Grandpa didn’t say a word.

  Not when he poured the tea.

  Not when he set the extra cup on the table.

  Three.

  As if it were obvious.

  As if there had always been a third person sitting there from the very beginning.

  I didn’t ask either.

  I added firewood, checked the edge of the fields, hauled up water from the well.

  Just another morning. Nothing out of the ordinary—

  Except for one thing.

  When I came back in, the guest room door was half open.

  Inside—

  empty.

  I found her out back, by the wash area.

  She was on her feet.

  The nightgown was folded neatly on top of a basket,

  and she was wearing the clothes we’d lent her the evening before.

  Still a little big on her, but now clean.

  Her fingers were resting on the edge of a bandage,

  tracing along it slowly,

  like she was checking whether what she felt when she woke up had been real.

  I stopped a few steps away.

  「About yesterday… I didn’t really mean what I said.」

  I hadn’t planned to say it.

  It just came out.

  No answer at first.

  Then, after a moment, a quiet voice:

  「I was not exactly… polite either.」

  That was enough.

  「The healing magic worked.

  And Halden’s ointments too.」

  No need to raise my voice.

  She didn’t flinch.

  Just stilled her hand and let her arm drop, graceful and controlled.

  Then she nodded.

  「It doesn’t hurt.」

  「Good.

  Then you can work.」

  That finally made her turn around.

  Slowly. Still wary, but not backing away.

  「…Excuse me?」

  「If it doesn’t hurt, you can move.

  If you can move, you can help.

  That’s how it works here.」

  「‘That’s how’…?」

  「Yeah. That’s called living.」

  She stayed quiet.

  But she didn’t run.

  A little later, she already had a small shovel in her hand, walking a few steps behind me.

  We headed to the edge of the fields.

  The sky felt high, the wind carrying soil and tree-sap on its back.

  Tota was watching us from the porch beam.

  He was licking one paw… right up until he noticed her.

  He dropped down with a hollow thud at her side and squealed like he’d just spotted an invader.

  She looked at him.

  He looked at her.

  I braced for a scream.

  It never came.

  She simply watched him in silence, then, with a strangely careful motion, bent down and… offered her hand.

  「Paw?」

  The little creature sniffed, hesitated, then scrambled up onto her shoulder with ridiculous confidence.

  The princess—

  didn’t flinch.

  She didn’t look comfortable.

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  But she didn’t look uncomfortable either.

  Just… determined not to react.

  I watched her through that first stretch of work.

  She didn’t know how to shift her weight.

  Didn’t know how deep to dig.

  Didn’t ask.

  She just watched, compared, and adjusted.

  By the time we started on the fourth row, I didn’t have to tell her anything.

  Grandpa came out later with a bucket of water and some bread.

  He didn’t comment.

  Just looked at her for a fraction of a second longer than usual, then went back to the chicken coop.

  We kept working in silence.

  But for some reason, our breathing lined up.

  We didn’t talk.

  We didn’t need to.

  And in that strangely confusing way that makes no sense when you think about it,

  everything… fit.

  Like, just for a moment,

  I wasn’t missing anything.

  I didn’t need to know who she was.

  Not that morning.

  All I needed to know was that she was someone who could move without being told.

  And that was enough.

  After the field, it was time to head to the market.

  The outer-ring market isn’t big.

  Three streets and a single square, the same voices shouting the same prices every day.

  Same carts.

  Same baskets.

  Same people, a little more expensive than last week.

  But this time… there was someone new.

  She was coming with us.

  Grandpa had been firmly against it.

  He didn’t want her going into town.

  Said it was too dangerous.

  Said she’d had enough already, and the last thing she needed was to be thrown into a crowd.

  But she insisted.

  No shouting, no bargaining.

  Just quiet, steady pressure until he gave in.

  The strange part wasn’t that she wanted to go.

  It was that he let her.

  When Grandpa said no, it was no.

  No exceptions.

  And yet, there we were.

  I don’t know how she convinced him.

  Honestly, I’m not sure I want to know.

  We took the usual road toward the market.

  Grandpa walked a little ahead, and Nael was already haggling with the baker.

  We found him fast. You could hear him from half a street away.

  「How much for the biggest loaf? And if I take two?」 he asked in a fake-low voice, grin written all over his face.

  Nael looked up when he noticed us and yelled, as usual:

  「Oh, hey, Ren! Mystery girl’s walking already, huh? With how beat up she was yesterday—figures, Mom’s that good!」

  The next moment, an onion flew out of Grandpa’s hand and smacked Nael right on the head.

  「Shut up and focus on the price.」

  Quiet voice.

  The kind you do not argue with.

  Nael rubbed his head and gave a sheepish laugh.

  We moved on.

  She walked a little behind us, placing her feet carefully.

  She was wearing clothes borrowed from Nael’s mother.

  Still a bit too big, but not sloppy on her.

  What caught my eye more than that… was her gaze.

  She was looking around with care.

  Like she was trying to memorize everything.

  At the fruit stand, she crouched down to look at some blueberries.

  Just as her hand started to reach out, the shopkeeper noticed us.

  …She didn’t say anything.

  Pretended to adjust the shelves instead and looked away.

  Not exactly unnatural.

  But not natural, either.

  The air in the street started to change.

  At the next stall, the conversations grew shorter.

  Greetings sped up, words turning clipped.

  Not my imagination.

  A man I knew was there too.

  The kind I’d usually trade jokes with.

  Today—

  he just dipped his head, barely.

  They weren’t afraid of her.

  They were just carefully keeping their distance.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Neither did she.

  On the way back, Nael went on and on about a recipe he’d dreamed up.

  She walked between us the whole time.

  Not too close, not too far.

  At some point I noticed something odd:

  Her steps matched mine.

  Naturally.

  No stumbling, no missteps.

  Like walking in sync had always been a given.

  Even so, every now and then, I caught her glancing back over her shoulder.

  It wasn’t panic.

  It wasn’t that kind of fear.

  It was the look of someone checking.

  Trying to confirm whether something had happened—or was about to.

  As we turned the last corner, I saw her tighten her grip on the basket’s handle.

  Not like she was trying to protect herself.

  More like someone bracing for a hit they’re half-expecting.

  Like she was thinking,

  「I might have messed up.」

  And the worst part was—

  She wasn’t wrong.