Victor stirred first. The bandage around his temple tugged a little as he shifted, and the faint ache behind his eye reminded him he was still healing. Beside him, Emma lay curled close, one arm folded under her cheek, the other draped lightly across his chest. Her braid had come half undone in the night, loose strands curling against his skin.
She looked peaceful. He'd seen her like this only rarely — when she wasn't thinking, planning, or worrying for the lot of them. Just breathing.
He stayed still for a long while, watching the slow rhythm of her shoulders rising and falling. The faint crease between her brows — her stubborn little tell — had softened at last.
He reached out, fingers brushing a stray lock from her forehead, tracing down along her temple to the curve of her shoulder. Her skin was warm from sleep.
She hummed drowsily without opening her eyes.
"Cold," she murmured, voice muffled against him.
He smiled faintly, thumb still tracing idle shapes on her arm.
"Half the summer's gone already."
That made her open one eye, heavy-lidded and soft with sleep.
"You counting days now?"
"Just realized," he said, voice still rough. "We've been with the troupe almost a year."
Emma rolled onto her back, squinting toward the pale slit of light at the tent seam.
"A year?"
He nodded.
"Since you decided to keep me around."
Her laugh was small and real, the kind that hit him right in the chest.
"You make it sound like I adopted a stray dog."
"You did," he said, grinning. "Fed me, patched me up, scolded me when I sulked."
"You still sulk."
"Yeah," he said, stretching a little. "But now I've got someone to make it worth it."
That earned him a slow blink and a smile that crept in before she could stop it.
"Careful, love," she said teasingly. "You're getting dangerously close to charming before breakfast."
"I'll risk it," he said quietly.
She tilted her head.
"Risk what?"
He hesitated, fumbling with his words. Then, with an awkward cough, he reached for the small pack by his bedroll.
"Got something for you."
Her brow arched.
"Victor, if that's another "fun-shaped" rabbit bone, I swear—"
He laughed.
"It's not. This time I actually found something you won't threaten to throw at me."
"Big talk."
He unwrapped a small piece of cloth, careful not to drop it. Inside lay a pendant — a smooth stone, sea-grey with faint specks of blue, no bigger than his thumb. The edges were rounded, polished until it caught the faint light and shimmered like water under sun. The cord was leather, softened by use, neatly knotted at one end.
Emma blinked, momentarily speechless.
"I found it weeks ago, near the coast," he explained. "Thought it might shine up nicely. Adam helped me clean it — he kept saying it'd bring luck. Didn't tell him who it was for, but I think he guessed."
She smiled at that, fingers hovering just above the stone.
"You kept it all this time?"
"Couldn't think of anyone else it'd suit."
Her voice came out soft, a little unsteady.
"Victor..."
"I know, it's not much," he said quickly. "But I wanted you to have something that's ours. Not borrowed. Not from before."
Her fingers brushed his as she lifted it. The stone felt cool against her skin, smooth like river glass. She turned it over, tracing the faint line that cut across one side — an imperfection that made it all the more beautiful.
"Love," she said, quiet but clear. "You didn't have to."
He smiled crookedly.
"I wanted to."
The word love hit him again, even gentler this time, like the tide brushing the shore.
She gathered her hair and turned her back to him, her braid slipping loose over one shoulder.
"Go on, then," she murmured. "Before I change my mind."
He blinked.
"You're sure?"
"Victor," she said, half laughing, "if you make me wait any longer, I'll do it myself."
He grinned, moving closer as he tied it gently around her neck. Her skin was warm, the nape of her neck soft beneath his fingers. He tied the knot carefully, then let his palms rest on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary.
"There," he murmured.
She touched the pendant, letting it settle against her collarbone. It looked right there — small, simple, but glowing faintly in the light like it belonged to her.
"It's beautiful," she said softly.
He shrugged, trying not to look too proud.
"Just a rock I found."
"It's ours," she corrected. "That's better than beautiful."
He smiled, but it faltered into something more vulnerable.
"You're the only thing I've done right all year."
Her eyes softened.
"Don't start with that."
He leaned in, brushing his thumb across her cheek.
"I'm serious."
She kissed his hand before lowering it.
"Then you're luckier than you think, because I happen to agree."
Their laughter mingled, quiet and easy. She tugged him close by the collar, kissed him slow — not hurried, not fierce, just warm, deep, and familiar.
When they pulled back, their foreheads touched, and he whispered,
"Now it's official."
"What is?"
"You and me. One year."
She laughed, the sound barely a breath.
"You're sentimental, Victor."
"Maybe," he murmured. "Don't tell Adam."
"He already knows," she said, teasing, her fingers still playing with the pendant.
He smiled at the sight of it resting against her skin — the small, polished stone he'd cleaned beside a campfire weeks ago with Adam, both of them joking about luck and superstition. He remembered how Adam had said, 'Give it to her, Vic. If she wears it, she's keeping you.'
And she was keeping him.
---
By midmorning, the courtyard shimmered with heat. The gulls had gone quiet, replaced by the soft hum of work and the far-off rhythm of the waves hitting the cliffs.
Aldous and Bran were out by the gate, sleeves rolled to the elbow, hammering new hinges into place with the kind of irritated precision only Aldous could manage.
Near the cloister wall, Édric and Adam worked side by side, stacking chopped logs into neat rows under the archway's shade. The smell of sawdust mixed with lavender and soap from the laundry yard.Rufus darted between them, barefoot, clutching his small pouch like a treasure sack. Every few seconds, he stopped to chase a butterfly, laughing when it escaped him.
"Careful, pup," Adam called. "You'll break your neck chasing things that don't want to be caught."
Rufus grinned over his shoulder.
"You catch things all the time!"
"Because I'm faster," Adam said, smirking.
Édric didn't look up.
"And older. Two things that usually don't go together."
Adam let out a laugh.
"Watch it, old man. I might start believing you think I've got energy left."
"You have too much," Édric said, voice dry.
The work went on, steady and rhythmic, the kind of simple labor that felt almost peaceful after months on the road.The only sounds were the creak of rope, the dull thud of stacked wood, the muted chatter of nuns somewhere beyond the stone arches.
Until Adam froze mid-motion.
"Edric," he said quietly. "Look at this."
He pointed to one of the rope coils lying beside the tools. The end had come undone — but not frayed, not worn. Cut clean.
Édric crouched beside him, running a calloused thumb along the edge. "Bran didn't touch these."
"Looks sliced," Adam murmured.
"Could be rats."
Adam raised an eyebrow.
"Rats with knives?"
That earned a brief huff that might've been amusement. Édric's mouth twitched, but the line of his shoulders stayed tense.
"Don't tell Aldous," he muttered, retying the rope. "He'll blame the convent and want to move camp by sundown."
"Right," Adam said, glancing toward the open arches. The courtyard looked harmless — quiet, bright. But he caught himself checking the shadows anyway.
They went back to work, though both men kept glancing at the edges of the yard.
Rufus appeared again, breathless and flushed.
"Adam, look!" He held out his hand — inside was a dead beetle and three petals.
"Treasure, huh?" Adam said, crouching down. "That thing paying rent?"
Rufus giggled and scampered off again, humming tunelessly.
By noon, Victor and Emma crossed the yard with buckets of water, and Victor, predictably, hadn't stopped looking at her since they'd left.
"Just making sure you know I'm watching."
"Helpful as ever," she said, rolling her eyes.
He grinned. "You love it."
"Keep talking and I'll drop this bucket on your foot."
Their laughter echoed faintly against the stone, drawing a brief, reluctant smile from Édric as he wiped sweat from his brow.
For a while, everything felt normal again. Too normal.
Then Aldous's shout cut through the air.
"Bloody hell—!"
Everyone turned. Out by the stables, the mule jerked its head, the strap across its chest dangling uselessly. The leather had snapped clean through.
Aldous cursed, steadying the animal before it bolted.
"That's brand-new tack! I checked it myself!"
Édric crossed the courtyard, Adam at his heels. He examined the torn strap, frowning.
"Not frayed."
"No," Aldous said, his tone dark. "That's been cut."
Emma's smile faded.
"By who?"
Victor glanced toward the convent wall, where the garden path disappeared under the arches.
"Could've been wear—"
"It wasn't wear," Édric interrupted quietly. "Leather doesn't part like that without help."
They all fell silent for a beat. The only sound was the mule's restless stamping.
Rufus crept closer, his hand finding Adam's sleeve.
"Are we in trouble?"
Adam ruffled his hair gently.
"Not unless you've been sneaking around with a knife I don't know about."
Rufus shook his head quickly.
"Then no, pup," Adam said. "Nothing to worry about."
But Édric's eyes were scanning the courtyard again, slower this time.The rope. The strap. The small things that shouldn't mean anything — and yet somehow did.
"Coincidence," Aldous said, though the word sounded forced.
"Sure," Adam murmured. "Let's hope so."
They went back to their work, but the air had shifted. The laughter didn't come as easily now, and even the sea wind felt sharper than before.
---
The sun sank slow behind the convent walls, staining the courtyard gold and pink. The sea below roared softly, muffled by distance. Smoke curled from the troupe's small fire, carrying the smell of stew and salt through the cloister.
Victor sat cross-legged near the flames, cheeks flushed from the heat — or from the way Emma kept brushing his arm each time she reached for the ladle.When she leaned forward to hand him a bowl, he caught her wrist instead, tugging her just close enough that she stumbled into his space.
"Careful," she said, laughing, bracing her free hand against his shoulder.
"I am," he murmured, and his grin softened into something shy and unguarded. "You look beautiful tonight."
She rolled her eyes — but the color in her cheeks gave her away.
"Victor," she said, quiet but fond, "you're impossible."
He shrugged, eyes tracing the small pendant resting against her collarbone. The polished stone caught the firelight, glowing faintly against her skin.
"You don't usually wear anything," he said. "But that—" He reached out, brushing a thumb lightly along the edge of the pendant. "—it does suit you."
Her lips curved.
"Then I'll keep it."
From across the fire, Adam let out a low whistle.
"Easy there, lover boy. Some of us are eating."
Victor didn't miss a beat.
"Jealous?"
Emma laughed, shaking her head. "You two are hopeless."
Édric, sitting a little apart, knife in hand, paused his work on a piece of kindling. His mouth twitched in the faintest of smiles — that rare, proud kind, the one he didn't seem to realize he gave. The sight of Victor happy, alive, teasing — it still did something to him.
"Hopeless," Édric said dryly, "but well-fed."
Victor grinned.
"You like it."
"I tolerate it," Édric replied. But his eyes said otherwise.
Adam laughed, but the sound rang strangely in his own ears — too sharp at the edges, too thin. He bent forward to poke the fire, pretending to focus on the crackling wood instead of the ache sitting behind his ribs.
Livia's face still hovered somewhere in the back of his mind — that split second through the sheets, the way she'd looked at him and turned away. The memory kept slipping between his thoughts like smoke.
When Emma tilted her head and caught his gaze across the fire, he forced a grin.
"Don't look at me like that. I'm just tired."
She didn't press — she never did. She gave him a small nod and turned back toward Victor, leaning her head against his shoulder.
Rufus, curled up between Adam and Édric, looked up suddenly.
"Can I see the necklace?"
Emma smiled and leaned toward him. "Of course, love."
The boy touched it with the tip of his finger, wide-eyed. "It's smooth," he said. "Like river stones."
Victor grinned, pleased.
"That's because I spent half a day polishing it."
"With Adam," Rufus said, glancing between them.
Adam shrugged.
"He did most of the work. I just told him not to lose a finger."
Rufus giggled, then looked back up at Emma.
"It's really pretty. You're really pretty with it."
Emma blinked, touched.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Rufus's expression softened — the way it did when his thoughts wandered where they shouldn't.
"My ma had a necklace," he said quietly. "Pa gave it to her. She said it was for luck. Ma used to let me touch it when there was thunder"
Victor set his bowl aside, watching the boy carefully.
"Yeah?"
Rufus nodded.
"They loved each other a lot. Even when they were sick, they'd still hold hands." He hesitated, then added in a whisper, "They loved me too. They said so every night."
Silence fell for a moment — not heavy, just still. The fire cracked softly.
Adam reached out, resting a warm, rough hand on the back of the boy's neck.
"They'd be proud of you, pup."
Rufus leaned into the touch, voice muffled.
"You think so?"
"I know so," Adam said. "And you've got us now. We're not going anywhere."
Rufus smiled, small and sleepy, pressing closer.
"I know."
Across the fire, Emma wiped her eye discreetly with her sleeve. Victor reached for her hand under the blanket. Édric pretended not to see, though the corner of his mouth softened again.
The flames crackled lower, the smoke rising slow and steady into the dark.Adam stared into it, the warmth brushing his scarred face, the shadows pulling long. He wanted to believe it — that nothing would touch this small circle of safety.But under the hum of laughter, he thought he heard something else — faint, distant, like a creak of wood that didn't belong.
He didn't move.