The inn didn’t go back to normal.
It tried.
It failed.
The crowd outside had scattered after Lenora’s order—townsfolk herded away, wolf cubs dragged by scruffs, the little arena abandoned like it had never existed. But the building held onto the pressure. It clung to the rafters. It sat in the corners.
Derpy ended up in the kitchen corner because it was the only place that felt like it had rules.
Heat.
Food.
Knives that cut what they were meant to cut.
Mia sat on a low bench near the prep table, one leg stretched out, the other tucked in. A strip of cloth wrapped her ankle and lower calf—tight enough to hold, not tight enough to bite. She had a bowl of meat in her lap, and she ate like she was rebuilding herself one bite at a time.
Not delicate.
Not polite.
Stabilizing.
Sphinx sat at her feet in chibi form, broad-shouldered for his size, eyes tracking every movement in the room. Guarding. Watching. The kind of stillness that meant he’d already decided where he’d lunge if someone tried to touch her.
Derpy stood with his back to the wall, hands in front of him like he didn’t trust them.
They were still shaking.
Not from pain.
From the memory of how easy it had been to move wrong.
To move like something that hunted.
He stared at his fingers until the tremor slowed.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Lenora spoke quietly with the innkeeper near the stove—short sentences, clipped requests. Water. Clean cloth. A private room. No visitors. No wolves upstairs.
Vemi hovered near the doorway like she’d been told to stay there and didn’t know what to do with her paws if she moved.
Her ears stayed pinned.
Her eyes kept cutting toward the hall.
Toward the room where Riven had been carried.
Derpy’s throat worked.
He didn’t look away from his hands.
“Does it hurt?” he asked Mia.
Mia tore a bite free with her teeth.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Then she gave a short bark—sharp, annoyed.
Hurts. Not broken. Keep it moving, Master. Keep eating. Keep breathing.
Derpy’s gaze flicked to her wrapped ankle.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay. Good.”
Mia lowered her head back to the bowl.
Rules.
Eat.
Heal.
Simple.
Derpy wanted to live in simple.
Mia’s ears angled toward him.
Not soft.
Not forgiving.
Just present.
She barked again—lower this time.
You were different out there.
Derpy’s fingers curled.
“I know.”
Sphinx made a low sound in his throat—warning or agreement, Derpy couldn’t tell.
Mia took another bite.
Her eyes stayed on Derpy’s hands.
Then she barked once, clipped.
Riven saw it too. She read it like a trap.
Derpy’s stomach tightened.
The stamp.
SPECIMEN.
The way the word had burned into his head like a brand.
Vemi’s voice came out thin.
“I wasn’t trying to take his book,” she said.
Lenora didn’t turn.
Her answer came flat.
“Intent doesn’t change what it looked like.”
Vemi flinched.
Derpy finally lifted his eyes.
Vemi’s paws were clenched.
Her shoulders were drawn in.
She looked like she wanted to shrink into the doorframe and disappear.
“I was aiming to stop my sister,” Vemi said. “She wouldn’t listen. She kept pushing. I thought if I hit close enough—if I snapped it near him—it would break her rhythm.”
Mia’s ears twitched.
She barked once, hard.
And instead you hit Riven.
Vemi swallowed.
“Yes.”
Silence settled.
The kitchen fire popped.
A pot hissed.
Derpy’s hands started to shake again.
He pressed them together hard.
Mia watched him do it.
She chewed slower.
Then barked—short, insistent.
She moved because she thought it was the same thing. The same kind of hands. The same kind of pressure. She thought you were about to become useful.
Derpy’s jaw tightened.
Useful.
A word that didn’t sound sharp until you put it in the mouth of the wrong people.
Lenora turned then.
Her eyes cut to Derpy.
“Your book,” Lenora said. “When you opened it—what did it feel like?”
Derpy stared at the table edge.
He could still feel the weight of it in the air.
The presence.
The way the world had narrowed into angles and distance and timing.
“It felt like… the rules changed,” he said. “Like I could do anything if I moved fast enough.”
Mia’s grip tightened on the bowl.
She barked once—quiet, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear it.
That’s what she saw. And she jumped.
Derpy’s throat tightened.
He didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t say sorry.
Both felt too small.
Lenora’s voice lowered.
“We keep Riven safe,” she said. “We keep Vambasta away from her. We keep you from opening that book in front of a crowd again.”
Derpy nodded.
Mia tore off another bite of meat.
Her chewing slowed.
Recovery visible.
Sore.
But present.
Alive.
Derpy watched her eat and tried to believe in rules again.
Part 2 — Upstairs: Inactive
The back room smelled like clean cloth and burned thread.
Riven lay on the bed with her eyes open.
Still.
Not asleep.
Not unconscious.
Inactive.
Lenora had set her on her side, careful with the scorched shoulder. The burn marks had stopped smoking, but the black lines remained—melted seams across collarbone and skin.
Derpy stood in the doorway.
He didn’t cross the threshold at first.
Like the room belonged to the damage.
Like he didn’t.
Lewd was already there, sitting on the floor with her back to the bedframe. Her posture said she’d been told to stay put and had decided she’d rather be told again than leave.
She looked up at Derpy.
“Say something,” Lewd said.
Derpy swallowed.
“Riven,” he said.
No reaction.
He stepped closer.
Slow.
He sat on the edge of the mattress.
The bed didn’t creak.
Riven didn’t blink.
Derpy’s fingers hovered near her hand and stopped.
He didn’t touch.
He didn’t trust his own instincts right now.
“Riven,” he tried again. “It’s me.”
Nothing.
Lewd’s voice went low.
“She did it for you,” Lewd said.
Derpy’s throat tightened.
“I know.”
The words tasted wrong.
Because knowing didn’t fix anything.
Lenora’s steps sounded in the hall.
She paused in the doorway and looked at Riven like she was memorizing every detail.
“This is a shutdown,” Lenora said. “A fail-safe. She’ll come back when her system decides it’s safe.”
Derpy’s jaw clenched.
“And if it never decides that?”
Lenora didn’t flinch.
“Then we make it safe,” she said.
Derpy stared at Riven’s burn marks.
Seams.
Thread.
He could see the shape of the stamp in his head.
ELVEN WAR OFFICE.
ARCANE MUNITIONS COMMAND.
STITCHBORNE DIVISION.
SPECIMEN.
He shut his eyes.
Breathed.
Forced his hands to stop shaking.
Downstairs, Mia’s chewing continued.
A steady sound.
A reminder that recovery could be visible.
That it could happen.
That it could be earned.