I stayed on the ridge until morning.
The sky turned from black to blue to a pale grey, the kind that makes everything look colder than it is. I didn't sleep. I just watched the village from above, watched smoke start to rise from chimneys again, watched people move between homes like nothing had happened.
But something had.
The man I killed was gone by sunrise. Buried or burned, I didn't know. The villagers had already begun smoothing over the scene, covering it like an old wound they didn't want to remember.
Even from here, I felt the shift. I'd done what I thought was right. I'd protected someone. Stopped a man who deserved worse than what I gave him and still, they looked at me like a warning. Maybe they weren't wrong.
I made my way down just after dawn. Not back into the village, not right away. I skirted the edge, moving toward the trees where the light was soft and broken. I had no destination. I just needed distance, space to think.
I ended up by the burial site. Fresh earth. A small wooden marker driven into the ground. Nothing carved into it, no name, no date. Just a scrap of cloth tied to the top, fluttering gently in the breeze.
It was the same bundle Lyra had wrapped the boy in.
She had done it alone.
I stood there for a long time, staring at that spot, wondering what kind of strength it took to bury someone you loved and then sit by them in silence.
I turned to leave and found Lyra standing behind me. She didn't startle. Neither did I.
Her arm was bound tight in a fresh wrap, and her face was pale but set. She didn't speak right away.
"I thought you left."
"I almost did."
"You should have."
"I know."
She stepped forward and looked down at the grave. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"You saved me," she said, not as thanks but as fact.
I nodded.
"And they're afraid of you now."
"I know."
She looked at me, long and hard.
"Are you dangerous?" she asked.
It wasn't a challenge. It was a genuine question.
"Yes," I said. "But not to you."
"That's not really an answer."
"No," I admitted. "It's not."
She crossed her arms, winced slightly at the motion, then let them fall again.
"You don't talk like the others who pass through here."
"I'm not like the others."
"I figured."
She hesitated. Then, after a long breath, she said, "I don't need saving. Not again. But I think you do."
I blinked.
She turned and started walking back toward the village.
"I'll be at the well," she called over her shoulder. "If you want to talk. Or not."
I didn't follow her right away. I stayed at the grave for a while longer, letting the stillness settle in my chest. I didn't know why I was hesitating. Maybe because I wasn't sure what she wanted from me. Or maybe because a part of me still thought I'd ruin it, whatever it was.
But I went anyway.
The village was waking. A boy chased chickens between huts. A woman hung linens that didn't look clean to dry in the weak sun. No one stopped me. But they saw me. I could feel the stares like cold wind on the back of my neck.
At the well, Lyra was sitting on the edge, cradling her wrapped arm. Her face was unreadable. She didn't smile when she saw me, but she didn't look away either.
I approached slowly.
"You stayed," she said, not a question.
I nodded. "Didn't plan to."
"But?"
I looked around, then back at her. "I don't know."
She shifted slightly, making room on the edge of the well. I sat beside her, careful not to let our shoulders touch. The stone beneath us was still damp with morning dew.
For a while, we just listened to the village moving around us. Chores being done. Voices raised, then softened. The rhythm of people trying to live normal lives in a world that didn't allow for much normalcy anymore.
"They buried him," she said after a while. "The one you killed."
"Where?"
"Near the woods. Not far from where he died. They didn't mark it."
She didn't sound angry. Just tired.
"He wasn't always like that," she added. "At least, I don't think he was."
I didn't reply. I'd heard that line before, about men who turned cruel, men who lost too much and came back wrong.
"Do you feel anything?" she asked suddenly, turning toward me. "About killing him?"
I didn't lie.
"I feel… two things."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm glad I stopped him," I said. "But I wish it didn't feel so easy."
She studied my face for a long moment, then looked away again.
"You said you're dangerous."
"I am."
"Do you want to be?"
I didn't answer.
Lyra picked at the edge of her sleeve, her fingers tugging loose a thread. Her eyes didn't leave the well's stonework, but her voice sharpened.
"You talk like someone who's waiting for permission to stop pretending."
I looked at her.
She went on, "You keep saying you're dangerous. That you're not like other people. That it's easier than it should be to kill. You say it like you're warning me. But it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself."
"I'm not."
"You are," she said, and her voice wasn't cruel. "You saved me. That wasn't easy. You could've walked away."
"I've walked away before."
"Why didn't you this time?"
I didn't know.
She turned toward me now, eyes steady. "Tell me something, Alexander. When you killed him… did you want to?"
The question hung there.
She didn't fill the silence. She let it hang between us like a blade waiting to fall.
"Yes," I said finally. "I wanted to."
She didn't flinch.
"That scares you," she said.
"I'm used to being afraid of what I am."
Lyra folded her arms carefully over her stomach, mindful of her splint. "You think you're a monster."
"I know I am."
"No. You're afraid you are. That's different."
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off with a quiet, almost bitter laugh.
"I've seen monsters, Alexander. Real ones. Some wore armor. Some wore smiles. They hurt because they could. Because they liked it. Not one of them stood over a grave like you did."
I looked away.
She leaned forward slightly. "Whatever you are… you're still fighting it."
"I don't know how much longer I can."
"That's why you stayed, isn't it?" she asked. "Because you want someone to tell you it's still worth trying."
I didn't answer.
She stood, slowly, steadying herself against the well.
"Then hear it from me," she said. "It is."
She turned and started walking away.
I watched her go, the words she left behind sinking into the cracks I tried to hide.
And I felt something then, faint, buried, but real.
Hope.
Unwanted.
Unwelcome.
But still there.
I didn't move from the well for a long time after she left.
The village carried on around me. Someone was hammering something nearby, a door maybe, or a cart wheel. I heard children laughing in the distance. The sounds should have felt normal, reassuring.
They didn't.
I kept hearing her voice. The certainty in it. The quiet strength. Lyra had spoken to me like she wasn't afraid, like she saw me and still believed there was something worth saving. And that made it harder, not easier.
Because it meant I didn't have the excuse anymore. Not the one I told myself. That no one would ever believe in me again. That I was too far gone.
She did.
And I didn't know if I deserved it.
I was still at the well when the shouting started.
Two voices. Then more. I stood instinctively, listening.
The words weren't clear, but the tone was. Anger. Panic.
I followed the sound, down a narrow lane between two homes, past a goat pen and into the square where the tavern stood. A crowd was forming.
In the center was a man I recognized, the one who'd fled into the woods during the attack on Lyra. His face was scratched and his clothes torn, but he was alive. And he was pointing directly at me.
"That's him!" he was yelling. "The thing that killed Jon!"
A few heads turned. Whispers spread fast, like fire through dry grass.
"He's not natural," the man shouted. "Snapped his neck with one hand. Didn't use a blade. Didn't bleed. I saw it."
The innkeep stepped forward, arms crossed.
"You ran," he said flatly. "Left your friend to die."
"He wasn't my friend. He was a bastard. But this one" the man jabbed a finger toward me "this one ain't right."
The crowd began shifting, uncertain.
Someone muttered, "He's the one who doesn't eat. Doesn't drink. Just watches."
"He came out of nowhere."
"I heard he doesn't sleep."
They weren't shouting yet. But the tone was turning.
I stepped forward.
"I protected Lyra. He tried to hurt her."
"You think that makes it better?" the man spat. "You snapped his bones like twigs!"
More people backed away now, eyes darting between me and the man.
"Maybe he's cursed."
"Maybe worse."
And then someone did shout.
"Monster!"
It broke the tension like glass shattering.
A rock flew. I dodged it without thinking. Another came, and another. Not everyone joined in, but enough did.
I turned to run.
Then I saw Lyra, standing near the tavern steps, watching.
She didn't call out and she didn't move, but she wasn't afraid. She was waiting to see what I would do.
So I stopped.
The crowd edged closer, voices rising in fragments.
"Get him out-"
"Don't let him stay-"
"He'll kill again-"
I didn't move. The instinct was there, burning just beneath the surface. I could've ended it. I could have moved through them before they even registered it, left behind bruised bodies and broken bones. Maybe worse, but I didn't. Instead I held still.
Because Lyra hadn't looked away and for some reason, that mattered more than fear.
I raised my hands slowly, palms open. "I won't hurt anyone."
They didn't listen. A few more stones flew, one grazed my shoulder, another hit the tavern wall beside me, but I didn't flinch. I looked at Lyra.
If she turned away, I'd leave. Disappear into the woods, vanish like smoke. I'd done it before. I could do it again.
But she stepped forward instead.
"Stop it!" she shouted.
The shouting paused. Not stopped entirely, but enough.
She stood in front of me now, her good hand raised.
"He saved me," she said. "If he hadn't, I'd be dead. Or worse."
The man who had fled the woods scoffed.
Silence.
I watched her, shoulders squared, voice steady despite everything. She didn't shake. She didn't retreat.
They didn't understand her, but they respected her and that was enough.
The innkeep was the first to speak again.
"You gonna stay much longer?" he asked me.
I shook my head. "No."
"You should leave tonight."
I nodded.
The tension eased, but the damage was done. I saw it in their eyes. Some of them still thought I might snap. That I was just waiting for an excuse. But they weren't going to force the issue. Not now.
I turned and walked away from the square.
Lyra followed.
We stood behind the tavern, beside a stack of wood, hidden from view. I could still hear murmurs from the crowd, but they felt distant now.
"You didn't run," she said quietly.
"You didn't either."
She nodded.
"You'll need to leave."
"I know."
She leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"For what?"
"For dragging this on you. For what you saw."
Lyra looked at me then, really looked, and said, "You didn't drag me into anything. I stood beside you because I chose to."
I met her gaze. "You still believe I can be something else?"
"I believe you are something else."
That stayed with me.
I left before dusk, with just the road ahead and the cold settling back into my bones.
But for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was walking away from something.
I was walking toward it.