Chapter 72: Not Alone
For the first time since the grey-haired man had died, since he had been left alone in that clearing with nothing but a blood-stained sword and a set of half-remembered instructions, he wasn’t completely alone.
He could hear other people walking around him. He could hear Finn whispering something to Mara and Mara whispering back, her voice low and patient, the way someone speaks when they’re used to answering the same question for the tenth time. He could hear Tomas’s boots scuffing occasionally against a root and Joren’s spear tapping a low branch out of the way with a soft thwack. He could listen to their conversations and know that someone else was watching the road, that if something came from the trees, he wouldn’t be the only one to see it. That if he fell because his leg gave out, someone might notice. That thought was strange after days of knowing that if he fell, no one would.
It didn’t make the wilderness less dangerous. The trees were still too still. The air still had that damp, earthy smell that meant things could be hiding under fallen leaves, that meant the ground stayed wet long after it rained and held footprints. The path was still empty of other travelers for a reason — most people knew better than to be out here this close to dusk, when the light started to fail and things that hated daylight began to stir. The sun was getting lower, and shadows were getting longer, stretching between the trunks like dark fingers.
It didn’t make him feel safe. He doubted he would ever truly feel safe again. Safety had died in Ravenfall with everything else, burned with the houses and buried with his mother. Since then, every place that was supposed to be safe had turned out to be temporary.
But it made the journey a little easier. It made his injured leg ache a little less because he wasn’t putting all his focus on it. Pain got worse when you stared at it. It made the weight of his bag feel a little lighter, not because it was lighter, but because he wasn’t carrying everything alone — the watch, the worry, the constant need to check every direction. It made the constant buzzing of fear in the back of his head quiet down just enough that he could think clearly, that he could actually hear the birds again instead of only his own breathing.
Danny tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and continued walking, his eyes scanning the trees, his ears listening for anything that didn’t belong. He fell into the same rhythm as the others without meaning to, his steps matching theirs for a stretch before he deliberately broke the pattern. He didn’t want to sync completely. Syncing made you predictable. The grey-haired man had told him that a group moving in perfect rhythm sounded like one animal from a distance, and predators noticed single rhythms. Breaking rhythm made you harder to count.
He would accept their food when they offered it again. It would be foolish not to. He needed strength, and pride didn’t fill an empty stomach. The grey-haired man had taught him that too: eat when you can, because you don’t know when you will again. Eat even if you don’t like the person offering it. You can hate them later with a full belly. For now, his body needed calories to heal that wound on his side. The throbbing had dulled, but it was still there, a hot line under the cloth.
He would travel with them. It was the logical choice, the choice with the highest chance of keeping him alive until Greybridge. Alone, he had to watch all directions at once and sleep with one eye open. With four others, he could afford to close both eyes for a few hours, even if he didn’t plan to sleep deeply. Math, not trust.
He would learn what he could about Greybridge and the road to Fort Haven. He needed information more than anything right now — about patrols, about safe zones, about whether the fort’s gates were open to refugees, about the price of entry. About whether anyone was looking for survivors from Ravenfall, or whether the town had been erased so completely that no one even remembered its name. If there were other survivors, they might be in Greybridge. If there were answers about who ordered the burning, they might pass through Fort Haven.
But he wouldn’t forget what the wilderness had taught him. What every loss had taught him. What the grey-haired man had beaten into him with words and silence, with a knock on the head when he forgot to check behind him.
Trust could be dangerous. It could get you killed faster than a blade because it made you turn your back. Joric had smiled when he left, promising he’d be right back. The slavers had smiled when they offered water, then put a price on his head. Trust was a shortcut that often led off a cliff.
Kindness could be a trap. The best traps always looked kind at first. A warm fire, a piece of bread, a promise of safety. The rabbit with horns had looked harmless too, until it charged. He had learned to look past the first appearance and ask what it cost the other person.
And even people who seemed harmless could have reasons to betray you. Everyone had a price, everyone had a secret, everyone had a line they wouldn’t cross until they had to. Mara might trade him for medicine for Finn. Tomas might see his sword and decide it was worth more than his life. Joren might decide one less mouth was better when food ran low. He didn’t think they would, but he couldn’t afford to assume they wouldn’t.
So Danny kept his eyes open and his sword close, close enough that he could draw it in a second if he needed to. He checked the looseness of the sheath, making sure it wouldn’t stick if he had to pull fast. He made sure the strap wasn’t tangled. Small things, but small things kept you alive.
He watched Finn’s easy walk and Mara’s tired efficiency and Joren’s constant scanning and Tomas’s quiet watchfulness, and he memorized it all. Not because he wanted to remember them, but because remembering was how you stayed alive. You remembered how a person moved when they were calm so you could tell when they were nervous. You remembered how they held their weapon so you knew how fast they could use it.
He would walk with these survivors.
For now.
Temporarily.
And if they ever gave him a reason to regret that decision, if that kindness turned, if that reasonable offer showed its true cost, he would be ready to leave. He would be ready to run, to fight, to rewind time itself if he had to, even if it cost him years of his life. He would not be caught again because he wanted to believe someone was good.
The path wound onward, curving around a thicket of thorn bushes that clawed at the edges of the trail, and the group followed it without hesitation. They knew this way. Or they pretended to, which was almost as good as knowing, as long as you walked with confidence.
Danny followed, a few steps behind, alone in the middle of a group, his shadow stretching long behind him as the afternoon sun began its slow descent toward evening.