The day after the barn incident, Eldenhold didn't breathe right.
The morning brought gray—not light.
Not the pale suggestion of sun, or even the brightness of snow. Just gray, wide and close, like the sky had descended and laid itself over Eldenhold's rooftops.
From the forge, you couldn't see the ridge anymore.
But you could feel it.
As if something out there had decided to stay.
Inside, warmth gathered in the air like breath held too long.
The forge burned full today—coals stacked higher, fed regularly. The heat pressed into the walls, but no one opened a window. They didn't dare.
The guests remained quiet. Two were refugees from a valley village that no longer had a name. The third was a farmer who hadn't spoken since the road patrol dragged him in.
He just sat by the wall and stared at the iron tools as if they might speak before he would.
Maverick sat by the bench, his spear nearby but untouched. He hadn't cleaned it yet from the encounter in the barn. Not from neglect—he wanted the dried frost on its shaft to stay visible a little longer. A reminder of where it had been.
Elira moved around him carefully, brewing something dark and sharp-smelling. Her hands moved without question, but her eyes checked the windows more often now.
From the far end of the room, Torren watched him between hammer strikes. Not with concern, not with judgment.
But as a man watching another man decide what kind of person he was going to be.
The door creaked open near midday.
Selene entered, pulling the gray in with her.
Her scarf—the one she'd left behind the night before—was around her neck again, loosely wrapped as if it had never been folded at all. She closed the door with a kind of softness that came from practice, not hesitation.
Maverick looked up.
She didn't speak. Not right away.
But her eyes met his, and that was enough for a moment.
They sat together on the bench after Elira handed her a warm drink. The steam curled upward, vanishing before it reached anything meaningful.
"You're early," he said.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Wind?"
"No wind."
They were quiet a while.
Then she asked, "Did you see it?"
He nodded.
"Was it worse than you imagined?"
"It wasn't what I imagined."
"And that's worse."
"Yes."
Later, as the forge grew dim and the stew thickened on the hearth, the family and the strays clustered closer.
The room held the kind of warmth you couldn't write down—a warmth made not from fire but from shared dread. Everyone stayed near the heat because it was something they understood. Outside, the rules had changed.
Even the children sensed it. Ren and Rune didn't ask for stories. They sat close to each other and whispered there own, occasionally glancing at the refugees like they expected one of them to cry out.
After dinner, Elira took the boys upstairs.
Torren set his hammer aside.
Selene and Maverick remained at the bench.
The quiet wasn't empty. It felt full.
Maverick finally said, "They're not watching us from beyond the fence anymore."
Selene didn't respond.
He looked at her. "I mean it. That thing—whatever it was—wasn't testing defenses. It was… studying."
Selene tilted her head slightly. "Studying?"
"Like it didn't need to fight. Like it already knew what it wanted."
"And what do you think that is?"
He didn't answer.
Across the room, Torren spoke.
"They're waiting for us to leave the lights on. That's what predators do."
Maverick didn't look at him. "You think this is just instinct?"
"I think even monsters look for weakness."
Selene's voice was quieter. "You think we've shown them any?"
Torren leaned back in his chair.
"We opened the forge. We took in the broken. We're teaching the dark where we keep our heat."
"That's not weakness," Elira's voice cut in from the stairwell. "That's humanity."
"No," Torren said, not harshly. "That's hope."
Elira stepped into the light.
"And hope doesn't kill?"
"Not always quickly."
Maverick stood and crossed the room to the window.
He could see nothing beyond the frost, just his own reflection and the flicker of firelight behind it.
Then, quietly: "Something's going to push through the wall. And when it does, it won't come for the strongest first."
Selene joined him, arms crossed.
She didn't ask who it would come for.
She already knew.
That night, the forge was quieter than usual.
Selene stayed late.
After the twins fell asleep, and the guests lay curled in their blankets, she and Maverick sat on the floor near the forge wall, speaking only when the fire hissed low.
"I've been thinking," she said at last, "about the way people look at you."
He glanced at her. "What way?"
"Like you're the wall. Not just on it. Part of it."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's a warning."
He looked down.
"They'll lean on you until you break."
"I won't."
"You already are. You just don't want to be loud about it."
She touched the scarf around her neck.
"It still smells like smoke," she murmured.
He didn't look at her. "It's been too close to the forge."
"I wore it even when I told myself I wouldn't."
Maverick tilted his head. "You're not one for empty symbols."
"I don't think it's empty."
Her hand lingered over the edge of it, thumb tracing the fabric.
"You gave this to me when you couldn't say what you felt," she said. "So I kept it. Because I knew you would eventually."
His voice was quiet. "Eventually doesn't always come."
"Then don't leave before it does."
She looked at him then. "When you go… just tell me. Don't vanish."
"I won't."
She smiled. "Bring the forge back with you."
They didn't kiss.
But they didn't need to.
He sat beside her until her breathing slowed.
When she finally left, the door shut so softly he almost didn't hear it.
But he felt it.
The air felt heavier.
Not colder.
Just more… watched.
Torren was still awake when Maverick settled back near the fire.
"You going to stay up all night watching me?" Maverick muttered.
"If I thought you were the one changing, maybe."
Maverick leaned his head back. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"I believe what I see."
"And what do you see?"
Torren's voice was soft.
"You, holding the forge open to keep others warm. You, waiting for something to come through that door, and you won't stop it. Not really."
"I would."
"No. You'll wait. You'll hesitate. You'll see something human in it."
Maverick closed his eyes.
"And that's why it'll get in."
But it didn't.
Not that night.
Just footsteps.
Distant.
Then gone.
And the fire still burned.