"You hurt her!"
Avery's voice rang out sharp and furious as she stormed across the grassy slope, her single braid swinging behind her like a whip. She'd been looking for him for nearly an hour asking down at the depot, checking behind the shops, even peering through the alleys near the bakery. She finally spotted him near the edge of the field, where the hills met the woods, sitting hunched against a tree as if the world were crumbling around him.
Ethan stood quickly, startled. "Avery"
"No!" she snapped. "Don't say my name like that. Like you're glad to see me."
She marched up and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Do you know what you did to her? She cried, Ethan. Hana cried. I've never seen her cry like that before."
Ethan swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I didn't mean to"
"Don't say that either!" Avery cut in. "Stop with all the I didn't mean to and I never wanted to. If you didn't want to hurt her, why did you?"
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked away.
Avery stared up at him, her voice trembling now. "She won't tell me what happened. She just kept saying you hurt her, and I.... I could tell she meant it. Not just a little hurt, but the kind that makes someone quiet. The kind that breaks something inside."
Ethan turned away, his hands pressed to his face. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"Then what happened?" she demanded. "What did you do that made her shut down like that? Did you say something cruel? Did you yell at her?"
"I didn't yell at her." His voice was hoarse. "I didn't say anything cruel. I just I made a mistake."
Avery stepped back, her brow drawn, her chest rising and falling fast. "You made a mistake? That's it?"
"It's more complicated than that."
"Not to me it's not!" Avery cried. "To me, it's simple. Hana let you into her life, into her heart, and you threw that away. And now she sits in that shop like a shadow of herself and won't even say your name."
Ethan rubbed his eyes. "You think I don't know that? I think about it every second I'm breathing."
"Then do something about it!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "Stop hiding under trees and sitting around like a sad little ghost! Go to her. Tell her what she means to you."
"She won't believe me," he said quietly.
"Then maybe you don't deserve her," Avery whispered, the wind tugging gently at her braid.
Ethan looked at her, stunned.
Tears welled in Avery's eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "I thought you were different," she said. "I thought you were the kind of man who would fight for her. But you're just... standing here."
Ethan's shoulders slumped. "I don't know how to fix it."
"Maybe you can't," she said, backing away. "But you can try."
She turned and walked away, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress. Behind her, Ethan didn't move. He just stood alone in the grass, the silence pressing in tighter than the trees.
Back at the inn, Jonas leaned back in a cushioned chair, one hand lazily swirling red wine in a glass. The flickering lamplight painted gold across the floorboards and cast long shadows across the room. Marian stood near the window, arms folded, her gaze distant.
"She bought it all?" Jonas asked, his voice low and relaxed.
"I told them he couldn't keep his hands to himself. That he was wild, like something caged too long."
Jonas chuckled. "She'll never forget it."
"Next I'll tell Mrs. Corwin how Hana's never even been kissed. And how Ethan told me I was unforgettable."
"Twist it deeper," Jonas said, his smile tight and cruel.
Dusk had fallen by the time Ethan found himself back at Hana's shop.
He didn't knock. He didn't call out.
He simply knelt at the door, quietly, as if afraid the sound of his breath might disturb her. In his hand was a small sachet—lavender, faded and tied with thread, something she had once said helped her sleep.
Beside it, he placed a folded note in braille, written with shaking hands.
Inside, Hana sat behind the counter, her fingers resting against her cup of cooling tea. She heard the footsteps. She heard him kneel. Her ears caught the soft rustle as he set something down.
But she didn't move.
Outside, Ethan lingered for a long moment, eyes closed, head bowed like a man in prayer.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked back into the night, unseen.
The air was cooler now, the wind carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. Ethan walked with no direction, no destination just forward. Past the well-worn path near the blacksmith's, past the crooked fence behind Mrs. Whitmore's garden. His boots scuffed the dirt, slow and unsure, like each step might splinter apart.
A voice called faintly in the distance children still chasing the last moments of daylight. But Ethan didn't lift his head. He couldn't. The weight behind his eyes pressed harder with every breath.
He crossed behind the depot, where shadows swallowed the wooden crates, and finally sank down onto an overturned barrel. The ache in his chest wouldn't fade.
What had he even been thinking? That a letter and a pouch of dried lavender could undo all the pain he'd caused? That silence could speak what his voice couldn't?
He dragged a hand down his face and stared out across the village rooftops. Lanterns flickered in windows small lives moving forward without him. In the far distance, someone was playing a fiddle, off-key and tired.
Ethan closed his eyes.
Meanwhile, inside the shop, Hana hadn't moved. The silence outside had shifted—subtle but distinct. She knew he was gone.
She stood slowly, her hand brushing the counter for support. The teacup was still warm.
Carefully, she stepped to the door and opened it just enough for her fingers to reach the folded note. She felt the sachet first. Lavender. The threads were fraying at the edges.
Her hand found the note next, and she brought it inside without a word.
Back inside, she ran her fingers across the raised dots. Her fingertips paused after the first few words. Then continued. Slower.
The corners of her mouth trembled.
She folded the note closed and set it gently down. She did not cry. Not yet. Her throat tightened with something thick and unspoken. Pain? Rage? Or worse—hope.
The worst of it was not knowing which.
At the edge of the river path, where the stones flattened into stepping patches beside the water, Avery sat cross-legged on a worn bench, chin in her hands.
She watched the slow current drift past, boots still dusted with the day's run. Her braid hung over one shoulder, loose now at the end, and a smear of dirt lined her elbow. She hadn't realized how far she'd walked after confronting Etham just kept moving, stomping through grass, talking to herself, mad at the world.
Her heart hadn't calmed. Not once.
She stared down at her reflection in the water, rippling and shapeless.
"He better fix it," she whispered. "He better."
But even as she said it, doubt prickled along her spine. Grown-ups always found new ways to disappoint. Even the ones who didn't seem like grown-ups at all.
Further uphill, Mira stood outside her small home, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe. The street was still. Most lights had dimmed behind curtains. Some dogs barked , then quieted.
She hadn't stopped thinking about Hana all day. Or Ethan, for that matter.
Something wasn't sitting right. The story... it all felt too neatly awful.
She hadn't believed it at first not fully. But the more it spread, the more people twisted it, shaped it like dough between hands. And now? The whole village was starting to make up their own versions. Some said Ethan had cornered Marian. Others claimed they'd seen him sneaking out of her home half-dressed. One even said he and Marian were seen whispering in the alley during the school festival though Mira knew that wasn't true.
She exhaled sharply, then turned back inside, lighting a single oil lamp by the stove.
This wasn't over. Not by a long stretch. And if Hana wouldn't go looking for the truth, Mira was starting to feel like she might have to.