Chapter 35 — Larkspur Lane
The path widened as the trees thinned, trading shadow for wind and long sightlines. Rei kept his pace easy and his breathing even. Becca walked the unicorn with one hand on the reins, the other hovering near the tack as if she could feel every strap through leather.
A low valley opened into cultivated ground—fields cut into rough squares, stone-lined ditches, a cluster of roofs tucked close around a central lane. Smoke rose from a cookfire. Sound carried up the slope: a hammer tapping wood, a goat bleating, a child laughing.
A weathered post stood where the trail met a cart track. Someone had carved a name into it long ago and refreshed the letters recently.
LARKSPUR.
Jinx ranged forward, then circled back sooner than usual. Her ears stayed forward. Her tail held low and steady. Vesper's weight pressed in Rei's hood like a steady palm at the base of his skull.
Becca followed Jinx's line with her eyes. "She's acting like she heard something I didn't."
Rei watched the village as they drew closer. A man hauled a bucket from a well and set it down, lifted it again, set it down again—same motion, same angle, same pace. His eyes blinked hard, focus returning, and he carried on.
A woman at a fence gate worked a latch, then repeated the motion with an empty hand. Her laugh came quick and bright as she waved at someone in the lane.
Becca's mouth tightened. "That's wrong."
Rei kept his face neutral. "Yes."
Two villagers stepped out from behind a stacked woodpile at the village edge. One carried a long-handled tool that could be a hoe or a weapon depending on the day. The other wore a cord around his wrist with a small iron bell tied to it, the kind used to call hands in from fields. His thumb rested on the clapper like he'd learned to keep it ready.
The one with the tool called first. "Road's shut."
Becca stopped the unicorn a pace behind Rei. "We want water and a direction. Then we're gone."
The man's gaze flicked to the unicorn's horn, then to the foxes, then to Rei. It lingered on Rei's hood a fraction longer than comfort allowed.
"Turn around," he said.
Becca's tone stayed light, but her body narrowed the lane. "We can walk through without touching anything you care about."
The man with the hoe opened his mouth again, then stopped when a third person stepped into view from deeper in the lane—older, shoulders thick, hair bound with twine. A leather apron dusted with flour and ash hung from his waist. He moved like someone who'd baked bread his whole life and had recently learned to stand watch with the same hands.
"Keep your animals close," the older man said. "Keep your eyes forward. Drift, and you'll find a door in your face."
Becca raised her brows. "So we can pass."
The older man's eyes slid toward the well, then back. "You pass down the lane. You keep away from the east row. You keep away from the sheds behind the granary."
"Why," Becca asked, blunt as ever.
The man with the bell-cord—Tarin, someone called him from behind a shutter—answered before anyone else. "Because we're tired."
The hoe-man shot him a look like the honesty cost something.
The older man held Rei's gaze for a moment. His eyes weren't pleading. They were measuring.
"It's in people," the older man said.
Becca's grip tightened on the reins. "And you're still letting travelers through."
"We're letting you leave," the older man replied. "That's different."
Jinx let out a low sound in her throat, almost a warning. Vesper pressed heavier, steady as stone.
Rei kept his energy sense on its lowest leash. A thin wrongness brushed the edge of it—irregular, gritty, present for a breath and gone the next. He didn't show it.
"We walk," Rei said. "We stay tight."
"Tight helps," the older man said.
They stepped aside, creating a narrow channel. Their shoulders stayed set as if they expected to close the lane behind them.
Becca walked the unicorn forward. "If that bell rings?"
Tarin's eyes stayed forward. "Doors close. People get inside."
Becca's smile held no humor. "Understood."
They entered the lane.
Larkspur smelled like baked grain and damp earth, smoke and animal musk—ordinary life packed into tight space. People watched from windows. People watched from doorways. Most faces held guarded neutrality. A few offered quick, brittle smiles, the kind people use to prove they still remember how.
A boy ran across the lane with a stick sword, laughing. He slid to a stop mid-run, body stiffening as if the motion had locked. His arms lifted—same arc, same speed—then lifted again, the second swing cutting through air that wasn't there. His eyes unfocused for a blink, then snapped back. He shook his head like he'd dislodged water from his ears and sprinted onward, laughter returning a fraction late.
A woman called after him, voice bright. "Kaito! Watch your feet!"
Becca leaned close to Rei without slowing. "That kid just reset."
Rei kept his gaze forward. "Yes."
Behind a shuttered stall, a man sat with his hands wrapped around a mug. His fingers tapped the handle in a pattern—three taps, pause, three taps, pause—eyes tracking the lane with a focus that never quite landed.
Someone pushed a cart stacked with split wood. The wheels squeaked at the same beat every rotation. The pusher's shoulders moved with the rhythm as if the sound controlled the motion.
Jinx skirted close to Rei's ankle. Her head turned sharply toward a doorway on the east side, then away. Her fur lifted along her spine for a moment. Vesper's warmth pressed steady, a quiet counterweight.
They passed the well again. The bucket-man worked with rigid care, muscles moving like they followed an internal metronome. Lift, set. Lift, set. Water sloshed the same way each time.
Rei's jaw tightened. Repetition this clean scraped at his instincts.
Becca touched the unicorn's neck, grounding herself. "They're acting."
Rei didn't answer. He watched eyes. He watched hands. He watched how people shifted their weight whenever a door opened.
A group stood near the bend, talking in low voices. Rei caught fragments as he passed.
"…east shed again…"
"…tied him down…"
"…she was fine at breakfast…"
"…keep everyone inside…"
One speaker saw Rei's glance and swallowed the rest. The others followed the silence, mouths closing in near-unison.
Becca's eyes flicked to Rei. "Out."
Rei nodded once.
They reached the far end of the lane where the ground sloped toward a path between fields. The older man in the apron waited there, as if he'd paced their progress by habit.
"Out," he said again.
Becca nodded. "We're leaving."
The older man's gaze shifted to Jinx and Vesper. "Keep them close."
"They decide that," Becca replied.
A flicker crossed the older man's face—recognition, then resignation. His eyes cut past them toward the well.
The bucket-man paused mid-lift, muscles locked, bucket hanging with water trembling inside. His eyes unfocused, then sharpened into a predatory intensity that didn't belong on a man hauling water.
His mouth opened.
A sound came out that didn't fit his voice. It layered over itself, like two versions of the same word fighting for space.
The iron bell rang once—hard, urgent.
Doors slammed. Shutters snapped closed. Footsteps hammered boards. A sack of grain hit the dirt and split, kernels scattering across the lane. A cart wheel rolled half a turn and stopped against a rut.
The bucket-man moved.
He moved with a stuttering burst that skipped the space between one step and the next. The bucket crashed. Water splashed across dirt. His head snapped toward the nearest living body—one villager who had frozen instead of running.
He lunged.
Rei moved first.
Dream rose through his tail conduit as a clean thread. He shaped it into a brace at the attacker's shin, catching the forward momentum and shoving it sideways. The man hit the brace and stumbled, hands clawing at air.
Rei stepped in, shoulder protesting but holding. He drove a second construct into place at the attacker's wrists, pinning the arms away from the villager's throat. The Dream held like hardened smoke, resistant and cold.
Becca yanked the unicorn back a step and swung the horn into the lane like a barrier. "Inside!" she barked. "Move!"
The villager closest to the attacker scrambled away on hands and knees, eyes wide, face pale. They disappeared through a doorway that slammed shut behind them.
The attacker jerked against Rei's restraint.
Strength came in bursts—surge, slack, surge—body trying to find angles that holds weren't built for. Joints caught and released with an unnatural rhythm. His eyes stayed locked on warm bodies with a predator's hunger.
Rei tightened the bindings, anchored them deeper, forced stability through focus. The ache behind his eyes sharpened. Ember Circulation smoothed the edge, kept breath even, kept hands steady.
Jinx darted in a tight circle, teeth bared, then snapped her attention toward the east row. Vesper stayed pressed against Rei's neck, heavy and calm.
The attacker's voice broke into overlapping syllables again. Spittle flew. He twisted, and for a sliver of time his shoulders shifted in a way that looked like a reset—angle snapping back to something his motion hadn't earned.
Rei adjusted instantly, stepping into the new line and driving a brace across the attacker's torso. The construct caught him like a wall. Dirt kicked up as feet scrabbled.
A villager two steps away raised a pole, hesitated, then lowered it again, hands shaking. Another watched from behind a half-closed door, eyes wet, mouth pressed tight.
Becca stood behind the unicorn's horn, body angled, eyes hard. "You've got him."
"I've got him," Rei said, voice calm by force.
For a heartbeat, containment looked possible.
A shout carried from inside a doorway. "Rope! Rope!"
A coil flew from a window and landed near Rei's boots.
Rei glanced down, then back up. "Now."
The older man stepped forward with two others, faces set. They moved with practiced fear—hands out, rope ready, eyes fixed on the attacker's arms.
Rei held the Dream restraints steady while they looped rope around wrists and chest. The attacker bucked and surged, head snapping toward the unicorn, then toward Rei, then toward the nearest villager. The focus didn't settle. It hunted.
Rope tightened. Knots cinched. The villagers pulled hard, anchoring the man against a fence post.
Rei eased the Dream construct a fraction, testing whether physical restraint could carry the load.
The attacker slammed his shoulder into the post. Wood creaked. His face twisted into something that almost looked like panic, then sharpened back into predation.
Rei reinforced the brace, attention narrowing.
Becca exhaled, sharp. "We go. Right now."
Rei nodded. He could feel the strain in his Dream hold—stable, costly. He could also feel that thin wrongness pulse at the edge of perception and vanish again.
A woman stepped into the lane from the east side carrying a basket of laundry against her hip. Her face wore a practiced smile, the kind that says everything stays normal because the smile exists.
She took one step.
Her foot landed. Her knee bent. Her posture froze.
Then her body repeated the motion with perfect precision, basket never shifting, smile never changing.
Her eyes slid toward Rei.
For a sliver, they looked like a person's eyes.
Then the focus sharpened into hunger.
Jinx's fur lifted along her spine.
Vesper pressed heavier, a warning without sound.
The woman's mouth opened. Her voice came out layered, broken, wrong.
Becca's hand tightened on the reins. "Rei."
Rei kept the first attacker pinned while his attention shifted. The woman stepped again with the same stuttering burst, basket steady against her hip. A shout went up from inside a house, sharp and panicked.
Rei drew a slow breath, Ember Circulation tightening his control into one clean line. He had one set of hands on one problem, and the lane had already produced a second.
The woman's feet hit dirt, and she came at them fast.