For a moment, no one spoke.
Not out of awkwardness — just space. The kind that follows something acknowledged but not yet placed.
The carnival noise pressed back in around us, as if offended to have been ignored. Voices rose. Someone laughed too loudly. Canvas snapped in the wind.
Imoen shifted first, angling slightly away from the tent as though the decision to leave had already been made.
"You don't seem like the type," she said, glancing sideways at him, "to wander into a carnival by accident."
Rasaad fell into step without comment. Not ahead of us. Not behind. Close enough to be present without assuming anything.
"No," he said. "I am not."
I waited. So did Imoen.
After a beat, he added, "I was looking for someone."
The words were careful. Finished, but not inviting.
Imoen tilted her head. "Someone specific?"
"Yes."
She considered that. "And you thought you'd find them between illusion tents and fried dough?"
Rasaad's mouth curved — not quite a smile.
"I thought I might find information," he said. "Sometimes people speak more freely when they believe fate is listening."
I glanced once toward the fortune-teller's stand, still half-crowded despite everything that had happened. "The diviner."
"Yes."
Imoen let out a quiet breath. "That's… optimistic."
Rasaad did not bristle. He did not defend the choice.
"Desperation and optimism often resemble one another," he said. "The difference is usually clearer in hindsight."
We had started moving by then — not with intent, just away from the tent, away from the damage. The carnival thinned around us in pieces rather than all at once.
"And?" Imoen asked. "Did you find what you were hoping for?"
Rasaad's answer came without hesitation.
"No."
The road ahead was dark and unremarkable. He looked toward it as though distance itself were something to be measured.
"If divination were reliable," he said, "fewer people would be lost."
Imoen was quiet for a beat after that.
"…That sounds desperate," she said finally.
Rasaad inclined his head — not in offense, not in denial.
"Accurate," he replied.
The word settled between us, heavier than it had any right to be.
We kept moving.
"And you?" Rasaad asked.
The question was simple. Not pointed. Not curious in the way people are when they expect an answer to entertain them.
Imoen glanced at me, then back to him. "Us?"
"Yes."
I answered before she could decide whether to deflect.
"We were looking for a pause," I said. "Something that wasn't the road, or a problem demanding to be solved immediately."
Rasaad considered that, eyes forward.
"And the carnival?" he asked.
"A way to stop moving without stopping entirely," Imoen said. "At least for a moment."
"That didn't last," he noted.
"No," I agreed. "It rarely does."
We reached the edge of the fairgrounds then. The last of the lantern light thinned behind us, replaced by the dull, open dark of the road.
"There are issues with the Nashkel Mines," I continued. "We were planning to look into them. Not tonight. Soon."
Rasaad slowed slightly at that.
"I know of them," he said. "Iron that does not arrive. Work that does not return value."
"People who don't leave," Imoen added. "Or do."
He nodded once. "I had heard enough to know the problem was not simple."
Silence stretched again — not empty this time, but shared.
"At present," Rasaad said after a moment, "my own path is… stalled."
I glanced at him. He did not look back.
"I do not believe standing still serves anyone," he continued. "If you are going to the mines, I would not object to walking with you."
He let the words settle without embellishment.
"For the good of Nashkel," he added. "And because harm left unattended has a way of spreading."
Imoen studied him sidelong. "That sounds like an offer."
Rasaad's mouth curved faintly. "It is not a demand."
I weighed it — not the utility, but the intent.
"We weren't looking for help," I said.
"I know," he replied. "Neither was I."
That was enough.
The road split ahead — one branch bending back toward Nashkel, the other stretching out into dark scrub and low hills.
"So where are you staying?" Imoen asked.
"In town?" he echoed. "No."
She blinked, then smiled faintly. "Right. Of course not."
Rasaad adjusted the strap of his pack with a small, habitual motion.
"I made camp just beyond the south road," he said. "High enough to see the lights. Far enough to sleep."
"You weren't planning to stay long," I said.
"I rarely do."
"If you're heading for the mines," he said, "you'll pass near my camp at first light."
Not an invitation. Not a request.
Just a fact, offered.
I nodded once. "We don't leave before morning."
"Neither do I."
We parted there without ceremony, the decision already made but not yet claimed.
Imoen waited until he was gone before speaking.
"I like him," she said.
I glanced at her. "Because he stepped in?"
She shook her head. "Because he didn't have to stay afterward."
We turned back toward Nashkel together, the city quieter now, as though it were already bracing itself for morning.