Calen folds his arms and looks at them both.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Seren draws a breath. She speaks slowly, carefully, trying her best to calm her mind and heart.

  “The soldiers in black attacked the temple at High Marrow,” she says. “I served there as a priestess. There was no warning.” She draws in a breath that shudders on the way back out. “I do not know who they were. I do not know why they came.” Her mouth opens again, but nothing comes out. She swallows hard and tries once more. “Only that they meant to kill.”

  Her fingers knot together in her lap. Her eyes shine now, lashes clumped as she blinks too fast. “The wards fell, and then everything… everything broke apart.” She shakes her head, breath hitching. “There was shouting. Fire.” She pauses a moment. “Fire everywhere. People running. People screaming.” Her voice breaks completely. She stops. Presses her lips together. Breath in. Breath out.

  “They struck down everyone in their path,” she says again, softer this time, as if repeating it might make it less real. Tears slip free now. She does not wipe them away. “It was chaos,” she whispers. “Smoke and screaming and dead people everywhere. People I have known my whole life.”

  Her shoulders draw in on themselves. “I barely escaped. I barely—”

  She cannot finish. She shakes her head, breath coming uneven. “I ran,” she says at last, voice small and broken. “I ran. There was nothing I could have done. So I ran.”

  There are things she does not say. She keeps them tucked deep and silent. Some truths are too dangerous to share.

  She tells him what she can. Of fleeing through Marrow. Of nearly being caught. Of Aarav stepping in when he did not have to. Of choosing the smaller roads and taking the long way round. She leaves out the terror she felt, she is not sure she could finish if she speaks about it. Enough remains to explain why they look the way they do, tired and wary.

  Calen listens without interruption. His eyes stay on her face, unblinking. There is no comfort there, but there is attention, and a focus like he is mapping it all out in his head.

  At times, Aarav adds a detail or two. He speaks easily, as he always does, filling in turns and places, but Seren notices how his voice tightens when he speaks of the men following them. She does not comment on it.

  When Seren speaks of the first hours after the temple fell, Calen glances at Aarav. Just briefly. Something unreadable passes across his face and is gone again. Again, Seren does not know what it means.

  They talk for a while longer. She gives what detail she can. Aarav supplies the rest. Calen asks questions when he needs to, short and precise. Seren answers as best she can, watching his attention sharpen as the pieces settle into place.

  By the time she finishes, her throat is dry and her shoulders ache, but the silence that follows feels different now. Not empty. Waiting.

  At last, Calen leans back and breathes out slowly, as if something has finally settled into place.

  “I only have one more question. Why the need to get to Solmaris? There are plenty of places you could go to disappear.”

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  Seren lifts her head.

  “It is where the Main Temple stands,” she says. “If anyone knows what must be done after an attack like this, it will be them.”

  Her voice wavers and she has to pause, pressing her lips together before continuing. “It is my duty to report what happened. To tell them the wards fell. That the temple fell.” She swallows. Hard. “I may be the only one left who can.”

  The words come out quieter than the rest. She does not look at Aarav. She keeps her eyes on Calen, even as her vision blurs.

  On the long walk to Dunlow, she had thought of this moment again and again. Each step on the road had been spent shaping the truth into something that would make sense to others. Something orderly. Something that did not sound like a tale from a book. A telling that could be understood. A telling that would not break her vow to keep the Starfire a secret.

  Calen studies her for a long moment.

  “I have enough,” he says. “Wait here.”

  He stands. “There is only one bed in this house,” he adds, blunt and unapologetic. “I am not sharing it. Find whatever space suits you and make yourselves comfortable.”

  Then he leaves the kitchen.

  Seren hears him move through the front room. The careful sound of things being set right. A drawer closing. Metal touching wood. The front door opens and shuts, and with it goes a small part of the tension she has been holding in her shoulders. The house feels emptier without him. Like they are still intruders in this man's home.

  Aarav takes the chair Calen leaves behind. He sinks into it and lets out a long breath, head tipping back until it rests against the wall. For the first time since they arrived, he looks tired in a way he does not bother to hide. The lightness drains from his face. Seren watches, surprised by the softness of it. He looks so, vulnerable. Perhaps this is the real Aarav?

  They eat without speaking.

  Small bites of bread. Careful sips of water. It is not enough to fill the hollow ache in her stomach, but it takes the edge off. Aarav stands and reaches toward the rest of the loaf. Seren catches his arm before she thinks better of it.

  “Leave it,” she says quietly. “He gave us what he meant to give.”

  Aarav studies her, then gives a slight shrug and sits again.

  “Well,” he says after a moment, glancing her way. “That went better than it could have.”

  “I am not sure I would call it welcoming,” Seren replies.

  “No,” he agrees. “But he did not throw us out. That is more than I expected.”

  Silence settles again. Seren finds herself looking at his face, at the way his usual easy grin has not returned. He looks thoughtful now. Guarded.

  “What do you think he will do,” she asks.

  Aarav shrugs. “If he is still who I think he is, he will do what he thinks will get us moving and out his hair. Until then, there isn’t much we can do. Best to rest while we can. Whatever comes in the morning, we will need it.”

  It does not put her at ease, but she nods all the same.

  They leave the kitchen together. The main room lies in half shadow, firelight stretching long shapes across the floor. They choose a corner away from the draught by the door. There is no bedding, only bare wood and their cloaks, but better than sleeping outside again.

  Seren sits first, drawing her cloak tight around her shoulders, and leans back against the wall. Aarav lowers himself beside her, legs stretched out, arms folded across his chest. His eyes close almost immediately.

  For the first time all day, there is nothing she has to do.

  The quiet feels strange after the press of the road and the constant tightening of fear, but it settles around her like a held breath finally released. Whatever tomorrow brings, tonight they are not running.

  Seren turns toward the wall and pulls her cloak close. Her breath shakes once. Then again.

  She cries without sound until sleep finally takes her.