Chapter 41: When the Night Decides

  The five men gathered where light did not linger.

  A broken shed.

  Old crates.

  Voices kept low not from fear, but habit.

  “That brat ruined everything.”

  “The brave?” one scoffed.

  “If he’s the Brave, then I’m the king.”

  “Watch your mouth,” another hissed.

  “If the guards hear us, we’re done.”

  The con artist clicked his tongue and folded his arms.

  “And don’t forget my pay. Acting isn’t charity.”

  They grumbled, argued, circled the same complaints.

  Only one of them stayed silent.

  The man who had pressed his boot into Ivaline’s chest.

  He stared at the dirt, jaw tight.

  “This won’t do,” he said finally.

  They looked at him.

  “They’ve seen us. All of us.”

  Guards would revise patrols.

  Townsfolk would talk.

  Shop owners would close ranks.

  And the girl.

  “She’ll be protected,” someone muttered.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He smiled thinly.

  “Not if we act first.”

  A pause.

  Then.

  “Tonight,” he said.

  “We strike.”

  By the time Ivaline finished training, the sky had begun to soften.

  She hunted without hurry.

  Two birds.

  Enough.

  At the east gate, Brannic bowed deeply, ears flattened.

  “I’m sorry. Truly. Next time I’ll move even if my captain chews my tail off.”

  She nodded.

  “That’s fine.”

  No resentment.

  No accusation.

  Just acceptance.

  As she passed through, Ray followed.

  Neither spoke.

  Their eyes met briefly.

  Protect her if you can.

  I will.

  They parted without words.

  At Edric’s shop, the butcher slammed his cleaver into the block.

  “I’ll gut those bastards!”

  “No,” Ivaline said calmly.

  “I don’t want to eat them. Please gut my birds.”

  Edric froze.

  Then barked a laugh.

  “Fine! And take this.”

  He tossed her a small pouch of spice.

  “Use it tonight.”

  She thanked him.

  Edric cursed loudly after she left.

  The river reflected firelight.

  She cooked carefully.

  Measured.

  Patient.

  “…..”

  Ray stepped closer and sat an arm’s length away.

  Not too close.

  Not imposing.

  Just present.

  Silence lingered.

  Then.

  “…You’re alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Parents?”

  “Never existed.”

  “…I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “For hurting you.”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  That stopped him.

  No bitterness.

  No self-pity.

  Just fact.

  Another pause.

  “…Is the meat good?”

  “Yes.”

  “With just a little spice?”

  “Hmm.”

  Ray watched her eat.

  No rush.

  No guarding.

  A girl who had known hunger but wasn’t ruled by it.

  Not desperation.

  Discipline.

  Something settled quietly in his chest.

  She wasn’t a thief.

  She worked to eat.

  Trained to endure.

  Lived by will, not deception.

  Ray relaxed, just a little.

  That was when the night shifted.

  Five presences.

  Too quiet.

  Too deliberate.

  Shadows stepped into the firelight.

  Faces Ray recognized.

  One of them grinned.

  “We meet again, bitch…”

  His gaze slid.

  “…and the brat.”

  Ray’s hand moved to his sword.

  Slow.

  Measured.

  Stance adjusted.

  No theatrics.

  Just readiness.

  Behind him, Ivaline didn’t retreat.

  Her stick came up.

  In front of them, the men spread out, experienced enough to know spacing.

  Ray exhaled once.

  Not fear.

  Calculation.

  So, this is what she’s been living with.

  Time to observe, he decided.

  And if observation failed.

  Time to act.