We stopped at Greyhaven as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and deep purple.
I stepped out of the carriage, boots hitting cobblestone this ti instead of dirt. The town was large, stone buildings with tiled roofs lined the streets, their windows glowing with warm lamplight.
Market stalls were closing for the evening, rchants pulling down awnings and securing their goods. The air slled of woodsmoke and baking bread, mixed with the earthy scent of horses from the nearby stables.
People moved through the streets with purpose, workers heading ho, travelers seeking lodging, children being called inside for supper. It was busy, alive, normal in a way that felt almost surreal after the violence on the road.
As I grabbed my bag from the carriage, one of the students, the boy with the short sword, approached hesitantly.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice still shaky. "For... for saving us back there. We wouldn’t have—"
"It’s fine," I cut him off with a nod, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Just stay alert next ti."
The boy nodded quickly and backed away, rejoining the other students who were already dispersing into the town.
I turned and made my way through the cobblestone streets, scanning the posted signs until I found what I was looking for, a carriage station with a departure board listing various destinations.
Then I found one heading toward my hotown. Ashbrook. A few hours away, according to the schedule.
I paid the fare, climbed into the carriage, and settled into a corner seat as other passengers filtered in, a rchant with a heavy coin purse, an older woman clutching a basket, a young couple speaking in hushed tones.
The carriage lurched forward, wheels clattering against stone before smoothing out onto the packed dirt road leading out of town.
I leaned my head against the window, watching the landscape darken as night fell properly. Fields gave way to forests, then back to fields again, all painted in shades of gray and black under the moonlight.
Ti passed in that strange, disconnected way it did during travel, minutes blending into hours, the steady rhythm of the wheels lulling him into a half-doze.
Then my thoughts drifted... to Agnes.
I should visit her. Apologize properly.
The mory surfaced, her expression when my father had fired her.
The hurt she’d tried to hide, the way she’d turned away.
I’d been a coward about it.
I owe her better than that.
But then another thought followed, practical and deflating.
I don’t even know where she lives.
I’d never asked. Never thought to.
I sighed and leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes.
One more thing I screwed up.
The carriage rolled to a stop as dawn broke, pale light washing over the familiar buildings of my hotown.
I stepped out, stretching muscles stiff from hours of sitting, and looked around.
Other passengers were disembarking, and I noticed several family carriages waiting nearby, expensive ones with house crests emblazoned on the doors. Students from noble families, being collected by their servants.
I scanned the area out of habit, already knowing what I’d find.
Nothing. No Raith carriage. No family escort.
Of course not.
The other students t their carriages and departed one by one, servants loading luggage, families embracing their returning children with warmth and relief.
I just shrugged, adjusted my bag, and started walking.
I had made it maybe three steps when a voice called out.
"Are you perhaps Jin Raith?"
I stopped and turned.
A man stood nearby, middle-aged, wearing simple but well-made servant’s attire. He held a piece of paper in his hand, glancing between it and my face with careful assessnt.
I raised an eyebrow. "I am."
The driver gave a respectful nod, his posture straightening. "This way, Master Raith. I have been waiting for you."
He gestured behind him.
My followed his gaze and stopped.
A carriage sat at the edge of the station, black lacquered wood, brass fixtures gleaming in the early morning light.
And on the door, etched in silver, was the Raith family insignia.
I stared at it for a long mont, sothing cold settling in my chest.
They sent a carriage?
Why?
I shrugged the thoughts aside and climbed.
---
Then the carriage rolled forward, wheels crunching over gravel, and ca to a stop in front of the manor.
I descended, my boots hitting the familiar stone pathway. The guards at the gate gave a nod and pulled the iron gates open without a word.
There wasn’t anyone waiting for . No servants lined up to welco the returning son. No family gathered at the entrance.
I didn’t comnt on it. Didn’t expect them to be there in the first place.
Just shouldered my bag and entered.
The manor was mostly quiet, the kind of stillness that ca with early morning when most people were still sleeping.
Sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting long shadows across polished floors. The familiar scent hit .
It looked exactly the sa as when I’d left. Sa tapestries on the walls. Sa cold, unwelcoming atmosphere that had defined my childhood.
Ho sweet ho.
I headed toward the stairs, planning to dump my bag in my room and maybe sleep for a few hours before dealing with whatever ca next—
"So, you ca!"
I paused mid-step and turned slowly.
She stood at the end of the corridor, silhouetted against the light from one of the tall windows.
Silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, still slightly damp and disheveled like she’d just finished sothing physical.
Her grey eyes, sharp, assessing, identical to Father’s, locked onto with an intensity that made my jaw tighten.
Cassandra Raith. My sister.
She wore a training uniform, the fitted black fabric clinging to her fra, darkened with sweat at the collar and shoulders. Her breathing was still slightly elevated.
A wooden practice sword hung loosely in her right hand.
She looked at like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve.
"Welco back, little brother," she said, her voice smooth and controlled, with just the faintest edge of sothing I couldn’t quite identify.
Amusent? Contempt? Both?
I t her gaze steadily, keeping my expression neutral.
"Cassandra."
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