The book felt heavier the longer I carried it. Every step back through the narrow streets pressed its weight against me, as if the pages themselves wanted to drag me down. I tucked it deeper under my coat and forced myself to look normal, just another villager heading nowhere in particular.
But my eyes betrayed me. They searched the corners, the windows, the gaps between houses. Waiting for someone to notice. Waiting for someone to ask what I was hiding.
Iya walked behind me, not beside me. I didn't know if it was distance or protection, but either way it made my skin prickle.
When we reached the edge of the square again, I slowed. The mayor hadn't left yet. He stood by the well, speaking with two men from the fields. His laughter rose above the murmur of the crowd, practiced and easy, the way he always sounded when he wanted everyone calm. But even from here, I could tell it was too loud. A little too sharp.
His eyes flicked across the square, scanning the faces. They paused once, in my direction.
I forced myself not to stiffen. I turned away, pretending to watch a stray dog digging near the well. My hands dug into my coat pockets until the edges of the book's cover pressed hard into my palms.
"Keep walking," Iya murmured.
I obeyed. My feet carried me past the square, down a side street toward the stream. I didn't breathe properly until the mayor's voice was gone from my ears.
"He knows," I said.
"Yes," Iya replied simply.
Her calmness made my chest burn. "Then what am I supposed to do? Pretend he doesn't? Pretend this book isn't digging into my skin every time I move?"
"You hold it. You wait. You decide what to do before he does."
Her words sat heavy in the air.
I crouched near the stream's edge, dipping my hands into the cold water. My reflection wavered on the surface. Eyes darker than I remembered, mouth tight, hair tangled from the walk. I barely recognized myself anymore. Maybe that was good. If the mayor was searching for the girl he thought he knew, maybe he wouldn't see me as I was now.
Behind me, Iya stood silent. Watching. Always watching.
In the square, the mayor finally sent the men away. He lingered a moment longer, staring toward the path I had taken. His smile faded once no one else was looking. His hands folded behind his back, and his eyes narrowed in thought.
The mask slipped. Just for a moment.
Then he turned, walking toward the chapel, his steps measured and calm. No one questioned him. No one ever did.
The bell stayed quiet. The village returned to its rhythm. But something had shifted, invisible yet certain.
And I could feel it pressing closer...