The flower field didn’t make sense.

  Nothing in Embershade should have looked like this—alive, bright, thriving—when everything else was soot and rust and smoke-stained stone. Yet the field kept blooming anyway, stubborn as a heartbeat.

  Lief sat near the center of it, legs pulled close, cloak spread beneath him so the damp grass wouldn’t soak through. The air smelled sweet here, not like sugar from the bakery, but like crushed petals and something faintly electric—mana in the dirt, quiet and hidden. Above, the clouds were thinner than usual, and for once the sky didn’t feel like it was pressing down.

  He stared up anyway.

  He hadn’t talked to Audree in two months.

  Two months was long enough for the town to decide its own version of the truth.

  Lief had tried not to listen. Tried to avoid the miners’ mutters and the market whispers, the way stories grew teeth and then pretended they were born with them. But it was impossible to avoid all of it, especially when people enjoyed being afraid.

  A woman of blood had appeared and tried to kill the knights with evil magic.

  Audree had beaten miners half to death like a monster.

  Lief’s stomach tightened at the thought, as it always did lately.

  He could imagine Velra—the strange red mage who sank into pools and spoke like everything was a lesson. “Tried to kill” sounded wrong. Like someone had taken the scene and chewed it into something ugly.

  As for Audree…

  Lief didn’t know.

  He kept picturing that night. The way Audree’s eyes had glowed. The way his anger hadn’t looked like his. The way the air had tasted wrong when the green aura spilled out.

  Lief had hoped it wouldn’t happen again.

  He’d hoped Audree would be okay.

  He’d hoped, selfishly, that if they didn’t talk for a while, the knot in his chest would loosen on its own.

  But vanishing like that didn’t feel right.

  Not after everything.

  So for the last few days, Lief had come back to this field—the place Audree collected ingredients, the place where Velra once talked about nature like it was sacred, the place where magic hid in plain sight.

  He told himself he wasn’t waiting.

  He told himself he just needed quiet.

  But the truth was simpler.

  He wanted to see Audree again.

  Even if he didn’t know what he’d say.

  A soft rustle came from behind him—grass bending, petals brushing against cloth.

  Lief didn’t turn at first. He almost didn’t want to. If he looked and it was just the wind again, he’d feel stupid.

  Then a voice spoke, flat and careful.

  “…You’re going to get your cloak dirty sitting in the mud like that.”

  Lief’s breath caught.

  He turned.

  Audree stood a few steps away, half-hidden by tall flowers, hood up, arms crossed like he didn’t know what to do with them. He looked older somehow—not taller, not broader, just… sharper around the edges. Like someone had been carved down by pressure.

  For a second neither of them moved.

  Lief’s chest tightened so hard it hurt.

  Audree’s eyes flicked away first.

  He cleared his throat. “I saw you from the road.”

  Lief swallowed. “You’ve been watching me?”

  Audree made a face. “No. I mean— I wasn’t—” He stopped, annoyed with himself. “I just… saw you.”

  Silence stretched.

  The field hummed faintly around them—soft insects, distant forge noise from town, wind moving through petals like water through reeds.

  Audree shifted his weight. “Can I sit?”

  Lief stared at him, then nodded slowly.

  Audree sat a little too far away at first, like he’d misjudged the distance on purpose. He kept his gaze forward, not looking at Lief directly. His posture was guarded—like he expected this to turn into a fight the moment one wrong word slipped out.

  Lief stared up at the sky again because looking at Audree felt too heavy.

  More silence.

  Then Audree spoke quietly.

  “You disappeared.”

  Lief’s throat tightened. “You exploded.”

  Audree flinched, shoulders tensing like the word had hit him physically. “Yeah. That.”

  Lief glanced sideways. Audree was staring at the flowers like they’d offended him.

  “I needed space,” Lief said finally. His voice was softer than he meant it to be. “A lot happened. In… no time at all.”

  Audree nodded once, stiff. “I figured.”

  Lief’s fingers twisted together in his lap. He’d rehearsed this in his head a dozen times, but now that Audree was here, every sentence felt fragile.

  “I didn’t like vanishing like that,” Lief admitted. “It wasn’t fair. But I also… I didn’t know how to be around you after that fight. After what happened to you.”

  Audree’s jaw tightened. “I’m not—” He stopped. Took a slow breath like Velra’s exercises. “I’m not proud of it.”

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  Lief looked at him properly now. “Are you okay?”

  Audree hesitated.

  Then he shrugged, but it wasn’t convincing. “Better than before.”

  That was all he offered.

  Lief exhaled, then forced himself to speak before courage could run out.

  “I need you to stop teasing me,” Lief said.

  Audree blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

  Lief’s hands clenched. “I’m serious. The ‘assistant’ thing. The way you talk to me like I’m… like I’m trailing behind you for scraps. I know you don’t always mean it the way it sounds, but it still—” He swallowed hard. “It still makes me feel like you don’t see me as equal.”

  Audree stared at him, expression unreadable.

  Lief pushed on, voice steadier now that he’d started.

  “And I need you to understand something else,” Lief said. “I followed you with no direction. I didn’t really know what I wanted. I saw you doing things—working toward something—and I latched onto it like it was going to fix my life.”

  Audree’s brows furrowed.

  Lief stared down at the flowers near his knees. “That attachment wasn’t healthy. I was… using you as an excuse to not figure myself out.”

  The words felt bitter and honest in his mouth.

  He glanced up. Audree was watching him now—really watching—like he was seeing him properly for the first time.

  Lief’s voice softened. “I wanted adventure. I wanted something bigger than the bakery. I wanted someone who looked like they knew where they were going.”

  A small laugh escaped him, shaky. “And you did. Even when you were being reckless. Even when you were being an ass.”

  Audree winced at that.

  Lief held his gaze. “But I’m not a lost dog. And I don’t want to be treated like one.”

  Silence.

  Audree’s hand drifted toward his arm wrap unconsciously, fingers pressing the fabric like it anchored him.

  When he spoke, his voice was quieter than Lief expected.

  “I didn’t pay attention,” Audree admitted.

  Lief’s chest tightened.

  Audree swallowed. “I underestimated you. And… I didn’t like it when you did things better than me.”

  Lief blinked, startled. “What?”

  Audree looked away, visibly irritated with himself for saying it out loud.

  “When you carved that wood better,” he said. “When you handled things without panicking. When you—” His mouth tightened. “When you had something I didn’t.”

  He laughed once, flat and humorless. “It’s stupid. Especially considering… you know. My keyword.”

  Lief’s expression softened slightly, but he didn’t let Audree dodge with sarcasm.

  “So you got annoyed,” Lief said, carefully. “Because I wasn’t just there to follow you.”

  Audree’s jaw flexed. He nodded once.

  “Yes.”

  The honesty sat between them, heavy but clean—like something finally placed down after being carried too long.

  Lief’s shoulders loosened a fraction.

  Audree glanced at him again, eyes tired. “I don’t know how to… do people right.”

  Lief let out a quiet breath. “Yeah. I noticed.”

  Audree huffed a small laugh, almost real this time. Then his expression sobered.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Lief’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t painful.

  He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  They sat in the field with that apology hanging between them like a fragile bridge.

  The wind passed through the flowers. A petal landed on Audree’s sleeve. He brushed it off automatically, then paused like he realized he didn’t have to be so tense.

  Lief stared at the sky again, then spoke quietly.

  “I don’t want to follow you because I have nothing else,” he said. “I want to stand beside you because I choose to.”

  Audree’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  But after a long moment, he nodded once, small and sincere.

  “Then… stand beside me,” Audree said. “Just—” He grimaced. “Tell me when I’m being awful.”

  Lief’s mouth twitched.

  “I will,” he promised.

  Lief’s fingers worried at a flower stem until it snapped. He stared at the broken piece in his palm like it had betrayed him.

  “I… didn’t just stop talking to you because you scared me,” he said finally, voice low. “Things got… bad at home.”

  Audree’s posture tightened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t crack a joke. He just waited.

  Lief took a slow breath, like he was copying the breathing drills without meaning to.

  “My family avoids talking about my keyword,” Lief said. “Like it’s a curse if they say it out loud. I still don’t even know what it is.”

  Audree frowned. “But you can use magic.”

  “I can,” Lief said, bitterness creeping in. “And apparently that’s supposed to make things clearer. Like it’s supposed to mean something. But my dad just… shuts down when I ask. Or he changes the subject like I’m a child.”

  Audree’s gaze drifted to the field, to the way the flowers swayed like they were listening.

  Lief continued, quieter. “After that night—after the miners saw what I did—word got around fast. People started saying I was helping witches. That I was part of some cult. That I was using dark magic.”

  Audree’s jaw flexed, anger flashing hot and quick.

  Lief’s lips pulled tight. “And the worst part is my father denied it.”

  Audree blinked. “Denied it?”

  “Straight to their faces,” Lief said. His laugh was sharp and humorless. “The miners came by the bakery all puffed up, accusing him of raising a mage. Dad told them I wasn’t one. Told them they were starting drama. Told them to get out if they wanted bread.”

  He stared at his hands. “But he looked… too calm. Like he already knew what he was denying.”

  Audree’s expression shifted—understanding landing like a weight.

  “Your dad knew,” Audree said softly.

  Lief nodded once, almost imperceptible. “I think so.”

  Audree let out a slow breath. He didn’t like where his mind was going—how many adults in this town were hiding things, how many secrets were treated like survival skills.

  Lief’s voice got smaller. “Percy stopped speaking to me.”

  Audree’s eyes flicked to him. “Your brother?”

  Lief nodded again, harder this time, like forcing himself to accept it. “He won’t even look at me. He used to argue with me, at least. Now he just… pretends I’m not there. Like if he ignores it, it’ll stop being true.”

  Audree felt something twist in his chest.

  “And your siblings?” he asked, carefully.

  Lief’s mouth softened for the first time in minutes. “Oblivious. Milo still steals Laura’s stuff. Laura still calls him a roach. They think everything is normal.” He swallowed. “I don’t know if that’s good or… if it’s just temporary.”

  Audree stared at Lief—really stared.

  Two months ago, he would’ve brushed past this. Would’ve made some blunt comment, would’ve redirected the conversation back to himself, to potions, to training, to whatever problem felt most urgent in his own head.

  Now, hearing Lief lay it out like this, Audree felt a cold, genuine guilt settle in his gut.

  Because he realized, with humiliating clarity, that he knew almost nothing about the person who had stood beside him when things went wrong.

  He hadn’t asked about Lief’s home life. Not really. He’d met Percy once and decided he was annoying. He’d met Lief’s siblings in passing and filed them away as background noise. He’d treated Lief’s time like it was free—like it belonged to Audree’s plans.

  And Lief had let him.

  Until he couldn’t.

  Audree’s throat felt tight.

  “I’m…” he started, then stopped. The words didn’t come easily. They never did.

  He looked down at the flowers between them, then back at Lief.

  “I didn’t know,” Audree said quietly. “About any of that.”

  Lief’s eyes flicked to him, cautious. Like he wasn’t sure whether Audree was about to dismiss it.

  Audree forced himself to keep going.

  “I should have asked,” he said. His voice came out rougher than he meant it to. “I keep acting like everyone else is… just orbiting my life. And I hate that I do that.”

  Lief’s expression softened a fraction.

  Audree swallowed. “I’m sorry, Lief. Not like—sorry you’re upset. I mean… I’m actually sorry.”

  The wind pushed through the field again. The flowers bowed and lifted, bowing and lifting, like breathing.

  Lief stared at Audree for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.

  “Okay,” Lief said, softly. “That’s… a start.”

  Audree nodded once, stiff but sincere.

  He didn’t know how to fix Lief’s family. He didn’t know how to fix the town. He didn’t even know how to fix himself most days.

  But he could do one thing.

  He could stop treating Lief like a shadow that followed him.