The sun had just risen when Jane tied her hair into a low ponytail and stepped out of her little cottage. She wore a plain beige blouse and a skirt she bought from the local store—nothing fancy, but neat enough for her first day of work. There was a strange feeling in her chest. Not quite nervous, not quite excited. Just... different.
She had never worked in a restaurant before. Back at the mansion, she had always been the one being served. Plates brought to her. Floors already clean. Now, everything was in her hands. And yet, it didn't feel like a step down—it felt like a fresh start.
Mrs. Watsonville's place was small but charming. A cozy wooden building with potted plants hanging by the window and a chalkboard menu out front that said "Today's Special: Herb-Roasted Chicken." The bell above the door gave a soft jingle as Jane entered.
"You're early," Mrs. Watsonville smiled from behind the counter. She wore a green apron and had her silver hair tied in a neat bun.
"I wanted to start as soon as possible," Jane said, offering a small smile. She still wasn't used to smiling at strangers.
"Well, that's a good attitude. Come in, I'll show you what to do."
The first thing Jane did was sweep the wooden floors. The broom felt a little awkward in her hands, but she kept at it until not a single crumb was left. Then she mopped the floor, careful not to leave streaks. After that, she helped wipe down the tables and polish the glass windows.
Mrs. Watsonville watched from the counter, occasionally giving her pointers. "Don't forget the corner there. And when you mop, go in a figure-eight. It picks up dust better."
Jane nodded every time. She didn't complain. She didn't sigh. In fact, she felt kind of… calm.
When the first few customers arrived, Mrs. Watsonville handed her a small notepad and a pen.
"You're taking orders now?"
Jane blinked. "Oh. Right. I mean—yes. I can do that."
She approached a middle-aged couple sitting by the window and took their order with shaky hands. Her handwriting was barely readable, and she forgot to ask how they wanted their eggs. But the couple was kind and smiled at her nervousness.
By midday, she had taken a few more orders and learned how to carry two plates at once without dropping them. She even managed a laugh when one little boy told her he liked her "funny walk." (She had accidentally slipped and almost fell.)
"You're a fast learner," Mrs. Watsonville said later that afternoon, handing her a glass of water as they both sat by the kitchen door.
Jane took the glass and smiled. "Thank you."
______
Far away from the peaceful village where Jane now lived, the grand halls of House Ardent were filled with tension.
Lady Maerina stood in her private chamber, pacing back and forth, her long emerald gown swishing with every step. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched a golden ring on her hand—a family heirloom she often rubbed when anxious.
Jane was gone. Disappeared without a trace.
And worse—Lady Maerina had no idea how much Jane had overheard before she vanished.
The poison. The plan. The secret she had worked so hard to keep hidden.
If anyone found out, the entire Ardent name could fall into disgrace. The nobles wouldn't protect her. They would turn on her. And if the the people of Arvenia discovered that a noble heir of Ardent had been marked for death by her own mother… Lady Maerina didn't want to think about it.
"Captain!" she snapped.
A tall man in black uniform stepped into the room, bowing. "Yes, my lady."
"I want guards dispatched immediately. All of them. Search every region of Arvenia. Cities, towns, villages, even the outer borderlands if you must. I want Jane Ardent found and returned—alive."
"Yes, my lady."
"Double the security around this estate," she added. "No one comes in or out without my permission. Lock the gates at night. Post archers on the balcony. If she dares return, I want to know the second her foot touches the front garden."
The captain hesitated. "If I may, my lady… Should we inform the Council?"
"No," Maerina snapped. "We don't need their eyes on this. Not yet."
She walked over to the tall window that overlooked the estate's sprawling gardens. The roses were in full bloom—Jane's favorites. The thought made her stomach twist.
That girl… No, that witch. If Jane truly was what the legend of the Awaken witch… then Maerina's problems had only just begun.
She stared out the window, her face cold and unreadable.
"Find her before someone else does."
_______
John who sat alone in the garden behind the mansion, staring at the pale moon, something inside him broke.
Enough waiting.
Enough regrets.
He couldn't stay here while Jane was out there—alone, hunted, possibly hurt.
He stood up and quietly slipped into the stables, grabbing a brown cloak and a satchel of food. Then he climbed onto his horse, his jaw clenched tight.
No one saw him leave.
Not the guards, not the servants.
Not even Lady Maerina.
He didn't leave a note. There was nothing to explain. He had one goal: find Jane.
"I'll make it right," he whispered to the night air as the horse galloped into the darkness. "No matter what it takes."
John had never traveled this far on his own before.
He had been to nearby cities during diplomatic visits with House Ardent, but this time it was different. There were no banners on his horse. No noble purpose. Just a single photo of Jane that he kept folded inside his cloak—her face etched into his memory far deeper than on any paper.
He visited village after village, showing the picture to every merchant, innkeeper, and stable boy he passed.
"Have you seen this girl?"
"She's about this tall… long dark hair… her eyes are…"
(He would always pause here, debating whether to mention her eyes.)
But every answer was the same:
No.
Never seen her.
Sorry, can't help you.
John grew more restless with each stop.
He slept in tiny inns, in haystacks behind barns, sometimes not at all. He barely ate. The only thing that kept him going was the image of her—Jane, standing alone, cold, maybe scared. And the memory of the way she had looked at him that last time.
Like he had broken her.
On the third night, with exhaustion pressing behind his eyes, John found himself riding toward a peaceful-looking village surrounded by soft green hills and clusters of wildflowers.
It was so different from the rest of Arvenia. Quiet. Peaceful. Alive.
If Jane had escaped… if she wanted to hide… she would've chosen a place like this. His instincts told him that.
He tugged the reins and entered the village square. The smell of warm bread and fruit drifted through the air. There was a fruit stall with bright orange peaches and purple grapes lined neatly on display.
John dismounted, walked over, and unfolded the picture once more.
"Excuse me," he said to the seller. "Have you seen this girl?"
The man looked at the photo, then raised an eyebrow.
"How could I forget her?" he said with a small chuckle.
John's heart skipped.
"So she was here?"
"Maybe a days ago. She bought some fruit. Said she was going to a dinner."
John leaned forward. "Do you know where she went after that?"
The seller shook his head. "Afraid not. Didn't ask. But she seemed nice. Little quiet. But She looks pretty in those dress."
John gave a small, grateful nod, though inside, his pulse was racing.
She was here.
He was getting close.