The sun hadn't quite risen when Avery blinked awake, her quilt tangled around her legs and the faint scent of cinnamon wafting in from the kitchen. Someone must've been to the bakery already.
She stretched, yawned dramatically, and sat up with a grin. "Wednesday mornings are the best"
She didn't mind school in fact, she liked it. Books, stories, facts she could toss at her brother Oliver later. Plus, on Wednesdays, the cafeteria served cheese rolls that didn't taste like cardboard.
She dressed quickly, blue pinafore, scuffed shoes, and the same ribbon she wore nearly every day (a little frayed, but still her favorite). She checked her satchel twice, sliding in her braille edition of A Wrinkle in Time, just because it felt right to carry it.
"Bye, Mama!" she called out, grabbing a still-warm bread bun from the table and calling for Oliver.
"Don't forget your"
"Got it!" Avery held up the note her teacher had sent home the day before.
And with that, she was out the door, satchel bouncing against her hip and Oliver trailing behind, the crisp morning breeze tugging at her ribbon as she made her way down the hill.
Elmsworth felt slower today. Like it hadn't fully stretched out yet.
She passed Hana's shop, waving without needing to know whether Hana was at the window or not.
"Morning, Miss Hana!" she called out, grinning. "Don't let the tea boil over!"
From somewhere inside, she heard a laugh Ethan's, she thought. And Hana's voice followed gently: "Good luck charming your teachers again."
"I don't need luck!" Avery shouted. "I've got a cute face!"
She kept skipping along the cobbled path, slowing only when she reached the little garden behind the tailor's workshop.
That's when she saw it.
Jonas.
He was standing under a crooked wooden awning, speaking with a woman Avery didn't recognize tall, wiry, wearing gloves even though the day was warm. Jonas handed her something. She took it, tucked it inside her coat, and gave a curt nod before walking away.
Avery squinted.
It looked like cash.
She tilted her head, frowning. But after a moment, she shrugged. Adults were always doing strange things. She had school to get to.
By the time the bell rang for dismissal, Avery had recited part of a poem, traded two toffees for a working pen, and helped Oliver tie his shoes (again).
Her new teacher, Miss Bray, was younger than most kind, sharp, and always wore paint on her fingers. Rumor had it she moonlighted as an artist.
"Alright, settle down!" Miss Bray clapped her hands once. "Before we wrap up remember, tomorrow is the school festival. And don't forget to send your invitations this evening!"
A chorus of "Yes, ma'am!" followed, followed by pencil scribbles and whispered excitement.
Avery beamed.
She loved the festival. Games, music, silly plays with crooked props and kids forgetting their lines. And if she invited Ethan and Hana... maybe they'd actually come.
Maybe this year would feel different.
School ended, but Avery didn't head home just yet.
She never did.
Instead, she snuck off to the third floor of the old wing. The hallway there was quiet, filled with dusty light and creaky floorboards. At the end was her favorite spot the balcony overlooking the mountains.
There, the wind always smelled clean. The air made her feel bigger somehow.
She leaned on the railing, running her fingers across the railing as the wind played with her ribbon.
The world below moved slowly horses clopped in the distance, smoke curled from chimneys, a child chased a paper kite near the green.
And then she saw him.
Ethan.
Far off down the hill, walking the familiar road home, shoulders heavy with the day.
"Ethan!!" she called, waving. "Wait for me!!"
He paused, looked up even from the distance she saw his arm lift in a thumbs-up.
She grinned and bolted.
Down the stairs, through the side exit, feet slapping the stone path.
By the time she caught up to him, she was red-faced and breathless.
"I saw you... from up there the balcony, you were like like an ant!"
Ethan laughed, slowing his pace. "Nice to know I'm majestic from a distance."
"You are!" she said proudly, still catching her breath.
They walked side by side, the orange wash of sunset painting the sky above them.
Avery talked the whole way. About the festival. About how weird the cafeteria meat looked today. About a boy named Theo who borrowed her pencil and might like her, but "maybe not, because he said my braid looked like a tail." She told Ethan about a riddle she solved faster than anyone, and how she fell asleep in math but didn't get caught.
Ethan listened.
Genuinely. The kind of listening people usually reserved for grownups or books.
When they reached the foot of her narrow street the one with the crooked lamp and crumbling steps Avery stopped and pointed.
"I live up there. But you can see Hana's shop from our window. I wave sometimes."
Ethan looked toward the hill.
She turned back. "You and Hana should come to the festival tomorrow. It won't be perfect but I think it might be nice."
He smiled. "I'll try. I've got work in the morning, but I'd love to if I can."
"Good," she said, and without waiting, jogged up the steps, waving again as she disappeared behind the gate.
Later that evening…
Ethan stopped by Hana's shop just as she was finishing with the ledgers.
He didn't say much this time. Just greeted her, helped move a box of dried lavender, and asked how her day had been.
"You sound tired," Hana said gently.
"Long day," he admitted. "But walking with Avery helped."
"She invited us to the festival I am guessing her mom told me about it some weeks ago," Hana added, as if reading his thoughts.
"I told her I'd see."
"You should rest."
"I will."
He stepped closer, touched her arm briefly then said goodnight, his voice quieter than usual.
And somewhere else…
The wind pushed softly against the broken shutters of the abandoned grain depot, its groan muffled beneath the sound of low voices within.
Inside, Jonas sat at a crooked table, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, lit only by the flickering candle balanced on an overturned crate. A faint smell of mildew clung to the walls, but he didn't seem to notice. Or care.
He rolled a coin between his fingers, eyes locked on the woman across from him.
She stood still, calm, her dark coat damp at the hem from walking through the fields. Mud flecked her boots, and her hair was tied back in a practical twist. A satchel rested at her side worn, but sturdy.
"You're sure everything's in place?" Jonas asked.
She nodded. "Started this morning. Credentials won't raise any eyebrows nothing official enough for anyone to check too hard. I'll be on the floor by next week."
His jaw flexed.
"Keep it quiet. Blend in. Don't push too fast," he said. "Let him trust you. Or at least let him think you're harmless."
"He will," she said coolly. "Men like him want to believe people are decent. Makes it easier."
Jonas scoffed, leaning back in the chair until it creaked beneath him.
"He's not from here. Doesn't know how things work." He glanced toward the door as if someone might be listening. "The village makes room for its own. Not for strays."
She didn't respond. Instead, she walked to the window, peeking through the slats. "The girl. Hana. She's connected to him."
"Obviously," Jonas muttered. "She's always... drawn people in. Like she's some ghost that needs saving."
The woman turned slightly. "You sound bitter."
"I sound observant," he said sharply, standing now. "There's a difference."
She raised a brow, unbothered.
Jonas walked across the room and pulled out a worn envelope from under a stack of old ledgers. It was thick, sealed tight.
"Half now," he said, handing it over. "You'll get the rest when it's done. No contact unless necessary. You don't know me. I don't know you."
She took it, slid it into her coat without a word.
"And remember," Jonas added, stepping closer, his voice lowering to a hiss, "this isn't about hurting him. Not directly. Just enough smoke... enough doubt. Truth doesn't matter. Rumors move faster."
She met his gaze, cool and unreadable. "You want him out."
"I want things back where they belong."
With that, she turned and slipped out the side door, disappearing into the dark field path.
Jonas remained by the table, watching the candle burn lower, his face unreadable.
Then, from the shadows of his coat pocket, he pulled a scrap of folded paper.
A name was scribbled in bold, almost angry ink:
Ethan Lowe
Jonas stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly, a grin crept across his face but it didn't reach his eyes.