The next day, the town had caught its breath. The bells no longer rang. Families had fallen silent. Only the usual murmur of market days remained—the vendors' shouts and the scent of fresh fish in the damp crates.
Victor walked beside Emma, as he often did now. He carried her half-filled basket, listened as she bargained, waited quietly in the background while she secured a handful of herbs for half price, her voice sometimes roughened on purpose to sound tougher than she really was.
There was a smile at the corner of her lips. Having won her case with the merchant, she quickly turned to Victor and gave him a victorious wink. He answered with a silent round of applause.
Then a sharp "Hey!" cracked somewhere in the crowd.
Emma spun around swiftly. Victor did the same, reflexively. A man was making his way toward them, cutting through the throng of passersby. He was tall, broad-shouldered. But what struck them most was the scar: a pale, thin line running from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, stopping just above his lip. Suddenly, they recognized him—it was the last soldier who had come down from the wagons the day before.
Victor didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, placing himself naturally—without aggression—between Emma and the man. He said nothing. Just that move, that gesture. And Emma, behind him, did not protest. She looked at him for a moment—he didn't see it—a faint, knowing smile. She thought, That's new. She liked it, a little.
The young man slowed upon seeing their wary stance. He raised a hand, palm outward, trying for a smile.
"Sorry," he said, a bit out of breath. "Didn't mean to startle you. A butcher told me where I could find you. It's you, right? Emma? Robin's sister?"
She froze. Just for a moment. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Yes," she said. "That's me."
The man lowered his hand. His gaze softened.
"My name's Adam. I... I knew Robin. We were at the front together, down south. He spoke a lot about you. And about... Dennis, too."
A pause hung in the air.
"Dennis is dead," Emma said. "This year."
"Shit," Adam breathed, genuinely moved. "I'm sorry. Truly."
He seemed about to say more but stopped, remembering something. He bent down, plunged a hand into his boot, and pulled out a short, sturdy knife, its blade slightly dulled, the handle engraved.
He held it out to Emma, handle forward.
"That was his. I couldn't bear to leave it in the mud. It would've fallen into the wrong hands. So... here. I thought you'd want to have it."
Emma took the knife gently. She turned it in her palm, looked at the blade, then lifted her eyes to him.
"Thank you," she said simply.
She lowered her gaze back to the knife in her hand, then raised it again toward Victor. She said nothing, but he understood. He nodded almost imperceptibly, then turned to Adam.
"My name's Victor," he said calmly. "We were about to leave anyway... If you want, we can talk somewhere quieter. It'd be nicer than this chaos."
Adam hesitated briefly, surprised. Then a weary, sincere smile.
"Gladly."
They left the stalls and cobblestones behind, crossed a narrow alley, then took the path to the old stone bridge. There, just outside the town, a low wall ran along the road overlooking the damp northern meadows. The three of them sat in a row, the wind brushing their cheeks.
Emma kept the knife on her lap.
"Did he suffer?" she asked at last, without beating around the bush.
Adam turned his head toward her, shaking it gently.
"No. He didn't have time. It was quick. Too quick. He never knew."
A breath. Something in Emma's posture loosened. She nodded, lips pressed tight.
"Thank you."
Adam absentmindedly scratched at the worn seam of his sleeve. Then, looking up at Victor, he added, a little lighter:
"I saw you step in earlier. She's got someone watching her back now, good for her. Without that scar, you wouldn't even have raised an eyebrow. At war, I barely scared the birds."
Victor chuckled softly, brief but genuine.
"Yeah, it makes an impression. How'd you get that?"
"An axe blow," Adam replied, miming the strike at face level. "Some guy in dirty armor, yelling like a wounded dog. He almost got me. I was terrified of losing my eye... But I got lucky. The blade just missed. Blood was pouring—I don't want you to see."
"And now you scare kids and birds," Emma said, a corner of her mouth curling.
"That's all I ever wanted," Adam shrugged. "Scare the little ones and carry memories in my boots. And, incidentally, give back what I could save."
He nodded toward the knife.
A lighter silence settled. The wind whispered through the wild grass. Far off, the sound of hooves on stones.
Adam's eyes caught a detail—a signet ring on Victor's ring finger. An amused smile split his weathered face.
"Well, that... That's the first time I've met a noble who doesn't say it right away."
Victor tensed slightly, caught off guard, but answered simply:
"It's not really a secret. I just try not to make a big deal of it."
Adam snorted, keeping his tone light.
"I can understand. It's easier to protect young women at the market while staying undercover, right?"
He glanced from Emma to Victor, eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity.
"So, you two? Not exactly a usual pair around here."
The question landed like thunder. Emma lowered her head, blushing, and Victor looked away, searching for words.
"We... we watch each other's backs, that's all," she finally said, with a shy smile.
"Yes, exactly," Victor confirmed, a little embarrassed.
Adam leaned forward, a mischievous grin on his lips. He had hit the mark.
"I see. No need to say more. You gotta hold on to someone when everything's falling apart, huh?"
Emma smiled, and Victor couldn't help but laugh quietly.
—
They parted late afternoon, as the sky faded and shadows stretched between the buildings. Adam gave them a light nod, a joke for farewell—he was staying for now at a boarding house with other veterans, not far from the forge. He intended to stay awhile, maybe longer; he'd see.
Then he disappeared into the bustling streets, leaving behind a vivid impression, a silhouette that lingered.
Victor and Emma walked a while in silence. The cobblestones echoed under their steps; the market's cries had faded. It was a calm end to the day, but Victor felt a small knot of unease beneath his ribs. He couldn't name it right away—it was vague, a mix of unrest and poorly formed questions.
Finally, he asked:
"Did Adam make a good impression on you?"
Emma turned her head slightly toward him. She recognized the tone he sometimes took—that false calm masking doubt. She answered without hesitation:
"Yes. He was… touching, I think. And he gave me Robin's knife back. Just that, it means a lot. He didn't have to. He took the trouble to look for me, to ask where to find me. And if he was Robin's friend… then I think he's a good man."
Victor nodded slowly, staring straight ahead. He should have felt relieved—but inside, something tightened. He didn't know why it bothered him. Or rather, he refused to admit it. He didn't know this kind of unease, this sense of being out of sync, a little aside. He'd never seen Emma speak to someone else with such tenderness. He didn't know he could feel that sharp edge of jealousy—jealousy of a bond he could never share, the bond of blood and past.
Then she teased him, as she sometimes did, bringing him back to earth.
"You really put yourself between us back there at the market," she said. "I didn't say anything, but... you surprised me. You looked like you were about to bite."
He let out a small, embarrassed but amused laugh.
"I saw his face—I didn't think. I didn't know what he wanted. It was... instinct."
"Weren't you scared?"
He shrugged. Of course he'd been scared, but not for himself.
"I just wanted to protect you. That's all there is to it."
She slowed, looked at him longer this time. Searching for words—or perhaps the courage to say them.
"Well… I liked it. Really. That you stepped in. And… that we watch out for each other like that. I care about it."
Victor looked at her without speaking. He felt the knot inside loosen suddenly, like a breath long held finally released. He didn't answer right away. He was afraid talking would spoil the moment.
But inside his head, he heard clearly: she cares for you. She said it. No detours, no pretense. She saw you, she understood you. And she accepted it.
So he moved a little closer to her, just enough so their shoulders touched. He told himself he'd never needed so many words with her, and that was perfectly fine.
And in Emma's mind, an echo of that gesture. She felt that silent closeness, that quiet support that said everything. She thought Victor, in his calm awkwardness, had become a certainty. Someone who would be there, quietly, but standing. She felt stronger. Less alone.
And as shadows lengthened on the stones, they continued walking side by side, with a new, quiet, slightly unsettling awareness: that they were already, to each other, far more than they dared admit.