I waited in the living room while Milo set the table.
"I made a lot since I didn't know what you like," he said.
Dishes covered the surface – stew, bread, roasted vegetables, something glazed and sweet-smelling. Everything was warm, fragrant. Too much for just two people.
I had tasted a few of these before – meals left quietly outside my door. But this was the first time I saw the hands that made them.
My stomach growled again.
In my old world, I barely ate. Small portions had been enough. Or maybe my body had learned not to want anything.
But now, in this one – this body – I was always hungry.
Maybe it was the years of starvation. Or maybe the pnevma inside was burning though everything too fast.
Either way, I didn't stop.
By the time I looked up, two plates were empty.
Milo smiled. "I'm glad you've got an appetite."
I froze, mid-bite.
He had been sitting nearby the whole time. Watching me.
He smiled and stood, turning toward the pot. "There's still more stew, if you want."
I didn't answer.
He didn't push. Just moved quietly, stacking the empty dishes. Then he walked over to the water basin in the corner, humming himself. Not too loud. Not awkward either. Just enough to fill the silence without breaking it.
The front door creaked open.
I turned fast. Milo didn't.
But when I felt the familiar pnevma, my guard dropped – just slightly.
"I'm back."
Gideon stepped inside, travel cloak dusted with road ash. He paused when he saw me sitting at the table.
"You're up," he said, then offered a faint smile. "That's good."
Milo brightened. "She ate two whole plates. I think she likes my cooking."
Gideon chuckled. "As expected of our chef."
Milo beamed under the praise.
I stayed quiet.
Gideon set down a worn satchel by the door. "Anything happen while I was gone?"
Milo hesitated. His eyes darted toward me.
I spoke first. "The manor's guards were in town."
Gideon's face didn't change. But his posture did – just enough to notice.
"They didn't see you?"
I shook my head.
He nodded, as if that answer had already been accounted for. "Then it's time we return to New Orlen."
"Ah – finally!" Milo raised his arms in relief.
Gideon turned to me. "Do you have anywhere to return to? We can drop you off on the way."
A place to return.
The world settled strangely. Not sharp. Just hollow.
I couldn't tell them the truth – that I came from another world. That this body once belonged to someone else. That I wasn't sure who I was anymore.
"I don't remember," I said. "I don't have anywhere."
"I see," Gideon said quietly. Then he nodded. "Then why not come with us?"
"New Orlen has good food," Milo added. "And the sea view's amazing."
Fifteen years. I'd spent them fighting monsters. Cities leveled. Worlds collapsing. Survival was only constant.
Normal life felt… foreign.
But distance was what I needed. From the manor. From the guards. From anyone who might recognize this face.
To protect this body, I had to stay alive.
I nodded.
Giden smiled. "Then settled. We leave early in the morning."
"I'll pack extra snacks!" Milo said, fist pumping as he moved toward the kitchen.
I stood and stepped to the window. The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows over the rooftops. The town had quieted. Evening merchants packed up their stalls. Lamps flickered to life.
Then I saw him...
A man. Standing at the edge of the street.
He wasn't dressed like a guard. No armor. No uniform. But he didn't move. And he was looking this way.
Then – just for a second – I felt it.
A flicker of pnevma.
Subtle. Clean. Controlled.
I narrowed my eyes, tracing the crowd.
"Alice, do you want any snack requests?" Milo called from behind me.
I glanced back. "Anything's fine."
I looked again.
The man was gone.
I stared at the spot where he'd stood, muscles tightening.
Who was that?
The sun hadn't risen yet.
We were preparing to leave from New Orlen. Three wagons lined the narrow path outside the cabin, their wheels thick with dried mud. A few workers moved between them, stacking crates and sacks in quiet efficiency.
I wore a long hooded coat to cover my face. It nearly brushed the ground. In my old body, it would've stopped at the ankles. Everything still felt slightly off. A size too small or too loose. Like I was wearing someone else's skin.
Gideon approached with a man beside him.
"I should introduce you," he said. "This is Silas. He'll be our escort for the trip – there've been monster sightings along the route."
Silas gave a shallow bow. He didn't speak.
I returned it with a nod, eyes narrowing slightly. That pnevma.
It was him. The one I sensed that night.
He met my gaze without flinching. Unreadable.
"It's nice we've got someone new to us," Milo added as he bounded up behind us. "Gets boring if I'm the only one talking."
He climbed into the first wagon ahead of us, boots thudding against the wooden frame.
Inside, the space was more storage than seating. Crates were stacked and strapped down with thick ropes. Most were marked with merchant stamps I didn't recognize. Dried herbs. Wrapped clothes. Boxes sealed tight. A faint scent of cedar and preserved spice lingered in the air.
It was organized for wandering peddlers. But too grounded for nobles.
Ciren, was it?
The wagon rolled into motion.
Outside, the sky was just beginning to pale. Morning mist clung low to the trees as we left the outskirts behind. No one spoke at first. Just the sound of wooden wheels creaking and hooves pressing into damp earth.
From the front, the driver called out, voice casual through the clatter of wheels.
"Did you hear about the Baron's son?"
I didn't move. But every nerve in my body went still.
"The devout one?" Milo asked. "Didn't he assault some old man last week over a 'blessing' or something?'"
"That's him. Word going around is he's dead. Two days ago. Sudden illness."
"Huh… he looked fine when I saw him at the manor –" Milo stopped himself. His eyes shifted toward me.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up."
I kept my eyes on the road ahead. My breath is steady. Slow.
But my fingers wouldn't stop trembling.
From the corner of my eyes, I could feel them both – Silas and Gideon watching me.
Don't react.
I pressed my palm to my thigh.
As if that would keep the blood off it.