The question hit him like cold water. He felt exposed under her gaze, the weight of her insight making him squirm. The coin pouch was from Sir Draven, and he didn't know what she might say about it.
"It…uhm, no... they've died already. I don't have any family left," he murmured, clutching the pouch tight, a knot forming in his chest. He didn't want to hear something that might make him feel worse.
Hilda's expression softened. "Then, the one who gave you that pouch must really care about you," she said, her voice quiet.
"Take care of it, kid. Now get going. I've got work to do if you want that potion."
Sylene left silently, closing the door behind him. He held the coin pouch close, an ache blooming in his chest.
His heart thudded, awkward and fast. Sir Draven… cared about him? That vampire, cold and quiet as he was, had never once abandoned him indeed. That pouch saved him more times than he could count. It held more than coins—it held memories, safety, trust.
