"You're early—and there's breakfast!" Eira's voice carried both surprise and amusement.
Tristan looked up from the small stove, a proud smile tugging at his lips. He had risen before dawn, determined to do something for her. On the table sat two plates of rice, fried eggs glistening with a hint of oil, and a pot of tea still steaming.
"For once," he said, handing her a plate. "Let's eat."
They sat across from one another at the square table. The smell of warm rice and brewed tea filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of herbs that always lingered from Eira's supplies.
"Eira… before anything else," Tristan began, his tone suddenly earnest. "I need to thank you."
She blinked. "For what?"
"For everything," he said firmly. "For treating my wounds and restoring my hands. But more than that… for the respect. For the kindness. For never looking at me like I was broken beyond repair."
Her expression softened, though her eyes dropped quickly, as if to hide the sudden shimmer threatening to escape.
"You stayed up late when I had nightmares," Tristan continued, "and waited until I was ready to talk. You never forced it. You never treated me like a burden, only someone worth helping."
Eira looked down at her tea, her throat tight.
"I promised you a thank-you performance," he added gently. "And I keep my promises."
She managed a smile. "Then I accept. But only if you let me make the tea again."
After clearing the table, Tristan retrieved his violin. The strings were new, but the old wood carried a warmth he knew by heart. He lifted the bow and drew it across, filling the safehouse with a sound that was both fragile and strong—like glass carrying sunlight.
Eira closed her eyes, letting the music settle into her chest. The melody carried pain still, but woven through it was gratitude, and a fragile thread of hope.
When the last note faded, she clapped once, then again, and a third time. "That's more than payment," she said softly. "That's a blessing."
Tristan lowered the bow with a deep breath, nodding.
Later, over tea, he broke the news. "I spoke with Lord Shannon last night. I'll be moving to a cottage near the city. Not too far."
Eira raised a brow. "Performing again?"
"Yes. Smaller venues first—family gatherings, festivals, community halls. It'll help me rebuild confidence. And I've agreed to teach, too. Children, adults… anyone who wants to learn."
"That suits you," she said with quiet certainty.
"I hope so. I want to earn my keep. Performances should cover my needs, and I'll save what I can."
There was a pause before Tristan added, "Lord Shannon also filed for legal protection. My family and their partners can't come near me without risking arrest."
Eira nodded. "That's wise. But…" She studied him. "I sense you're still worried."
"I am. They might hire someone else. Someone who doesn't care about laws."
"Then you prepare," she said calmly. "Learn to defend yourself. And let others help you."
Tristan looked down at his hands. I'm not strong enough to fight. Not rich enough to hire guards. If danger comes, I'll have to vanish instead. But his performances would put him in public view. Hiding and playing were contradictions he hadn't solved.
"What about friends?" Eira asked. "Anyone waiting for you?"
Tristan shook his head. "No one." Then, hesitantly: "Will you visit me once I'm settled? Or should I come back here, from time to time?"
"Both," she said with a smile. "You'll always have tea waiting here."
He grinned faintly. "Won't you get bored when I leave?"
Eira's smile faded into thought. "It's not boredom I worry about. It's safety." She gestured toward the forest. "Out there, people would still see me as either a threat or a prize. Wolf-born who don't swear to a pack are… unpredictable. Dangerous, they say. People don't like unpredictable."
"So you're hiding," Tristan said quietly.
"I'm not hunted," she corrected. "But I'm not welcome everywhere either. This place gives me peace. Privacy. It lets me do what I'm best at."
"Helping people?"
She nodded. "That, and avoiding politics."
Tristan studied her. "Isn't it lonely?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. "But less so lately."
He caught her meaning and gave a small smile. "You mean me?"
"You're decent company," she said, eyes glinting. "For a stubborn, sarcastic, traumatized musician."
Tristan chuckled. "Thanks. I think."
"You reminded me I should live, not just exist," she said, her tone quiet.
He leaned forward slightly. "And you—do you ever think about leaving? Not just for supply runs, but leaving for good?"
"Sometimes," Eira admitted. "But I've made myself useful here. People know where to find me when they need me."
"But have you found what you need?" he pressed gently.
"Yes. Safety, at least. That's enough for now. And if you're hinting at finding a mate," she added dryly, "that would come in its own time."
Tristan chuckled. "Quite perceptive." Then his voice softened. "As for me—I just want to visit my grandfather. But I can't. Not yet. Not safely."
Eira stayed silent, letting him speak.
"He'd be glad to know I survived. That I made it through, with the help of new friends."
She reached out, placing her hand over his. "He'd be proud."
They stayed that way for a long moment—two people bound not by blood, but by the slow, quiet work of healing.
While tidying the treatment room, Eira returned with a folded travel cloak. She laid it across the table.
Tristan frowned. "What's that?"
"For you," she said. "Shannon left it. Said you'd need it soon."
Tristan ran his fingers across the heavy fabric. It was sturdy, warm, meant for the road. His throat tightened.
"I suppose I'll wait for word from Shannon once my transfer is arranged," he murmured. Then, quieter, "I'm scared."
Eira wasn't surprised. "You should be. Starting over is frightening. But fear doesn't mean you're not ready."
"What if I fail? What if I forget everything you taught me?"
"Then you come back," she said simply. "That's all."
That night, the wind rose against the shutters. No rain. No stars.
Tristan sat at the table scribbling notes for a new melody, his lips moving faintly as he tested sounds in his head. Eira was nearby, rolling fresh bandages and restocking jars.
"I think I'll take a short walk," Tristan said at last.
"Good," Eira replied. "It'll clear your head."
He paused at the door, glancing back. "Will you be all right?"
She blinked at him. "Of course. I always am." Then, softer, "Still… I'll miss the music."
Tristan smiled. "I promise to invite you to the first recital."
She lifted a brow. "Just the first?"
He grinned. "You can decide if it's worth the trip."