The sun hung high overhead, casting a warm, steady heat across the lower fields. I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow and glanced up at the sky, taking a moment to rest against the handle of the hoe. The earth smelled rich beneath my boots, and the steady rhythm of farm work helped dull the constant hum of tension that had been chipping away at me for weeks.

It had been a while since we’d had any trouble from Grayden or the enforcers, and for that, I was thankful. Life on the farm had slowly returned to something close to normal after Jacob’s death, but the absence of his presence was still a weight we all carried. The farm was quieter without him, and yet, the oppressive shadow of the Ministry still loomed. They were always watching, waiting for a reason to strike.

I glanced toward the distant treeline, where the orchard met the edge of the lower fields. Ged and Reece were up at the house, working on repairs to the roof. Sophia had been in and out of the barn all day, tending to the animals. Her laughter—so rare since Jacob’s death—echoed faintly across the field, a sound that lifted the weight from my chest, even if only for a moment.

Over the past few months, I’d grown closer to her. I had told her more stories about Smoke, some real, some embellished, just to bring that smile back to her face. I would make up tales of the old man outwitting giants or sneaking into the halls of kings, always managing to turn the tides in his favor. She loved those stories, always asking for more. It made her forget the pain, if only for a little while.

I slammed the hoe back into the soil, my muscles tensing as I tried to shake off the feeling of unease. This farm—this life—wasn't meant for me. I've been thinking about it more and more lately. Once I’d healed fully, I’d planned to leave, to go somewhere far from the Ministry’s reach. Maybe even beyond the Veil, to some place where I wouldn’t have to hide what I was. But now… now it didn’t feel like leaving was an option. Not after Jacob’s death, and certainly not with Sophia so dependent on my protection.

The rustling of leaves caught my attention, and I straightened, my eyes narrowing as a figure stepped out from the treeline. The man was cloaked in the dark, flowing robes of the Ministry—a sign of his station. His presence alone sent a shiver down my spine, though he looked different from the enforcers who usually came to collect taxes. No, this was someone else.

An Adept.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. Adepts were higher up in the Ministry’s ranks, wielders of justice who served as both judges and executioners when it came to matters of arcane law. The very fact that he was here, on the farm, meant trouble.

He walked toward me with purpose, his eyes locked on mine. There was something cold, calculating in his gaze, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I gripped the handle of the hoe a little tighter, a bead of sweat trickling down my spine.

“You,” the Adept said, his voice low but firm. “I’m looking for Sophia.”

The Adept’s eyes flickered with a predatory gleam as he approached. He stopped just short of me, the midday sun casting long shadows across his black robes.

“You’re working hard, I see,” he said, his voice dripping with false pleasantries. His eyes weren’t on me, though—they kept darting toward the farmhouse, toward where Sophia would be. “It must be nice, this quiet life. But I’ve heard some troubling things as of late.”

I didn’t like where this was going. I straightened. “What kind of trouble?”

He smiled, and it wasn’t the kind of smile that put you at ease. It was the kind of smile that made your stomach twist. “I’ve come to inquire about a girl. A certain Sophia, I believe she lives here, does she not?”

My heart skipped a beat. “What about her?”

The Adept moved closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “She’s been asking about... things. Dangerous things. Word has it she’s been looking for certain books—stories of Smoke, I believe? The kind of stories that could lead one down a very dangerous path.”

My blood ran cold. Sophia had been curious about the old legends, yes, but she didn’t go out of her way. She’d only asked a few people in the village if they’d heard of it, but that wasn’t a crime. At least, it shouldn’t have been.

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Sophia’s not involved in anything like that. She’s just... curious.”

The Adept’s eyes narrowed. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing. Especially when it concerns forbidden knowledge. The Ministry takes such matters very seriously.”

I could feel the tension mounting. The wind shifted slightly, rustling the leaves in the trees, but it did nothing to cut through the suffocating presence of this adept.

“I’m taking her in for questioning,” the Adept said, his tone final, like it was already decided. “If there’s nothing to hide, she’ll be released. But if she’s dabbled in things she shouldn’t... well, we both know how this ends.”

Panic clawed at my chest. I couldn’t let him take her. I knew what happened to people the Ministry took for “questioning”—they never came back. I couldn’t let that happen to Sophia.

“No,” I said, the word escaping before I could stop it. “You’re not taking her.”

The Adept’s eyes sharpened, and his hand twitched toward the hilt of a short blade at his side. “Excuse me?” His voice was low and dangerous now. “I don’t think you understand the situation here, boy. You don’t get to tell me what I can or cannot do.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing the hilt of his weapon. “Move aside, or I’ll make an example out of you first.”

My heart pounded in my chest. The urge to fight, to protect Sophia, surged through me. But using light weaving here, on the farm, could doom us all. The Ministry would come down on the entire family if they even suspected me of magic. But if I didn’t act, Sophia’s life would be over.

“You don’t need to involve her,” I said, trying to buy time, to think of another way. “She’s just a girl, asking about old stories. There’s nothing dangerous about that.”

The Adept’s smile twisted, his eyes gleaming with a malicious spark. “Oh, but you’re wrong. Stories have a way of stirring people’s minds, making them think they can rise above their station. And the Ministry... well, we can’t have that, can we?”

Before I could say anything else, he reached for his blade.

Instinct took over. I wasn’t going to let him take her. I couldn’t.

I reached deep inside, searching for the light weaving I had once commanded with ease. But it was harder than I remembered, the magic sluggish and unresponsive. It had been too long since I had flexed those muscles, and now they resisted me. I tried to summon a thin shield, but nothing came—just the flicker of power before it faded away.

The Adept’s blade flashed toward me, and in that moment, I knew I couldn’t rely on magic. My body reacted on pure instinct, honed over years of training in my old life. I sidestepped the blade, letting the strike sail past me with a sharp whistle of air.

The Adept’s eyes widened, not at my power but at my speed, my precision. His expression shifted from surprise to frustration as he realized I wasn’t what he had expected.

“You think you can challenge me?” he sneered, his blade poised to strike again.

I didn’t answer. There was no need for words. This wasn’t a battle of light weaving, it was something far more primal—something I knew far better than he did.

As he lunged, I sidestepped again, this time grabbing hold of a nearby hoe. I swung it low, catching his leg and knocking him off balance. The Adept cursed, stumbling, but recovered quickly, his face contorted in fury. He struck out again, faster this time, but my body moved with ease. I ducked beneath the swing and closed the distance between us.

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With a quick motion, I jabbed the handle of the hoe into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. His breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered backward, his confidence fading.

“I don’t need magic to beat you,” I said, my voice cold and steady.

The Adept roared, charging at me with reckless fury. I waited until the last second, then twisted to the side, grabbing the broken shovel that lay discarded nearby. Before he could react, I drove the sharp edge into his side.

The Adept gasped, his eyes locking onto mine in shock. Blood poured from the wound, staining his dark robes. He staggered, trying to clutch the wound, but it was too late. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Silence fell over the fields.

I stood over the body, my breath coming in heavy bursts. My hands were shaking, not from fear or pain, but from the realization of what I had just done. I hadn’t used magic. I hadn’t needed to. But I had killed a man—a representative of the Ministry. And there would be no turning back from this.

I barely had time to catch my breath before I heard footsteps approaching from behind. I turned to see Reece storming toward me, his eyes wide with disbelief, his face red with anger.

“What the hell have you done, Ragan?” he spat, his voice low and furious. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze flicking between the dead Adept at my feet and the blood-stained shovel in my hand.

“He... he wanted Sophia,” I managed to say, my voice hoarse. That was all I could get out, all I needed to say.

Reece’s expression darkened, his jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought he might strike me, and I braced myself. But instead, he stepped forward, his hands balling into fists.

“You’ve just brought disaster to our doorstep,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Do you know what this means? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I didn’t answer. I knew exactly what I had done, and what it meant.

For a moment, we stood there in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of us. Then, something changed. The fury in Reece’s eyes shifted into something colder, more calculating. He looked at the body again, then back at me.

“Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “We have to clean this up. If we’re lucky, no one will come looking for him right away.”

I blinked, surprised at the sudden shift. Reece was already moving, dragging the body toward the edge of the field. His movements were swift and efficient, as if he had done this sort of thing before. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, before I snapped into action and followed him.

We worked in silence, the only sound the rustling of the grass as we moved the body toward a patch of loose earth at the far end of the field. Reece grabbed a shovel from a nearby shed, tossing it to me without a word. Together, we dug a shallow grave, the effort of it making my muscles ache all over again. Every strike of the shovel against the dirt felt like a hammer, striking a nail of realization of what I’d done was sinking deeper into my chest.

Once the hole was deep enough, we rolled the body into it, covering it quickly with soil. Reece wiped the sweat from his brow, his face set in a grim expression as he patted the dirt down with the flat of his shovel. When it was done, we stood there, staring at the freshly turned earth in silence.

I looked over at Reece, unsure of what to say. “Thanks,” I muttered, feeling the word fall flat.

Without warning, Reece turned and swung his fist at me. His knuckles connected hard with my jaw, sending a jolt of pain through my face. I stumbled back, shocked by the sudden attack, but I didn’t retaliate.

Reece stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t thank me,” he growled. “You might have just doomed us all.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his shoulders stiff with barely contained rage. I watched him go, still reeling from the punch, my jaw throbbing with pain.

I touched the spot where his fist had landed, feeling the sting of it, but it wasn’t the punch that hurt the most. It was the truth behind his words. I had doomed us all—or at least put them all in danger. This wasn’t just my fight anymore. The Ministry would come, and when they did, everyone here would suffer for what I had done.

As I stood there, alone in the field, I realized something. I couldn’t leave now, not after this. I couldn’t run and hide, not when I had dragged them into my mess. I had to protect them, whatever it took.

I had no choice.

----------------------------------------

The crisp air of late autumn bit at my skin as I worked in the lower field, pulling the last of the crops from the cold earth. It had been months since the incident with the adept, but the unease still clung to me like the chill in the wind. No one had come asking questions, no sign that the Ministry had noticed their missing man. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were on me, that someone, somewhere, was waiting for the right moment to strike.

I wasn’t the only one who felt it. Reece had been colder than usual, barely saying a word to me since the day we’d disposed of the adept’s body. And Ged—he had his own concerns, but none of them involved me. At least, not openly. We’d fallen into a rhythm on the farm, one that kept us all moving, but there was a tension underneath it all. The farm felt different.

Today, though, something was different. The quiet was too thick, the air heavy with an unspoken threat. Then I heard it—hoofbeats on the road. The unmistakable sound of enforcers.

I straightened up, wiping the dirt from my hands, and turned toward the path leading to the farm. A group of riders approached, their dark cloaks blending with the bare trees. The sight of them made my stomach churn. They had come to collect the harvest tax, as they always did, but this time, something felt different. The memory of Grayden’s sneer flashed in my mind, and I wondered if he’d be among them.

I kept my distance as they arrived, staying near the barn where I could watch without drawing attention. Ged and Reece were already at the front of the house, greeting the enforcers with tense nods. My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the group for any sign of Grayden—or worse, someone asking questions about the adept.

But no one said a word. They dismounted, moved through the farm with the efficiency of men who had done this a hundred times before. Their eyes, though sharp, never lingered on me. For the first time in months, I dared to hope that I had gotten away with it.

I watched as they began to load their carts with our produce, taking more than their share, as always. Ged’s face tightened with each crate that disappeared into the enforcers' hands, but he said nothing. There was no point. To speak up now would be to invite more trouble than we could handle.

As the last cart was loaded, the enforcers mounted their horses and rode off without a word. The tension in the air remained, hanging like a storm waiting to break.

Once they were out of sight, I made my way to Ged and Reece. Ged was staring at the now-empty outhouse, his brow furrowed in concern.

"They took more than they should have," he muttered, running a hand through his thinning hair. "We’ll be struggling to get through the winter now."

Reece stood off to the side, scowling, his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t spoken to me since that day in the lower fields, and now was no different. He turned to head back to the barn without a word.

Frustration burned inside me. I could feel it simmering beneath the surface, a heat that wanted to lash out, but I held it down. Ged didn’t need more problems right now. I took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm.

"Look," I said, stepping closer to Ged. "We’re not going to make it through the winter if they keep taking more than we can spare. We need to do something."

Ged looked up at me, his eyes weary. "What can we do, lad? We’re farmers, not fighters."

I hesitated for a moment, then the idea I had been toying with for weeks finally came out. "A water wheel," I said. "I’ve been thinking about it. It would help us grind the grain faster, get more out of the crops we have left. It could make a real difference."

Ged raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear in his gaze. "A water wheel? You’ve been thinking about this for weeks, and now you bring it up?"

"I can build it," I said quickly. "I know it sounds strange, but I’ve seen something like it before. It’ll help, I promise."

As I spoke, the image of the water wheel formed in my mind. It wasn’t just a solution to the farm’s immediate problems—it could be more than that. The wheel would free up so much time, cutting down on hours of grinding and threshing. Ged and the others worked from dawn till dusk just to stay afloat. If the water wheel worked, they could breathe easier, maybe even reclaim some of that time for themselves.

And for me, it could mean more than just improving life on the farm. It could give me the breathing room I needed. I needed time—time to grow stronger, time to figure out how to use my power without endangering everyone around me. A water wheel could be my way of contributing without raising suspicion. While the wheel turned, I could work in the shadows, honing my abilities away from prying eyes.

Ged rubbed his chin, staring off into the distance. "And how long would it take?"

"I’ll do it on my own time," I assured him. "Away from everyone else. It won’t interfere with the farm work, but if it works, it could give us a chance to get ahead, instead of barely scraping by."

He studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "Alright," he said finally. "You can try. But if it starts interfering with the work, it stops. Understood?"

"Understood," I said, relief flooding through me.

As I turned to walk back toward the barn, I couldn’t help but glance over at Reece. He stood by the doorway, his arms still crossed, his eyes locked on me. There was something in his gaze that I couldn’t quite read, something that told me the tension between us was far from over.

But for now, I had a plan. Something that could help. Something that could make a difference.