The watch ended as it began and other than some time to think, it was an uneventful night. A young woman with a scar through one eyebrow and a blanket thrown over her shoulders steps into the place the stump man held. She takes the spear with a nod. The stump man rises with a low groan and mutters a word that might be thanks. She settles in for her watch. The camp shifting in its sleep.

  Aarav trades a short greeting with her but she isn’t a talker either. No-one else seems to be coming and it isn’t his job to stay up all night. He has done his time on watch.

  He walks back in a slow arc, careful not to disturb the quiet or draw eyes, and aims himself for the corner of the second wagon where the wheel casts its familiar shadow. The ground there seems to remember him as he lays back down.

  He accepts the comfort after standing for all that time.

  Seren lies exactly where he left her, as if someone set the scene back down after nudging it an inch. She has no watch. She is no fighter. She has already given the camp what she has for the day.

  He lowers himself beside her, careful not to disturb her sleep. He rests his head on the packed earth and folds an arm beneath his neck. The wheel at his shoulder is solid and reassuring.

  He looks across the camp one last time. He notes where the new watchers sit. He notes the space near the trees where he spots a giant shadow of a man that could only be Ivo and wonders what he is up to. Something for tomorrow.

  Then his attention returns to the woman sleeping beside him.

  His soul fire has not dimmed further. He realises he has not checked it all day. That, on its own, surprises him. It is always strange how quickly a person learns to live with change. How something that feels like the whole world at dawn can slip into the background by noon. He can still feel the pull toward her when he chooses to notice it, the connection should have broken by now. A quiet thread, drawn from the new warmth in him to the steady heat within her.

  He has not been thinking about it while they talked and worked. He has been paying attention to her presence. The way she enjoys his small jokes. Almost forgetting why he came this close to her in the first place.

  The power matters. He does not lie to himself about that. He doesn’t want to lose it, not after the long dull life when he had nothing but a flicker keeping him alive.

  That truth sits beside another.

  She is good to be around. The day moved more easily with her in it. It was enjoyable and he finds himself looking forward to another day on the road with her.

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  He lets that thought rest without asking what it means or where it might lead. The fire at the centre of the camp keeps its steady heat warming him as Aarav closes his eyes and lets sleep take him.

  The morning comes the way it always does on the road. Too early, with a small bustle that grows into a steady hum. Canvas is shaken free of dew. Pots scrape and stack. The main fire is finally being left to dim and die out. Someone laughs softly, as if laughter itself has only just woken.

  Aarav wakes with a dull pull across his shoulders that tells him he did not sleep comfortably. He rolls onto an elbow and blinks until the world settles into the right shapes.

  Seren is already awake.

  She offers him a simple good morning. He answers in kind and gets to his feet, folding his cloak without remark. There is comfort in not having to speak more than necessary.

  The camp moves into its tasks. Blankets are rolled tight and tied. Straps are checked and checked again. On the third wagon, the brake shoe gets the new strip of leather Marden mentioned the night before. A simple and quick repair.Animals stamp and snort, lean into harness as if the road is already calling to them.

  Breakfast is simple fare. Flat bread cooked overnight, still holding a little warmth. Leftover stew thinned with water and salted just enough to make it edible. It is simple, hot and gets us ready for another day.

  No one lingers. Food on the road is not a feast. It’s fuel.

  When the wagons are ready, Marden walks the line with his ledger tucked under one arm and Ivo trailing behind him. He shuts the book with his fingers still inside it to keep his place and comes straight to them. His smile wears the shape of hospitality, but something about it sets Aarav on edge.

  “Seren,” Marden says, pitching his voice to land halfway between friendly and official. “Ride with me on the first wagon today. It is a much more comfortable ride and you deserve it after all your help yesterday.”

  She inclines her head. “Thank you. I would prefer to stay here. I have grown used to it.”

  Marden’s smile does not move. “Come now. A pretty girl like you, clearly well read. The lead wagon was built for people, not storage. I insist.”

  Aarav steps closer. Not quite between them but he chooses the angle where his presence is clearly being put up as a barrier. He says nothing, letting Marden make the next move.

  Behind Marden, Ivo shifts his weight putting his own presence into the mix. Nothing that could be called a threat. Just a reminder of how much bigger he is than Aarav and what could mean if things turn sour.

  Seren answers in the same measured tone. “Thank you for the kind offer. I could not leave Aarav alone and without company.”

  Marden pauses for a long moment. A calculating look in his eyes. The smile stays in place, then tightens by a finger’s breadth into something else entirely. He laughs, light and brief, and flicks a hand as if brushing away dust.

  “As you wish,” he says. “You are a guest, not a soldier. You have earned your corner of the wagon. If you change your mind, let me know.”

  He turns away with that same air of casual authority and moves on to correct a driver whose strap sits poorly. Ivo stares at Aarav for a moment longer before moving on. He takes one slow step back, then another. Before turning around and letting his long strides catch up with Marden.