The small alleyway was thick with the scent of rain and stone, the echoes of the market fading behind them.
Vivienne and Seraphina clutched at their skirts, breathless, their eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"Malachi!" Vivienne burst out, spinning on him. "What in God's name are we running from?"
"And where is Isabel?" Seraphina cried, stepping forward. "Why did we leave her? Why did you pull us away?"
Malachi said nothing. He stood like a shadow, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something they could not name.
Vivienne's voice cracked as she pressed on. "You must tell us! What happened back there? Who was that man? What did he want from us? Why… why did you look like that? Like you were ready to fight him?"
Malachi finally spoke, his voice low and cutting through the space between them. "Enough."
The word was soft, but it silenced them like a blade drawn across the air.
"There are questions that ought not to be answered," he said, his tone grim. "The less you know, the longer you live."
Seraphina shook her head, her hands trembling. "How can you say that? Isabel—she was left behind! For what? To be butchered? To be sold to some wretched trader? How can you ask us to stand here and say nothing?"
Malachi's hands balled into fists. For a moment, it seemed he might snap, that he might scream or tear at the world around him. But instead, he turned, slowly, towards them.
He stepped forward, and before either sister could flinch, he gripped them—one hand on each of their necks. His hold was firm but careful, just enough to anchor them in place.
Vivienne gasped, startled by the sudden contact. Seraphina tried to pull away, but Malachi's gaze locked onto theirs—deep, dark, endless.
"Look at me," he said.
And they did.
The world around them slowed, the sounds of the village dimming to a low, hollow thrum. His voice dropped to a whisper, but it echoed louder than a shout in their minds.
"You will remember that we all went to the market," he murmured, his eyes piercing through them. "And that you slipped away to a gathering… a local festivity."
His thumbs brushed lightly against their throats, and they shuddered under his touch.
"You will remember nothing else of this day," Malachi continued. "Nothing of Isabel. Nothing of the man. You will know only that Isabel and I returned to our hometown in search of answers. You will not look for us."
A shiver, cold and unnatural, ran through their bodies. Vivienne's vision blurred. Seraphina's knees buckled slightly. And then—
—They were standing in front of their house.
They blinked in confusion, swaying slightly, as if waking from a half-remembered dream. The night was thicker now, the windows of the house flickering with candlelight. A storm rumbled in the distance.
Before they could gather themselves, the door flung open.
"There you are!" their mother's voice lashed out like a whip, sharp and furious. "I presumed you had gone to the market! And now you return at this hour, in this… this disgraceful attire?"
Vivienne glanced down at herself, dazed, only now realising she was still dressed in rough men's clothing—the trousers and cloak Malachi had given her for the escape.
Their father appeared behind their mother, his face stern. "Have you no shame? Wandering about dressed like men? You sully the family name with your foolishness."
"You should be in your gowns," their mother spat, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "In your maiden dresses as befits young ladies of standing! What manner of reputation do you seek to build for yourselves? Have I not warned you?"
Seraphina opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Vivienne looked helplessly between them.
Their minds felt foggy, blurred, as if they knew they had done something wrong but could not quite remember what or why. Only vague flashes of laughter and dancing at a local festivity crossed their thoughts. No sign of terror. No sign of Isabel.
"I—" Vivienne finally stammered, "We went to the market. And then… to a small gathering. That is all."
Their mother scoffed, shaking her head. "Small gathering, she says. As if that excuses the filth you wear. Go inside, both of you. Lest the neighbours lay their eyes on this shame."
Without another word, they slipped past their parents, heads bowed low in disgrace.
The heavy door shut behind them with a loud slam, sealing them inside the hollow warmth of the house.
But as Vivienne climbed the narrow stairs to her chamber, a tremor rattled through her bones—a chill that had nothing to do with the cold night air.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.