[Hunter’s Outpost | Helios 3rd, 2526 | Early Afternoon]

Blades clashed and the ground shuddered under Sebastian’s feet. It was only a low rumble and lasted for a fraction of a second, but for that brief moment his focus was drawn away from the fight. The flinch cost him. Theron’s sword pushed past his defenses and he was forced to jump out of the way of a slash. As his feet hit the ground, it shifted under his boots, taking away his balance. Sebastian took the tumble and rolled away from a sword strike, forced to quickly parry another before he could properly get back on his feet.

As much as he’d like to deny it, Theron’s progress was startling. For the first time since they began sparring together, Sebastian finally broke a sweat. If forced to set his pride completely aside, he might even admit he was struggling.

Gabrielle had moved their spars closer and closer to the Outpost as an incentive for Theron to use his enlightenment with greater intention. The shadows cast by the looming towers provided a slight reprieve from the midday sun. Sweat stung Sebastian's eyes. His clothes felt almost constricting as they clung to his skin. Exhaustion was sure to get to him quickly if Theron's blade failed.

He forced a ragged breath. All around them he could see translucent silhouettes, like ghosts of paths he hadn’t taken or was yet to take. They blurred the edges of his vision, each one a single thread pulling in a different direction. Sebastian didn’t think he would ever get used to how the world seemed to almost slow to a halt around him, his mind nearly disconnecting from his body as it pursued each thread of possibility, searching for the most favorable outcome.

Pressure built in his temples to a near-breaking point, then suddenly faded. Sebastian's senses returned all at once. Sound flooded his ears. Chills crawled the length of his spine as his body anticipated Theron's every move. The other Hunter’s blade met only air with each subsequent strike as Sebastian’s feet expertly danced around every shift of the earth. The sudden tipping of the scales destabilized Theron almost immediately. And his frustration was clear in how the earth rumbled beneath their feet. Feeling his control begin to slip, Theron flinched, and the distraction provided Sebastian the perfect opportunity to nick his wielding hand with his blade. Theron’s fingers lost their grip on the sword with a hiss of pain and Sebastian pressed his own blade to his throat, impeding his attempt to reach for it again. A lackluster end to a lackluster spar.

“That was a slow recovery, Rivers.”

Gabrielle’s voice was drowned by the pulsating sound of blood rushing to his ears. Sebastian shook his head, grip tense on the hilt of his still raised sword. “Credit where it’s due, earthquake boy is showing some improvement.” He put more pressure on the blade, breaking skin. “Not enough, though.”

Theron flinched as the tip of the sword drew a thin line of blood from his neck, but he stood firm, glaring. “I almost had you.”

“Not. Enough,” Sebastian repeated. “Almost won’t keep you alive.” His tone grew harsh; harsher than he meant it, perhaps, as he added: “Someone tries to bleed you, don’t hesitate. Not even me. Especially not me.”

“Rivers. That’s enough.”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder. Gabrielle had been watching their spar from atop the bridge connecting the two towers, but now she was standing at the base of the stairs, arms crossed and expression as closed as ever. He fought the spark of defiance igniting in his chest and lowered his sword. “Was just a scratch, Porter. He’s fine.”

Theron shook his head. “If you think that was so subpar, we could go again,” he offered.

Sebastian hummed. He was tired, and quite honestly he didn’t think going again would fix the issues they were having, but a part of him also didn’t want to end the training session on such a pathetic note. Before he had the chance to make a decision, however, Gabrielle answered for him.

“No. That’s enough for both of you. Take the rest of the day.”

Even though she said “both of you” Sebastian could feel Gabrielle’s eyes still on him. Whether it was out of concern or reproach, he wasn’t sure. And the dominant part of him didn’t think it mattered.

“You know, for someone who claims they’re no one’s leader you sure do love to act it, Porter.”

Even with all the venom he’d injected into the words, it was no surprise to Sebastian that they had a much greater effect on Theron than Gabrielle. His sparring partner stared at him in shocked reprimand, as though Sebastian had just decided to dance on the edge of a cliff simply because he could. Gabrielle, on the other hand, calmly walked to the two boys and picked up the sword Theron had dropped.

“When you and your brother opted to stay it was under the stipulation you would follow our instructions, Rivers. At least where training and any actual confrontations with the Wolfpack are concerned. Unless my memory utterly fails me, you agreed to those terms,” she reminded him. Grey eyes bore into his, partially obscured by the brim of her hat, as Gabrielle casually tested the weapon’s balance, a disapproving scowl tugging at the corner of her lips as though she’d decided the blade was far from her best handiwork. “However, if you insist on another spar, I suppose that can be arranged.”

Gabrielle’s offer held no inkling of threat or aggression as though Sebastian’s belligerent behavior met nothing but a solid wall. The Hunter stood impassive before him, blade in hand, waiting for a response. Her calm struck him like a fistful of salt, but even in his anger Sebastian was smart enough to know a fruitless endeavor when faced with it. He sheathed his sword and shrugged. “Maybe I should take the rest of the day after all.”

“That would be wise,” she agreed.

There was a beat of tense silence, during which Sebastian stood under Gabrielle’s scrutinizing gaze, wordless and unmoving. And when that scrutiny started to feel too invasive he finally turned and walked away.

He took one of the trails that lead to a nearby stream. The one where deer could often be seen drinking early in the morning. It was early afternoon, however, and if there had been any animals around the drinking spot, they had fled into cover before his arrival. Perhaps they also heard the heavy footsteps following him along the trail. Sebastian crouched at the edge of the stream, pointedly ignoring his company as he dipped both hands into the cool water, scooped some of it and buried his face in with a tired groan. He ran his hands over his aching eyes and through his hair before dipping them into the water a second time and repeating the process. He’d have to wash up properly later, but the quick relief was enough for now. Not to mention some distance from the Outpost might do himself and everyone else a world of good at the moment.

Theron crouched as well, a few steps away, and proceeded to rinse his bloody hand in the running water. Sebastian glanced at it; barely a scratch to be seen once the blood was wiped clean. It didn’t seem as though it bled for very long. He imagined Jo would be proud of how well he’d learned to be precise, but he also knew if she’d been the one supervising that spar she would be less than pleased with the outcome. With a dissatisfied sigh, he poured more water over his head, let it run down the back of his neck and further dampen his sweat-soaked shirt. The relief was fleeting. His eyes throbbed under heavy lids and the pulsating woosh in his ears hadn’t yet subsided. Furthermore, his nerves felt on edge and the feeling of being watched was doing nothing to mitigate them.

“If you have something to say, earthquake boy spit it out,” he muttered.

Theron didn’t answer him at first. He merely sat on one of the rocks near the water’s edge with an exhausted sigh and stared at him as though he should know full well where this conversation would be going. Sebastian did know, and he didn’t want to be the one to start it, but he also knew that Theron wasn’t going to just leave without starting it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to follow him there.

“I don’t know what the hell happened when you came back with Rita or why you’re acting out like a damn child whenever Gabrielle is around, but I’d really appreciate you leaving me the hell out of it.”

Sebastian drew a deep breath, partially thankful that Theron didn’t ask. “I thought I had.”

“If you have, then surely there must be another reason you acted like an asswipe back there.”

Sebastian didn’t want to laugh. A couple of months ago he might have found amusement in this, but not anymore. Nothing about it was amusing in the slightest and yet laughter spilled out of him anyway.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be nicer about kicking your ass next time. Is that what you want me to say?” He coughed, then scooped another handful of water to drink. It eased the itchiness in his throat and helped his next words come out slightly more sober. “My issues with Porter are... My issues with Porter. My issue with you is that you aren’t actually fighting me.”

“I fought well back there and you know it, Rivers.”

Sebastian scoffed. “You fought like a merchant’s son playing at war.”

“Yet you struggled.”

Sebastian stood, suppressing a groan as his joints protested and his knees nearly buckled. “I struggled and you never took full advantage of that. Your technique improved, sure, you fought well, sure, but you never go for the jugular, Lockwood. You have no teeth. What does it matter to fight well and die?”

Theron fell silent and Sebastian examined his expression closely. The guy had never been hard to read. From day one he wore his anger and his stubbornness on his sleeves. And with everything that happened, everything he'd witnessed, he didn't seem to have changed much from the day Sebastian dragged him out of his tent. A merchant's son wallowing in self-pity, resenting his own cowardice.

"Fighting well won't make you a killer," he continued. "And if you don't intend to kill, what are you here for?"

Theron shook his head, still unable to find words with which to argue.

"There's no shame in walking away, you know," Sebastian offered. "I would have if I could. You should if you can."

"I can't," Theron finally spoke.

"Are you sure?"

"Fuck you."

Theron got up and Sebastian watched him pace as if the open air in the sunbathed clearing they stood in was somehow a cage.

"Are you sure you can't?" Sebastian repeated. "Or maybe your pride just won't let you."

Theron chuckled. “You really think you know me that well, huh?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I’m not sure that I do. I’m asking you, Lockwood. Why are you here if you’re so hesitant to cross that line? What’s the point? Die an honorable death or some other such bullshit? So you can look your dad’s ghost in the eyes and tell him how you fucking tried?”

What little remained of Theron’s composure finally snapped. Anyone could have predicted the balled up fist about to fly at Sebastian’s face—no foresight required. And it wasn’t anything he couldn’t easily avoid, but he chose to brace instead. The impact of Theron’s fist against the side of his face only aggravated the pulsating ache spreading from his temples to the back of his eyes, and once again Sebastian felt his knees buckle. The taste of metal coated his tongue and he spat it out, trying to breathe away the sudden churning in his stomach.

“So you can do it when you’re pissed off,” he croaked. “But that’s not good enough either because when you’re angry you’re fucking stupid.”

Theron pulled his fist back for another punch. And even through the pain, the exhaustion, and dizziness, it wasn’t hard for Sebastian to sidestep out of the way. The force of the punch missing its target was enough to destabilize Theron, and Sebastian took full advantage of that, knocking him fully off his feet with a well placed punch to the middle of his back. Theron landed face down in the dirt and Sebastian brought his foot down between his shoulder blades.

“Case in point,” he muttered. “You survived striking the Wolf who killed your father because she wasn’t there for you. Because you were inconsequential to her then. But the moment you actually raise your hands to strike them and it hurts, that goes out the window. You don’t get the luxury to be merciful because they won’t be. And you need to understand that.”

Sebastian removed his foot and allowed Theron the opportunity to stand. When his fellow Hunter only bothered to move as far as to roll over onto his back, he scoffed. “If you can’t fight me as if there’ll be consequences... I don’t care what Porter says, I’ll start dishing them out until you get it through your damn skull. Better me than one of them.”

Theron groaned and sat up, resting his arms over his knees. “You’re a piece of shit, Rivers.”

Sebastian contained a burst of laughter, the words catching him by surprise. “Yeah...” A small chuckle slipped through. “Yeah.” He swallowed the remainder of his amusement and breathed out a tired sigh. “Doesn’t make me wrong, now, does it?”

[Hunter’s Outpost | Helios 3rd, 2526 | Mid Afternoon]

No cool breeze came to relieve Rita from summer’s heat as it bore down against the dark green canopy above. Neither did the shade provide relief as the damp air made every breath crowded and dense like a busy market. Her thoughts, just like the heat, oppressed every inch of her being. Nothing felt right. Almost nothing. Nothing but the swish in the air and the looseness of her wrist as she absently twirled a long stick. The motion was meditative. Soothing in a way that brought back memories of hot days just like this one. Back at home, eagerly entertaining the soldiers who often occupied her village.

No! You don’t deserve this.

The swishing stopped and the breeze that came with it immediately ceased, leaving the rank stench of oppressive damp air to remind her of her thoughts. Not toughts of home, but ones of her wedding day, and the dull but satisfying journey to settle into Blackpond. A city filled with despair and ruin, but one which brought a hope of a new kind of home. Those memories couldn’t be what they used to be. They were oppressive now. Damp. Damp like the air and damp like the tears which trickled past her face.

Rita wiped away her tears and puffed out an exhaustive sigh, airing out all the crowded feelings inside.

“Okay Rita,” she said, “enough.”

Pity didn’t get anyone far in Valcrest. She suspected that her pity would get her even less at the Outpost after watching the training earlier in the day from just beyond the canopy line; out of sight.

Or perhaps not so out of sight. Rita had noticed how they kept tabs on her throughout the day. There was no doubt they knew she was watching. Especially the one with the hat—whatever her name was... If anyone would not tolerate pity, it was her. Not that she had really seen much of any expression from that woman. Just cool steel eyes which said nothing but sharp knives and contemptible thoughts. That’s what pity got you in this Outpost. Something sharp, dangerous, and contemptible. Something like the woman with the hat.

This is what Rita had asked for. She had asked to come along with the boy, knowing only that he killed Wolves. What else was she to expect from a group like this? Contempt was all they knew. It was all that Rita knew now. That, and pity.

But she’d already resolved not to let the pity win. Contempt had to win. With that in mind, she began, again, to twirl the stick in her hand. The motion repeated a few times before she slid her foot forward kicking up enough sand to conceal a thrust that stabbed at her imagined foe. Another sweep of the leg brought her into a low crouch, fainting the stick upwards before delivering a slash sideways and backing up a few steps. Her back crashed into something, causing her to tumble backwards with whatever it was that had gotten in her way. Whatever she had crashed into was living. The fleshy feel of the body she landed atop caused her to immediately scramble to her feet. The stick she was carrying had, in the confusion, flown several meters away from her, leaving her with only her arms to defend herself, which she pulled up to cover her face. Peering between her arms, she saw Alex, clumsily struggling to get back on his feet while muttering a few unsultry words under his breath.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

She ran to help him get back on his feet. He smelt stale of booze and was in need of something to improve his breath. She looked beyond these unpleasant features as he grabbed his arm and pulled him up. There was a clarity in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since she’d met him in that bar not more than a month earlier. Not that she had spent too much time near him. Alex’s eyes were less glazed over with a clearer white which corresponded with his skin which had lost some of its yellow hue.

Rita looked at him for a moment longer before asking the question that was immediately on her mind. “Did you follow me into the forest or was this just a chance meeting?”

Alex chortled before responding. “I needed some privacy. So yeah... I guess it's a chance.” The remark was said with a tone which felt playful as if there was humor to be found somewhere in the statement. Rita didn’t see it, but she smiled and nodded as if she understood. Blackpond humor; she tried to understand it, but in the time living there, it never made sense.

“And you decided that the best way to get some privacy was to quietly approach me while I was in the middle of this?” She pointed to her stick.

“Privacy and company don’t have to be exclusive.”

Rita raised an eyebrow at that remark. The audacity of the statement was almost too much to believe. “You have some nerve thinking we can be private together.”

“Okay! Private’s not the right word. Twins! Don’t flatter yourself with compliments I didn’t give.”

Alex sauntered his way to a nearby stump. He might not have been drinking as much as he had before, but he was still not entirely sober, either. Planting his hand against the stump, he carefully brought himself to the ground, sitting comfortably. The stump was larger than him in height and diameter, and was covered in a thick bed of moss. “If you don’t want to be here, you can leave, but I think this is exactly where I’m going to be spending the rest of my afternoon. Privately join me or don’t.”

“You’re an ass,” Rita said, grabbing her stick and walking to a tree near Alex. She leaned against it, not ready to sit, but willing enough, out of sheer curiosity, to see where this conversation would take her.

Minutes passed, but he said nothing. The only sounds came from the screeching cicadas and whistling birds. Alex only sat, quietly with his eyes closed. On occasion, he would open them, the eye which Rita could see would peer in her direction. He must have wondered if she was still there.

Impatience got the better of her. “How’s your sister?”

The moment the words left her mouth, she flinched. Of all the things you could ask, Rita... of all the things... “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“No,” he replied, eyes still shut. “Talking about her will not make her any worse.”

“But it won’t make you feel any better.”

“At least you’ll talk about it. I enter a room back in the Outpost and it's like I’m one of the Twins’ firstborns. I don’t belong here and the only reason they’re tolerating me is because I’m family. I’m sure you understand. You’re only tolerated here, too.”

Rita didn’t know what to say. Coherence to this level was not something she had expected from him.

Alex continued, “She’s doing fine, I guess. I have no idea what is good and what is bad and no one will let me know if she has gotten worse or better since this all started.”

“You’re in the room often enough. You must be able to see if something has changed?”

“Perhaps.”

Everything told her to end this conversation, but she continued, stubborn and steadfast like a cow determined to find the perfect spot to graze. “What do you do when you’re with her?”

“I mostly tell her stories from our childhood.”

“That’s nice.”

“Well, not really our childhood,” He continued as if Rita had said nothing. “Our dad—as much as I liked him, he really wanted to protect me. He’d tell Joanna stories which I was too young to hear. Or at least that’s what dad would say. I could hear them when I turned her age.” He laughed. “I got so upset. I tore this massive tantrum, broke all of the fine dining in the cabinet. My room became my home for a month, but that didn’t stop Jo from sneaking in my room from time to time to tell me the stories that dad wouldn’t let me hear.”

“That was sweet of her.” Rita felt her heart melt. He imagined this poor, drunk man sitting in a dim-lit room with just a bed and a chair. His comatose sister laying there while he retold the stories she would tell him as a child to her comatose sister back in the tower. “If you ever want a captive audience, I can lend an ear.”

“That’s funny,” he said without even a smirk. “You wouldn’t like the stories. They don’t make sense without any of the details meant for older kids; and unfortunately, I don’t know those details.”

[Hunter’s Outpost | Helios 3rd, 2526 | Late Evening]

Johanna’s room was silent like a mausoleum. Though the woman had always been silent for as long as Gabrielle had known her, and though her breathing was still constant—steady and almost unnaturally leveled—her silence now filled the room like a thick fog rolling over a graveyard. Their first year together had been mostly spent in silence. Gabrielle herself wasn’t much for small talk. Johanna was initially silent out of spite, then stubborn pride, then eventually that silence became a quiet comfort. An understanding built out of mutual hurt. Something that, try as they might, words could never have reached.

This silence was different. This silence loomed. It grew thicker and heavier with each passing moment. It threatened them all with utter devastation. And as much as Gabrielle would like to think herself unbreakable, she knew this threat to be real. She could feel it as she could feel the air in her lungs.

The others had either gone to sleep, were pretending to, or had taken up watch duty according to their planned schedule. They collectively agreed it was much too soon to trust the newcomer with keeping watch at night, as well as with the obvious fact that Johanna’s brother shouldn’t be trusted to watch over her alone. The man could barely keep himself from falling down the stairs, never mind someone else. The concern was, in Gabrielle’s honest assessment, far too optimistic. Johanna barely stirred anymore. Still, that was something they all preferred to leave unsaid.

“It’s about that time again,” she said, and leaned forward in her seat. The front legs of her chair came down and thudded against the stone floor. “Tucker will come relieve me soon and, well, either I do it or he will. Unsure which you would prefer. Likely neither.”

There was no answer. She knew there wouldn’t be. But she’d grown accustomed to speaking anyway. If for no other reason, only to create the illusion of life within that space. Johanna remained still in the aftermath of her words, lying on her side, eyes open and blankly staring at nothing. The roll of cloth had been sitting on the table between them for some hours. When she was still able, Johanna would change her wrappings every morning. Or at whatever time she awoke. Before anything else. Before anyone had the chance to see her without them. And even though Gabrielle had witnessed what was underneath, it pained her to infringe on such a delicate boundary when her friend had no say or agency in the matter. It was, however, necessary and she’d stalled enough.

Dragging her chair closer to the edge of the bed, Gabrielle reached for Johanna’s hand and began carefully undoing the cloth wrappings that covered her forearms. The lack of reaction when normally Johanna would resist even the slightest touch to that area only added to the wrongness of the act. She reminded herself once again that it was needed, and unrolled the cloth with steady hands.

The scarring was barely visible in the dimness of candlelight. Carved lines etched onto flesh with startling precision. One after another, after another, after another. Most of them were small and on their own perhaps inconsequential, but one of them stood out. It extended from her wrist almost half the length of her forearm. Johanna wielded a blade unlike anyone else Gabrielle had ever seen. With cold fury and purpose. And they’d known each other long enough for her to read the intent written upon her skin, plain as words on the pages of a book better left closed.

The first time Gabrielle had seen the scars they were still new; raw angry lines. Over the years she saw them fade, smooth over. The smaller cuts were nearly imperceptible now. But Johanna liked to say scars never healed, and Gabrielle wondered if in her eyes they still looked as raw and angry now as they were then.

Gabrielle discarded the used wrappings and tried to make as quick work of the new ones as possible, deciding she’d dwelled long enough. As she finished, she breathed a soft sigh. “There we go. These should hold up for a while longer. It isn’t as though you’ve been doing much to get them dirty after all.”

The mental image of the deplorable state of Johanna’s wrappings after tending the garden was almost enough to draw a laugh out of her. But the sudden spark of amusement faded quickly, leaving a hollowness in its wake. Gabrielle moved Johanna’s hand back to where it’d been resting on the bed and briefly squeezed before letting go. In the hours since she’d first entered that room, Johanna’s listlessness showed no signs of change. But the moment Gabrielle’s fingers slipped from hers, her hand balled into a tight fist. Her chest heaved and a soft strangled sound rose from her throat.

“Johanna?” The call was weak, startled—unlike her—but in her shock, it was the best Gabrielle could manage.

There was no answer. Johanna’s expression remained empty, her eyes unseeing, but her breath quickened with distress. Her fingers uncurled and blindly found purchase on Gabrielle’s still outstretched arm; her grip a tense vice.

Then, once again, she suddenly stilled. Her hand fell slack against the bed, her breathing slowed to its previous, unnatural, steadiness. There one moment, gone the next. Gabrielle wasn’t sure where, but that one short glimpse seemed less than pleasant.

“That was new.”

Gabrielle briefly tensed at the sound of Gerald’s voice. She forgot she’d been expecting him to come take her place any second. She hummed and after a moment’s hesitation pushed her chair away from Johanna’s bed and stood. “She’s still in there somewhere, I suppose.”

Gerald was still standing in the doorway, his frame overshadowing the faint moonlight coming from outside. “Is that a good thing?”

“My guess would be as good as yours, Tucker.”

“I’ll keep a closer watch on her tonight,” Gerald said. “Should we mention it?”

Gabrielle considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m unsure if this would be giving them reason to hope or despair and at this point I feel both options might become a problem.”

Gerald sighed, and judging by his expression it seemed as though he was about to disagree before finally acquiescing with a nod. Gabrielle had no answers, nor the means to ease his worries. A silent moment passed between them before Gerald disrupted it by placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Try to sleep, Porter,” he said. “Out of everyone here, we need you to remain strong.”

Gabrielle scoffed. “I never meant for anyone to ever rely on me. I didn’t ask for that and you know it.”

“I do,” Gerald agreed. “And I’m sorry. Because unfortunately you don’t have a choice in the matter. Not anymore.”

Gabrielle shook her head and shrugged his hand from her shoulder. “If anything happens again, no matter how inconsequential it may seem, I want to hear of it immediately. Wake me if you must.”

Gerald nodded as he walked past her and settled on the bed opposite Johanna’s. “Of course,” he assured her. “You’ll be the first to know.”

When Gabrielle entered the kitchen, Theron had been sitting there, snacking on bread and complaining about missing coffee. It said something about the boy’s upbringing that he once had such easy access to the beverage. While she also preferred it over tea, it hadn’t been easily attainable for her even during her most nomadic years. She spared him an inspecting glance as she put water on the stove for tea, registering his bruised knuckles and face, but making no remark. He flinched, clearly aware that she’d noticed, but offered no explanation either.

As she waited for the water to boil, Theron left to replace Sebastian on watch duty, bidding her a quiet goodnight which she returned in kind. She didn’t rush the process of brewing herself a cup of tea and after a moment’s hesitation prepared a second one, which she set down across from hers on the kitchen table. Within a few moments of sitting down and leaving both cups to steam on the tabletop, sure enough, Sebastian Rivers poked his head through the doorway.

The boy stared at her, briefly glimpsed the extra tea cup on the table, and then frowned. Just as he was about to duck out of the kitchen again, Gabrielle sighed and spoke, “Rivers, sit.”

Sebastian stopped in the doorway, jaw tight underneath angry bruising. “It’s been a long day and an even longer night, Porter. You’ll excuse me, but I’m not in the mood for tea.”

“Don’t drink it, then,” Gabrielle told him, calmly placing her foot on the empty chair across from her own, and pushing it away from the table.

For a moment Sebastian merely stared at the empty seat, but finally he entered the kitchen and sat across the table. “I haven’t been up today, how is she?” he asked.

“No change,” Gabrielle answered. “What happened to your face, Rivers?”

Sebastian briefly grimaced, but answered the question with a dismissive shrug. “Lockwood.”

“Hm. And what prompted this, if I may ask?”

Sebastian scoffed and slouched in his seat. “I might have gotten a little frustrated with how training went this afternoon. Maybe I could have measured my words a little better.” After a pause, he added, “I was out of line with you as well. We did agree to do as we’re told and you were right to end the spar.”

“You were starting to look ill, Rivers. And I don’t believe for a second you weren’t feeling as ill as you looked. I shouldn’t have had to end it.”

“I would have been fine if Lockwood hadn’t dragged his feet so much,” he argued.

Gabrielle reached for her cup of tea and pulled it closer, deciding it had cooled to a suitable temperature by now. “Or if you had found your bearings much sooner.”

“Yes, I know I didn’t exactly perform at my best. Jo would have been disappointed, I bet.”

Gabrielle hummed. “Johanna has never been one for being disappointed. She would either be concerned or attempt to beat the improvement out of you.”

Sebastian laughed weakly. “True.” But the amusement didn’t last long and, with a renewed frown, he added: “I don’t know how not to act on what I feel is right and sometimes... Do you think that makes me a liability?”

Gabrielle sipped her tea, all the while watching the boy’s expression. She could barely remember the children Gerald had dragged in from Blackpond two years prior. They’d grown into different people rather quickly. Quicker, perhaps, than they should have.

“I know Johanna mentioned some things to you, Rivers. Was how we met one of them by chance?” she asked.

The question caught Sebastian by surprise and seemed to ease some of the tense hostility still lingering in the air between them; for the moment at least. “No. I mean, she said you saved her, but she didn’t elaborate on what that meant and I knew better than to ask.”

It was Gabrielle’s turn to be taken aback. “Odd that she would say that.”

“Why?” he asked, curiosity clear in his voice. “Was that not what happened?”

“It’s debatable, I suppose.” Gabrielle took another sip of tea, using the time to decide how much she wished, and was able, to disclose. “One might say that I did, but as far as I was aware... That wasn’t her perspective on things.”

“You lost me, Porter,” the boy deadpanned.

“I met Johanna on a hunt. I was tracking a pair of Wolves. Had been for a couple of days, unbeknownst to them. I’d overheard them discussing the contract they were about to carry out and I decided to wait until their focus was on their target. It would likely give me a better opportunity to catch them both; remember, I was on my own at the time. Their target was a merchant. They were meant to attack the man on the road as he traveled from Newhaven to the desert, make it look like a robbery, and destroy his wagon and everything in it. They didn’t know what the man was smuggling, only that the client wanted it destroyed.”

“How was Jo—” Sebastian began to question, cutting himself off as understanding filled his gaze. “Oh. Was she cargo?”

“Not quite. She and her family had paid this man to let them hitch a ride on the back of his wagon. The Wolves were unaware the man had passengers. They weren’t meant to be there. It was too late by the time they realized.”

“What... What happened to them?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “It wouldn’t be my place to disclose, Rivers. All I will say is Johanna was the sole survivor. Barely. I had to make a decision: bring her to the Healers in the faint hope they could save her or... Leave her there and pursue the Wolves.”

“So you did save her.”

“I...” Gabrielle set her half-empty cup down on the table. “Like I said, that wasn’t quite her perspective on things. Her condition was dire, to say the least. I left her under the care of the White Shadows and I considered that to be the end of it. I did not see her again until a few months had passed and I returned to their camp to trade for supplies. She was still there.”

“Did she know you saved her life?”

“We didn’t speak. I saw her there, the leader of the White Shadows informed me of her recovery, even though I never asked. I left. There was no reason for me to be involved any further. She must have seen me as well, someone must have mentioned that I’d brought her there, I suppose... Because when I left that camp, I didn’t leave as alone as I thought.”

Sebastian snorted a burst of laughter. “She stalked you?”

“Yes. She followed me for days until I had left the plains and set up camp in the forest. I was exhausted and in need of sleep so I told myself nothing was wrong even though I felt I was being watched. That was the first time Johanna tried to kill me.”

“She... what?” Sebastian exclaimed. “Wait, first time? How many times has she tried to kill you?”

“Three. Eventually she stopped trying, but she continued to follow me after.”

Sebastian stared at her, his expression a mix of confusion, amusement, and horror. “I... That’s so hard to even imagine. I mean, Jo loves you.”

“Now, perhaps.” Gabrielle waited for Sebastian's shock to start fading before she elaborated. “One crucial fact in this situation is that Johanna lost everything she held dear in an instant. She was left alone, severely impacted from the injuries she’d sustained and in her mind I inflicted that existence upon her. Her first words to me were ‘you stayed her hand’. Her, meaning Death. It wasn’t a thank you, it was an accusation. And a year would pass before she spoke to me again.”

“But she kept following you.”

“What else was there?”

“And you let her.”

Gabrielle nodded. “What else was there?” she repeated.

Sebastian drew a deep breath and it left him in a shudder. “Porter, why... Why are you telling me this?”

“Because perhaps calling this a path was a tad misleading on our part,” Gabrielle said. “My guess is when you hear the word you envision a road, yes?” She waited for him to nod his answer, and then a moment more as he reached for the tea he’d refused and busied his hands with the cup before taking a half-hearted drink. “I suppose it would be more accurate to think of it as a river. Ever so often you’ll find someone struggling, and you’ll recognize that pain. You’ll remember yourself in their place: muscles heavy, lungs sore, holding your head above water. Just to survive. Because survival is all that matters, all there is, you don’t know what happens next; you don’t want to know, but you gasp. You gasp and you live, and all you can do is gasp once more.”

Gabrielle reached for her own tea, gave the words a moment to settle, then leaned into the backrest of her chair. “You’ll see yourself in their struggle and you’ll reach out to them. Because that is the right thing to do. Or it would be, if we were standing on the shore. What you fail to recognize, Rivers, is that this isn’t the shore. It’s the riverbed. We exist in the peace that takes hold once one’s body ceases to struggle. In the quiet of surrender. And when everything stops hurting you can tell yourself you’re better. You’re well. But in reality you’re no less drowning.”

The boy was quiet then. And Gabrielle watched his eyes fixate on the kitchen table, restless with a myriad of thoughts.

“When I asked Johanna to take charge of your training, initially she refused. And when I pressed her on the reason, she questioned whether we were making things worse.”

“What did you tell her?” he asked, eyes still avoiding hers.

“That I don’t know. I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. I think only you can answer that truly, Rivers. At least for yourself.” Gabrielle brought her cup to her lips and sighed upon finding it empty. “To answer your question directly: I don’t consider you a liability yet and I would hope the day never comes where that becomes the case. I do consider you reckless, at least for your more recent actions, but... We’ll see about the consequences when they arise.”

Sebastian hummed and emptied his cup of lukewarm tea in one gulp, all the while watching her expression carefully. By the time he set the cup down on the table, his posture had considerably relaxed. "If you don't mind, Porter, I think taking a day to recuperate tomorrow might be a good idea."

Gabrielle snorted in amusement. He spoke in the same tone Kyle used when he asked Johanna to help him learn something. But they were all exhausted, and it would benefit no one to pretend otherwise. "I think you might be right, Rivers." She let the agreement linger in the air for a moment as she stood and collected their empty cups. "For once."