Madeline set the jar of soup on the scarred wooden table, the glass clinking against the surface, but her eyes never left the bed. She threw herself toward her grandmother, burying her face in the old woman's shoulder. "Grandmother... I thought I'd lost you. I thought the world had gone dark," she sobbed, the terror of the previous night finally bleeding out in a torrent of hot tears.
"My sweet bird," Maria whispered, her voice a papery rasp. She reached up with a trembling hand to stroke Madeline's back. "I am sorry. The sun just... it grew too heavy for me to carry yesterday."
Maria looked past Madeline, her gaze softening as she saw Miguel and Charlene standing in the shadows of the doorway. She had watched them grow from scrawny, mud-covered children into the stoic young man and the fierce young woman they were now. She beckoned them closer, her expression suddenly turning solemn, almost desperate.
"Promise me," Maria said, grabbing Miguel's calloused hand and Charlene's sleeve with a strength that surprised them all. "Promise me that no matter what shadows fall, no matter how wicked the world becomes, you will never leave Madeline's side. Swear it."
"We promise, granny," Charlene said, her voice thick with emotion. "She's my sister. Always."
Miguel simply nodded, his grip firm. "On my life, granny. She won't walk alone."
Elias, the herbalist, cleared his throat as he packed a satchel with dried willow bark. "You can take her home now, but heed my words: she is like a thread worn thin. She needs rest. No work, no lifting, and no stress. If she goes back to that estate now, she won't last the week."
"But the Woodsman family..." Maria began, her eyes clouding with anxiety. "The roses... the cleaning... they won't wait."
"I'll take care of it, Grandma," Madeline interrupted, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "Just worry about getting better. I'll find a job, I'll talk to them—"
"No!" Maria's voice regained a sharp, fearful edge. She sat up straighter, her eyes flashing with a panic that bordered on terror. "I won't have it, Madeline. You are to stay inside. You are not to seek work."
Madeline felt the familiar sting of frustration. For years, her life had been a series of strange, suffocating rules. Whenever she stepped past their porch, she was forced to tuck every strand of her hair under a heavy hood and cover the lower half of her face with a thick scarf or mask. "Don't let them see you," Maria would whisper daily. "Beauty is a curse for the poor, Maddy. To be noticed is to be hunted. Stay hidden, stay safe."
She had lived her life as a ghost in her own village, never allowed to wander beyond the familiar streets, never allowed to show the world the blue of her eyes or the glow of her skin.
Madeline glanced at Charlene. Her friend's face was pale, her eyes screaming the words she couldn't say: You're in deep, Maddy. How do you pay back ten silver coins while locked in a house?
"Let's just get you home first," Miguel said, sensing the rising tension. He expertly lifted Maria, carrying her as if she were made of glass, and they began the slow trek back to their cottage.
The walk was silent, the air heavy with the scent of damp coal and the unspoken debt. But as they rounded the final corner to their small, sagging home, the air seemed to freeze solid.
Standing in the center of the muddy path, framed by the rotting wood of their front door, was a figure that didn't belong in the slums. Mr. Woodsman stood with his arms crossed over his expansive chest, his expensive fur-lined cloak sweeping the dirt. His eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on Madeline the moment she appeared.
Madeline's heart didn't just race; it stopped. The debt had arrived at her doorstep before the ink on the agreement was even dry. He wasn't here to check on a sick servant—he was here to claim what was his.