Lenora kept her distance.
Not far.
Just far enough that if Derpy did something weird again, she’d have room to move.
But her eyes kept flicking back to him anyway.
Like she was checking he was still breathing.
Derpy couldn’t blame her.
He couldn’t even blame himself.
He sat on a rock, shivering, Mia pressed against his side like a heated blanket with teeth.
Sphinx sat in front of him, tail wrapped neatly around his paws, staring at Lenora like he was judging her entire bloodline.
Derpy wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Okay,” he said hoarsely. “So. Calamity Book. That’s a thing. Cool. Love that for me.”
Lenora’s ears flicked.
“You didn’t know,” she said.
Derpy barked a laugh.
“No. I thought I bought a journal from a weird cosplayer.”
Lenora’s gaze sharpened.
“A dragon projection,” she corrected automatically—then stopped, like she’d revealed she knew more than she meant to.
Derpy blinked.
“A what?”
Lenora exhaled through her nose.
“Never mind,” she said.
Derpy stared.
“No, no, you can’t ‘never mind’ that,” he snapped. “I’m in a fog forest with a murder-book and bracelets that turn into—” He gestured wildly. “—that. You don’t get to ‘never mind’ me.”
Lenora’s eyes narrowed.
Then she looked away.
For a second, she looked tired.
And then she looked… embarrassed.
Like she wasn’t used to being questioned—and also wasn’t used to caring what the answer did to someone.
“Fine,” she said. “Calamity Books are… old. Dangerous. Sentient. They choose people.”
Derpy swallowed.
“I didn’t ask to be chosen.”
Lenora’s mouth tightened.
“Neither did most of the people who died because of them,” she said.
The words hit like a slap.
Derpy went quiet.
Mia growled low, like she didn’t like Lenora’s tone.
Sphinx’s eyes narrowed.
Lenora noticed.
Her gaze softened—just a fraction.
“I’m not blaming you,” she said, more carefully. “I’m telling you the cost.”
Derpy’s throat went dry.
He looked at the journal.
It sat on the riverbank, edges faintly warm.
Like embers under ash.
Derpy swallowed.
“Okay,” he said. “So what were the bracelets doing? Why did they drag me here?”
Lenora’s eyes flicked to his wrists.
“Tracking,” she said.
Derpy blinked.
“Like… GPS?”
Lenora snorted.
“No,” she said. “Worse. More… playful.”
Derpy’s stomach sank.
“They’re a hot-and-cold game,” Lenora continued. “They pull you toward something. Or away from something. Sometimes they lie.”
Derpy stared.
“That’s not tracking. That’s bullying.”
Lenora’s mouth twitched.
“Calamities don’t care about your comfort,” she said. “They care about their goals.”
Derpy’s jaw clenched.
“My goal is not dying,” he said.
Lenora nodded once.
“Then you need training,” she said.
Derpy blinked.
“What?”
Lenora sheathed her sword—slowly, deliberately.
It wasn’t trust.
It was a choice.
“A Calamity bearer who can’t control it is a disaster waiting to happen,” she said. “You froze a river on instinct.”
Derpy flinched.
“I froze me,” he muttered.
Lenora’s ears twitched.
“And you survived,” she said. “Because you found an anchor.”
Derpy swallowed.
“My pets,” he said quietly.
Lenora’s gaze flicked to Mia and Sphinx.
“They’re bonded to you,” she said.
Derpy stiffened.
“What does that mean?”
Lenora hesitated.
Then she said, “It means if you fall apart, they might too.”
Derpy’s stomach dropped.
Mia whined.
Sphinx leaned into Derpy’s shoulder, purring low.
Derpy clenched his fists.
“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “So what do we do?”
Lenora looked at him.
Really looked.
Not at the bracelets.
Not at the book.
At him.
Her face went full pink again.
Immediate.
Unforgiving.
She snapped her gaze away like it was a reflex, ears stiff, jaw tight.
“I’m heading to Whisperfen,” she said too fast. “There’s… information there. People who know more than I do.”
Derpy swallowed.
“Whisperfen,” he repeated.
The word felt like fog on his tongue.
Lenora nodded.
“You can come with me,” she said.
Her voice was stern.
But her eyes—when she dared glance back—were careful.
Protective.
Then she looked away again, cheeks still pink, like she was angry at her own face.
“Or you can wander alone until those bracelets decide to drag you into something worse than a river.”
Derpy stared.
Mia pressed closer.
Sphinx’s tail flicked.
Derpy exhaled.
“I don’t even have shoes for this,” he muttered.
Lenora blinked.
And then—very, very faintly—she smiled.
It was gone almost immediately.
But it was there.
Derpy looked up.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”
Lenora’s ears lifted.
Her face pinked again like it had been waiting.
She looked away so hard she nearly turned her whole body with it.
“Good,” she said, stern like a commander. “Stay close.”
“But,” Derpy added quickly, “I’m not your prisoner. I’m not your weapon. I’m not your—”
Lenora held up a hand.
“Partner?” she said, like she was testing the word.
Derpy froze.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”
Lenora’s cheeks went bright.
Like, oh no, that word did something to me bright.
She cleared her throat like she could clear the heat out of her face.
“Fine,” she said. “Partner.”
Derpy swallowed.
Mia barked once, like she approved.
Sphinx blinked slowly, still judging.
Lenora glanced toward the forest.
“We move before dark gets worse,” she said.
Derpy stared at the fog.
“It can get worse?”
Lenora’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Derpy sighed.
“Of course it can.”