The sun was still low in the sky when Aiyana found Warru standing outside the tavern, leaning against the wall with one hand on his cane and the other cradling his ever-present gourd of plum wine. A half-smoked rollie hung from the corner of his cracked lips, and he squinted into the morning glare like it personally offended him.
He didn't look at her when he spoke.
"You been down there every damn day for a whole week."
She crossed her arms. "He needed care."
"He's not a dog, Aiyana. He's a man." Warru took a long drag, then exhaled slow. "One who hasn't run, hasn't lied, and hasn't hurt anyone since crawling into our dirt half-dead."
She waited.
Then he turned, finally meeting her eyes. "It's time."
Her heart skipped.
"You mean—?"
Warru nodded once. "Let him out. Chains, room, all of it."
She smiled despite herself. "You serious?"
"I'm old, not stupid." He scratched his beard. "But tell him something before he starts parading around the damn village."
Aiyana leaned forward, raising an eyebrow.
"Tell him to hide that goddamn neck. The letter."
Aiyana's smile faded slightly. "You don't think they'll accept him?"
"They'll accept him until they see the M. Then he's meat." He poked her shoulder with his cane. "Even we got limits. Tell him."
She nodded, lips pressed tight. "Got it."
Warru waved her off. "And don't go gettin' soft on him."
Aiyana turned away, smirking. "Bit late for that, Uncle."
"Damn kids," he muttered.
***
Back in the root cellar, the air was cooler than usual, still thick with earth and shadow, but less suffocating now. Wang sat on the cot, shirt on, stump wrapped tight, boot laces half-tied.
He looked up as Aiyana stepped inside.
Her expression was different today—brighter, but measured.
"You look too smug," Wang muttered. "That either means I'm being executed or you brought real food."
She grinned. "How about option C?"
She knelt beside the wall where the iron cuffs still hung loosely from the floor bolt. Without a word, she pulled out the key from around her neck and inserted it into the shackle on his ankle.
Click.
The iron fell away.
Wang blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
"Seriously," she said, moving to the wrist shackle next. "Warru said you're good to go."
Wang's face twisted in disbelief. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," she replied, popping the final lock open. "Well… mostly."
He raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
She looked him dead in the eye. "Cover your neck."
Wang touched the scarred brand instinctively. "The M?"
"Yeah," she said quietly. "Most people around here still think in letters. You show that, you don't get sympathy—you get blades."
He nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in. "Got anything I can use?"
She tossed him a folded scarf from her satchel. "It's not fancy, but it'll keep people from staring."
Wang held it for a moment. Then looked at her.
"Thanks," he said.
"Don't thank me yet," she replied. "You're about to walk into a world that doesn't give a shit about good intentions."
He stood up, a little shaky, but solid.
"Then it's just like the last one," he said. "Only this time, I've got better company."
She gave him a crooked smile.
"Try not to make me regret it, one-arm."
"Try not to miss me too much when I run for the hills."
"You won't make it past the outhouse."
He laughed—first time in weeks.
And for the first time in a long, long while, Wang took a step forward as a free man.
Q: Have you ever been in quarantine before?