The sound of water drizzling down on the wash basin was the only thing on Evan's mind, calming his nerves with serene periodicity.
Sura stood at the wash basin, sleeves rolled, copper braid looped over one shoulder. Each plate moved through her hands with the same crisp precision she'd once reserved for field dressings: dip, scrub, rinse, tilt—silver drops tapping the drain in counter-time to the distant tick of the stove.
Evan watched from the archway, shoulder propped against the cool stone. Dawn had burned off the last of the fog outside, leaving a blade of sunlight to angle through the roof slit and frame her profile in pale gold. Water beaded on her knuckles, quick sparks that vanished as soon as they appeared. He should have been outside by now, should have led the pony into the inner shed and retraced the ward lines before the hillside woke, but his boots seemed welded to the floor.
Sura dried the final cup, stacked it, and turned. Surprise flickered across her face when she saw him still rooted there.
"You're courting trouble, Evan. Morning patrol could crest that ridge any minute." She nodded toward the tunnel. "Pony first, then wards. Remember?"
Evan didn't answer. He crossed the room in three steady strides and took her damp hand between both of his, a slight chillness transmitted to his. Her breath caught; a single droplet slid from her wrist to the floor with a soft pat.
Caught off guard by the sudden, radical action Sura, opened her mouth with a lot of questions looming in her mind. But no words left her. His intense gaze caused her to close her lips just as she had opened them.
"Sura," he said, voice low enough the stove might not hear, "if I step outside before I say this, I may never get the chance again."
Evan's warm hands had clasped hers tightly. Its embrace after the chillness of the morning water stream felt comforting and familiar.
"Let me go," Sura struggled against his grasp. But they all ended up as childish whimpers against his sincerity. "What…what kind of joke is this? I need to do a lot of work before the morning fog clears. We won't be able to burn any firewood after it…"
No matter what Sura said, it all fell on deaf ears.
Sura tried for a quip, something about schedules or dangerous patrols, but her words tangled when she looked up and found his gaze fixed on her, unguarded. At that moment she knew that whatever she said would have no effect.
"You kept me alive last night," he went on. "Not just the bandage. The fact you… stayed. After everything." He swallowed. "You're the last piece of the unit I have left. The closest friend I'm ever likely to see breathing."
Color bloomed along the line of her scar; she blinked fast, lashes dark with leftover steam.
"I don't know if the Concord twisted the truth," he continued, "or if there was really a mole amongst us stabbing on our back. But I would rather believe in you. And I had to say it straight: you mean more to me than any pardon they could dangle. And no matter what troubles we face in the future we will share it together."
Sura's heartbeat thrummed beneath his palms. She eased her fingers from his, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear—anything to give her eyes somewhere else to rest. When she spoke, the usual edge was gone, replaced by a shy heat he hadn't heard since winter mess nights long ago.
"The pony," she murmured, almost smiling. "He'll think you've forgotten him."
Evan let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening by inches. A half-laugh escaped him. "Right. Pony first."
Sura brushed a thumb across the back of his knuckles in her little revenge—just once—then stepped aside to the shelf of drying crockery. "Hurry, before I have to patch another hole in your side," she said, the softness lingering beneath the words.
He nodded, snagged his cloak, and headed for the exit. In the doorway he paused, looking back. Sura stood framed in sun-touched dust motes, hands resting on the rim of the basin, a faint blush still coloring her cheeks. She met his eyes for a heartbeat, gave the smallest tilt of her head—go on, I'll be here—then turned to hang the drying cloth not daring to look back.
Evan jogged up the passage, avoiding any lethal traps, heart lighter than it had been since the orchard. The brightness of the morning Sun caused him to momentarily shut his eyes. A fresh breath of air rushed inside his lungs filling them to the brim.
Outside, the pony nickered in greeting, as though it, too, had sensed something change inside the Hollow's walls.
"How have you been, Molly? Feeling hungry," Evan replied to the greeting rubbing his hand across its neck. "I am going to take you inside but you must behave, or you might die, okay?"
Evan took hold of the reins and it dragged it inside, not to the wards but to the abandoned quarters. It might look like a place where humans would stay but if one were to venture inside they would realize it was more of a horse's shed but without any sunlight seeping in.
Evan dragged Molly into one of the stalls.
"There, be good. This will be your new home for now," he said as he scrambled some hay to feed the animal.
As he repeated the monotonous actions, he couldn't help but have his thoughts drift toward Sura again. He pictured her at the basin, fingers steady in the water's ripple, and for the first time since the massacre, a spark of something like hope slid under his ribs. Not the bright, naive hope of cadet days, but a leaner, sharper kind that could walk beside pain and still breathe.
A hope to avenge those that had passed and to protect those that remain.