The road back into the village felt narrower than I remembered. Maybe it was always like that. Maybe it was just me. I watched the way the dust clung to my boots, how the stones pressed uneven under my steps. Every sound felt too sharp, even the birds. Especially the birds. I kept my head low, even though no one was looking yet.
Iya walked behind me, just close enough that I could hear her footsteps. Not quite beside me. Not far enough to leave. I wasn't sure which would've been worse.
The village gates weren't gates anymore. Just two leaning posts and the suggestion of a boundary no one respected. I passed them without pause. My heart didn't. It stayed right at the top of my throat, pounding loud enough I was sure she could hear it too.
"I don't know what I'm walking into," I said under my breath.
Iya didn't respond. Not at first.
"You never do," she said.
I should've been used to her answers by now. They weren't wrong, just the kind that left you colder than when you asked.
It was still early. No one was on the main path yet. Smoke drifted from a few chimneys, windows glinted weakly in the morning light. The houses here had too many secrets built into the wood. I grew up with them, and I still couldn't tell where the lies ended and the silence began.
We passed the baker's place. The shutters were closed. I caught the smell of something faintly sweet, but it didn't comfort me the way it used to. Everything here had a layer I couldn't peel off anymore.
When we reached the well, I stopped. That was the center of everything. The crossroads, the stories, the faces. If someone wanted to watch without being seen, this is where they'd wait. I looked around.
Nothing. No one. Just the well and its frayed rope, a bucket knocked sideways and left to bleach in the sun.
"You think he's watching?" I asked.
"Always," Iya said.
I believed her. Maybe I already knew.
I didn't say the mayor's name. I didn't have to. His presence was stitched into the edges of things. Like a smell you couldn't name, but couldn't scrub out either.
"I need to see what's inside the old shed behind the chapel," I said. "That's where my aunt kept the records."
Iya didn't answer this time. She just started walking, like she already knew the way.
The chapel stood quiet, same as always. The paint had faded. The wood creaked in the breeze. It had never felt holy to me. Just like another place people pretended to feel something in, then left unchanged.
The shed was smaller than I remembered. The lock had rusted through years ago. I pulled the door open slow, half-expecting it to scream. It didn't. Just sighed like it was tired too.
Inside, everything smelled like paper and mildew. Shelves buckled under the weight of forgotten things. Boxes. Ledgers. A tin basin full of dried ink. The kind of stuff you forget until it's too late.
I moved carefully. My fingers brushed dust from the spines. Most were nothing. Receipts. Church donations. Birth records from people long buried.
Then I found one with no title. Just a strip of red leather, dried stiff. It wasn't big. No name. No markings. But I knew it wasn't part of the church's collection.
I opened it.
The first page had symbols. Not written. Drawn. Inked like the carvings in the ruin. I felt the charm in my pocket stir, not violently, but enough to make my hand close over it.
I flipped the page.
Dates. Names. Not village names. Not even full names. Just fragments. "Andrea—south line." "Kaye—marked before blooming." "Iya—neutral, observed."
I froze.
Iya stood behind me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at her.
"You knew about this," I said.
"Yes."
"How long have you been watching?"
"Longer than you've been ready."
My voice felt like gravel. "And Raiza?"
Silence.
I turned to face her.
"Iya. Who's Raiza?"
Her expression didn't change, but something about her posture did. Slight. Like a thread had gone taut.
"You'll meet her soon," she said.
That didn't feel like comfort. It felt like a warning.
I closed the book and slipped it under my coat. The shed felt smaller now. Heavier. I needed air.
Outside, the wind had picked up again. This time from the north.
I stepped out and took a breath that didn't help.
Iya followed. Quiet as always.
Somewhere behind us, a bell rang once.
Nothing ever rang just once.