's better with you in it."

The compliment was simple, sincere. I smiled my thanks, feeling a strange dissonance. Here was someone offering uncomplicated appreciation while the one person whose opinion mattered most to me seemed suddenly distant.

The night continued; more drinks were poured, and someone brought out platters of hand pies and sliced apples.

The initial focus on me gradually faded as other conversations took precedence—gossip about a merchant's scandal, speculation about winter preparations, the usual ebb and flow of a community winding down after a long day.

I found myself relaxing despite the nagging worry. These people—some friends, some merely friendly—had gathered to support me. To celebrate a victory they saw as clean and complete. I didn't have the heart to tell them that, in my experience, endings were rarely so tidy.

"You look like you need rescuing."

The voice at my ear startled me. I turned to find Uldrek standing behind me, his presence suddenly filling the space I'd been so acutely aware of him not occupying.

"Do I?" I asked, unable to keep a note of relief from my voice.

His smile was crooked, almost apologetic. "You've got that pinched look between your eyebrows."

I laughed softly. "That obvious?"

"Only to me." He settled onto the bench beside me, his thigh pressing against mine.

"Where've you been?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Uldrek's expression shifted, something I couldn't quite read passing over his features. "Around. Thok wanted to talk about some guard rotations. And the crew from the eastern post had questions about..." He trailed off, shrugging. "Just catching up."

It was a reasonable answer. Normal. And yet, it felt like there was more he wasn't saying.

"Everything all right?" I asked carefully.

His smile returned, quick and reassuring. "Course it is. We won, didn't we?"

Before I could probe further, Fira leaned across the table. "Are you two done making eyes at each other? Because some of us are trying to drink in peace."

Uldrek laughed. "Jealous, Fira? I'm sure there's someone here desperate enough to make eyes at you, too."

She snorted. "I'd sooner kiss a troll."

"Don't sell yourself short," Uldrek shot back. "I'm sure even trolls have standards."

Their banter continued, familiar and easy. I should have been comforted by it—this was normal, this was us, our little circle intact despite the day's upheaval. Instead, I found myself watching Uldrek too closely, cataloging every gesture, every laugh, every flicker in his eyes.

Something was different. The bond between us had shifted. Not broken, but… muted.

As the night wore on, the crowd began to thin.

Gruha left first, stating flatly that she needed her sleep and didn't care if the rest of us stayed until dawn.

Fira followed not long after, citing early duty at the Archives.

One by one, the tables emptied until only a handful of diehard revelers remained.

"Should we head home?" I asked Uldrek, stifling a yawn.

He nodded, draining the last of his ale.

We said our goodbyes, accepting final congratulations and well-wishes. Outside, the night air was crisp and clean after the smoky warmth of the tavern. Stars dusted the sky, and a half-moon cast gentle light over the quiet streets.

We walked in silence for a while, our footsteps the only sound.

Our hands brushed once, twice—but didn't link.

The space between us felt both small and vast. I wanted to reach for him, to thread my fingers through his as I'd done a hundred times before.

But something held me back—a strange new hesitation I didn't understand.

"It went well tonight," Uldrek said finally, his voice breaking the quiet. "People really rallied around you."

"Around us," I corrected gently.

He glanced at me, that quick smile appearing again. "You're the hero of the hour. I just stood beside you, looking intimidating."

"You did more than that." I stopped walking, turning to face him. "You've done more than that from the beginning."

In the moonlight, his features were shadowed, but I could see the slight furrow of his brow. "Issy—"

"What's wrong?" I asked directly. "And don't tell me nothing. Something's changed."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's been a long day. I'm just tired."

"It's more than that." I reached for his hand, relieved when he didn't pull away. "The bond feels different. Quieter."

His expression shifted, a flash of something—relief? concern?—crossing his face. "You feel it, too?"

I nodded. "Since we left the Council chamber."

Uldrek's fingers tightened around mine briefly before releasing them. "It's probably nothing. The bond's done its job. Protected you. Now that the threat's gone..."

He didn't finish the thought, but I understood the implication. Now that we no longer needed the protection, perhaps the bond itself was fading.

The idea sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the night air. "Do you think it's… ending?"

Uldrek shook his head, but the gesture lacked conviction. "I don't know.”

We resumed walking, the cottage now visible ahead. A single lantern burned in the window—Hobbie's work, no doubt. The sight of it eased something in my chest. Whatever was happening between Uldrek and me, that light represented home. Safety. The life we'd begun to build.

"I think I need to sober up," Uldrek said as we reached the front path. His voice was lighter now, almost deliberately so. "Might splash some cold water on my face."

I studied him carefully in the moonlight, noting how his hand drifted again—absently, unconsciously—to his chest. His fingers touched his shirt just above the claiming mark, rubbing lightly at the fabric as if the quiet there itched.

“Cold water?” I repeated, managing a small smile. “Brave of you. It's not warm out.”

“Better than waking up with a head full of sawdust and regrets,” he said, already pulling at the laces of his tunic as he turned away from the path to the front door and started toward the back of the cottage where the washbasin sat, tucked beneath the lean-to.

I stood at the base of the porch, one hand on the rail. Ellie dreamed in peace, somewhere beyond the cracked shutters and warded walls. I should have felt whole. Safe. Triumphant.

Instead, I stood frozen, listening to Uldrek's footsteps crunching lightly through the dewy grass around the back. The bond between us sat quiet beneath my skin—not severed, not gone, but strange. Distant. Dormant.

Maybe all claiming bonds did this after the danger passed. Maybe this was the body’s way of saying, You’re safe now. You don’t need to burn.

Or maybe it meant something else.

I thought about the way he'd avoided my gaze tonight. The hands that hadn’t quite reached for mine. The jokes that came just a heartbeat too fast. Every time I’d looked toward him in the crowd, he’d looked away.

He wasn’t angry; I didn’t believe that. And he hadn’t withdrawn out of cruelty. If I had to name it, I would have said… fear.

I stepped up onto the porch and placed one palm on the door.

Then stopped.

Every part of me wanted to go inside. To change into nightclothes. To check on Ellie. To stare at the ceiling until sleep claimed me.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that walking through that door meant closing something.

That if I went inside now, let tonight fold itself away like nothing had shifted between us, I would lose the chance to ask what needed asking.

To name the crack forming before it splintered into something unfixable.

So instead, I turned. Stepped off the porch. The bond didn’t pull.

But I went to him anyway.