I sleep the rest of the day, waking only when Casimir shakes me and forces me to eat, but he leaves early the next morning to help prepare for Jyro's memorial on Monday. To replace him, Cadence shows up minutes after he's gone.

I don't leave the bedroom; I barely leave the bed. Cadence brings me anything I need—food, drink, she even brings Jakob and Raven for company at one point, and I was surprisingly grateful for the company. As much as we bicker, Jakob has a kind heart buried underneath the snark. Very far down, but it's there. I can tell by his gentle smiles when he first comes into the room, the concern in his voice. It's a Sunday; we don't have class, he and Raven could've gone anywhere, but they chose to be here. It meant more to me than I can say.

After they leave, the sky has grown dark and my eyes tired. Cadence stays by my side, tending to all my needs and talking my ear off. She fills the silence for us both, rattling on about mindless subjects—her mother's new fabric, Raven's crush on Jakob, Jakob's crush on Killian, Killian's apparent and probable crush on another in our class. I don't point out the way her cheeks pinken at the mention of him.

I can't blame her. When I think of the last time I saw him, I remember the way his clothes stuck to his skin, the electric pulse I felt as he stood inches away, taunting me. There's a gravitational pull around him I can't explain.

Cadence leaves only once Casimir returns. She kisses my cheek and promises to be back in the morning. I'm barely able to keep my eyes open when Casimir settles on the mattress by my bed, his breath deepening as he falls into a deep sleep. And yet I lie awake, staring out the window through the branches at the stars dotting the sky. The sun shone the entire day, not a cloud in sight, a stark contrast to the vicious storm that tore through Veymaw only a couple of days prior.

An irritating thought presses at the back of my mind. I shoved it aside all day, but now, looking back at Casimir, I can't repress it any longer. I'd been mad at him that day of the storm; he'd lied to me. The anger has burned away, replaced by a warmth.

I trust Casimir with my life. I know him, no matter what Killian thinks. When we spoke to Jyro in the forest, he'd been distracted. He could've easily confused Casimir with someone else. His mind was preoccupied with the incoming storm.

The storm that took his life.

Cadence said Killian found me only one mile from the lake, where Jyro drowned. And I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I'd been at the lake—if Killian hadn't found me when he did.

The thoughts that follow leave me feeling icy cold. I don't remember anything after watching that shifter drag a lifeless Samu into the black cloud. I don't remember seeing Killian, or him carrying me back. But as I think of Jyro, I can't help but wonder if there was something else in that storm, and if Killian was the only reason I wasn't its next victim.

#

"Everybody would understand if you didn't come," Casimir says, watching me with concern as I brush my hands down my dress.

"I'm fine, Cas." I take a few steps forward to prove the point, ankle stinging. "See?"

"I still think you should rest."

"If you had it your way, I'd be resting till I turned eighty."

A soft grin crosses his face. "That doesn't sound like such a bad idea."

"Come on. We're going to be late." He opens the door, lifting the bottom of my skirt to ensure it doesn't get stuck as he closes it behind us. "If I'd known almost dying would turn you into a gentleman, I would've tried it sooner."

He flicks the side of my face. "Not funny."

I thread my arm through his and we make our way into the centre of Veymaw. Golden light bathes the cobblestones as the sun begins its descent. The side streets are quiet, most of Veymaw already at the memorial service.

It's nearly been one year since the last one. I hadn't attended it, even though it was my father's and Casimir tried to drag me there. I didn't want to admit that he was gone, and a memorial service was so... final.

As suspected, the entire village is crowded in the small market area. People spill into the side streets, huddled with heads down. Casimir helps me navigate the crowd, but people part for us when they see us coming, eyes darting to my bandaged leg. I pretend not to notice.

We reach the front of the crowd where the people are gathered in a semi-circle around a closed, wooden coffin. His husband and two daughters stand behind the coffin, hands clasped together and eyes red and puffy. I stare at the youngest girl, she doesn't look a day older than ten, her bottom lip wobbling as she holds her head up.

My stomach churns with nausea as I redirect my gaze to the crowd.

I spot Cadence standing under the canopy with Jakob and Raven, her head hanging, but I continue to scan the crowd until I see Killian. He stands out, taller than the rest, his midnight hair tousled atop his head. As if feeling my gaze, his eyes drift towards me.

He tilts his head slightly, an acknowledgement. I flash my eyes away, back to Jyro's coffin.

"Thank you everybody for coming," Trin, one of the harvesters, says. He steps forward, eyes scanning the crowd, and places a hand upon the coffin. "Jyro Trufen was a great man, husband, father, and boss. We will commence the ceremony with personal statements from his family, and then we will open it to the crowd. As is custom, the ceremony will be complete when his body is carried through the street to his residence."

That isn't where his body will remain. He doesn't say it, but we're all thinking it. It'll be sent to the shifters in the mountains, never truly placed to rest.

Because even in death, the shifters take from us what does not belong to them.

#

The ceremony lasts four hours. Countless people take the stand to share a memory of Jyro, including Casimir, who talks with a straight expression and steady hands. But I hear the waver in his voice.

By the time statements have wrapped up, the sun has long descended. Lanterns and moonstones light the village streets, creating a glow around the perimeter of the coffin.

"We will now commence the march," Trin announces, turning to talk with the family.

Casimir touches my shoulder. "Will you be okay without me for this?"

"Of course."

He steps up to take one corner of the coffin. Trin blows the horn, and Casimir and five other men start the march. The crowd is solemn as we follow. Soon, I'm swallowed by them, surrounded by bodies of villagers as we walk slowly through the streets to the Trufen residence. The crowd slithers through the village like a current, fire from the streetlamps glowing in the air. I eye the back of Killian's head, trying to shove my way towards him. Thankfully, he moves slow, towering above the rest and easy to catch.

I reach his side. "I didn't think you would come tonight," he says without looking at me.

"I wanted to honour Jyro."

"He sounded like a noble man."

"He was."

I peek at him from the corner of my eye. His chin is lifted, sharp jaw carving his profile as he walks with both hands behind his back. Though I haven't seen him since I left his cabin in the middle of the storm, he's plagued my mind ever since I woke up. The words he said before I left, the feeling of his fingers as they brushed my throat—I can't shake it. It should warn me away, but it only draws me in.

"I wanted to say thank you," I say.

"You should be thanking the healers who bandaged you up."

"They didn't find me in the forest, you did."

Casimir and the other harvesters lead the pack, the family trailing behind. The youngest daughter clutches her sister's hands, her sobs filling the night air. The sound makes my entire body ache.

"Killian?" He turns to look down at me. "When you found me, was I near the lake?"

Somebody behind us stumbles, shoving a man into me. My injured leg buckles and I bend forward, but Killian's hands dart to grip my shoulders. The warmth of his touch seeps through the thin material of my blouse.

"You were further east," he says, steadying me before stepping back.

"Did you see anyone?"

"Aside from you? No. Why?"

"I think there was someone else in that storm. Someone who might have killed Jyro." I search his face, but his expression is unreadable.

"I didn't see anyone else in the fog."

But who killed Jyro? "Then what happened to my leg?"

"You must've tripped and fell at some point, tore it up pretty bad."

The crowd stops moving, halted in front of Jyro's street. I turn back to watch as Casimir helps them carry the coffin inside, thinking about what will happen next. His family will be given an hour at most before he'll be sent to the mountains.

I step forward, but Killian puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. "Did you see something in the forest, Freya?"

I saw my father, Samu, the shifters. But I suppress the words before they pass my lips; I sound crazy. Cadence said I was unconscious when Killian carried me back, and what I saw is not much different from the nightmares that plague my sleep. At what point did I fall? Before or after I heard my father's voice? When did reality turn into a hallucination?

"I didn't see anything."

He stares at me for a few moments. "Have you spoken to Casimir yet?"

"He's been by my side since the moment I woke."

"I meant about the lies he's told you." He leans closer, the left side of his mouth lifting slightly. "You were so incredibly angry that afternoon."

"Should I be concerned that my anger amuses you?"

"Stop avoiding my question."

"No, I haven't asked him about it because there's nothing to say." I press my lips together. "I trust him. More than anyone."

"Are you calling Jyro a liar? It isn't wise to speak ill of the dead, you know."

"Jyro must've been mistaken." He lets out a slow exhale, almost like he's disappointed in me. "I know what you think, but you don't know him like I do."

"You'd be surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He glances over my shoulder, back at Jyro's residence, before stepping closer. "When he leaves tonight, follow him."

"What?"

"You'll see, Freya."

He steps back just as Casimir appears at my side, hand going to my elbow. Suddenly, I'm completely forgotten. They stare at one another, expressions equally hostile.

"Killian." Casimir nods.

"Casimir."

Tension thickens the air. I tug on Casimir's sleeve. "Let's go home, Cas."

He nods, threading my arm through his and turning around.

"Freya?" I pause, turning to look at Killian over my shoulder. His eyes are so dark—like a drop of black paint on a white canvas. "Don't forget what I said."

I press my lips together and turn back around, gripping Casimir's arm tightly as we depart from the crowd.

Casimir looks down at me, eyes narrowed. "What'd he say to you? Killian?"

I want to tell him the truth—that Killian thinks he's lying to me, what Jyro said before that storm, that I've had a lingering feeling of unease ever since Killian showed up. But I don't.

"He just told me not to go running into storms again," I say.

I don't know if he believes me. But can I blame him? Can I even be angry with him for hiding things from me when I've been sneaking around right under his nose for months? A memory plays in my mind—the last time I was in the forge when I ran into the deserter. I could've died, and Casimir doesn't even know.

I look back over my shoulder, at the dispersing crowd. Killian's gone like he was never there at all, but his words press at my mind. He was right about one thing—we all have things to hide.

Especially me.

_

Do you think there was someone else in the cloud, or do you think Killian is right and Freya just hurt herself?

What do you think might happen next?

What's your favourite genre to read? I'm a real genre-hopper, but I think mystery takes the cake for me.