Selis’s fingers tightened around the polished shaft of his staff, the knuckles paling under the force of his grip. The Great Hall, alive with the murmur of voices and the flickering shadows cast by lanterns, seemed to press in around him. Each face, each gaze felt like a knife's edge, pricking and prodding at his fraying nerves. He struggled to hold onto the confidence he had built during his walk through the town, the power that had surged within him at the sight of the people parting before him. But here, seated among the other council members, it felt as if all that strength had slipped through his fingers like sand.

His eyes darted around the room, scanning each face, looking for any sign of recognition, of support—anything to anchor himself. But what he saw made his pulse quicken in unease. Every seat was occupied, every council member present. Except…

Selis’s gaze settled on the lone, empty chair at the edge of the hall, where the shadows pooled thick and dark. An outsider’s seat.

An outsider.

His stomach churned. An outsider at the council meeting? It had been decades—no, longer—since such a thing had been permitted. And here he was, thinking this was going to be his grand return to the council, his chance to prove himself. A chance to remind the town why it needed him, why it should never have turned its back on him.

But no. He wasn’t the only one coming back tonight. He wasn’t the only one with something to prove.

His mind spun with the implications, his thoughts spiralling downward, faster and faster. Why had Daithi agreed to this? Had Finnian known? Did they think he wasn’t enough? That even now, after all the signs, the whispers of the gods, they needed some outsider to weigh in on the town’s fate.

His jaw clenched, his pulse hammering in his ears. He had been so sure that tonight would mark his triumphant return. That they would see, all of them, that the gods still favoured him. But now… Now everything felt wrong. Off balance.

They don’t trust you. They never did.

No, that wasn’t true. Finnian trusted him. Finnian had vouched for him, had been the only one to see his worth even when the others dismissed him. But… why hadn’t Finnian mentioned this? Why hadn’t he warned him?

Selis’s gaze snapped to Finnian, seated next to him. The tavern keeper’s face was a mask of calm.

A flicker of doubt flared in Selis’s chest, hot and sharp. Was Finnian… was he keeping something from him?

“Stop it,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely more than a whisper. No. Finnian is on your side.

But the thought wouldn’t leave him, gnawing at his confidence. What if this outsider wasn’t just here for some idle council meeting? What if this was part of some larger scheme? What if Finnian…

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Selis forced the thought down, squeezing his eyes shut for a heartbeat. No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not when he was so close.

“Selis.”

The soft, familiar voice jolted him from his spiralling thoughts. His eyes flew open, his gaze snapping to Finnian. The man leaned forward slightly, his head tilted in that easy, casual way of his, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“Relax,” Finnian murmured, his voice pitched low so that only Selis could hear.

Selis’s breath hitched. He glanced around quickly, his heart pounding, but the other council members seemed preoccupied—Orla was still staring daggers at Thorn’s empty seat, and Leora looked as if she were daydreaming about more mischief. Only Daithi, further along the circle, watched them with a furrowed brow, concern written plainly on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Selis whispered fiercely, his voice trembling despite his efforts to steady it. “Why didn’t you warn me about… him?”

Finnian’s smile didn’t falter, but a hint of something sharp—something dangerous—glinted in his eyes. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Selis blinked. “What?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Finnian repeated softly, his gaze flicking toward Thorn’s shadowed figure near the back of the hall. “He’s just a wanderer. A vagabond with no home, no family, and no real stake in our town. He has nothing, Selis. No influence, no allies. He’s nobody.”

“But…” Selis hesitated, his thoughts skittering, slipping between panic and confusion. “Then why is he here?”

“Because Daithi’s grasping at straws,” Finnian said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with an almost bored expression. “The town is falling apart, and the council knows it. They’re hoping that bringing in some outsider will magically fix things. That maybe, just maybe, a stranger’s eyes will see something they can’t. But that’s all it is—wishful thinking.” He shrugged lightly, as if dismissing the entire notion with a flick of his fingers. “Trust me, Selis. He’s harmless.”

Harmless? The word rang hollow in Selis’s ears. He remembered Thorn’s sharp eyes, the way he’d stood so still and quiet at the edge of the hall, watching everything with a predator’s gaze. Harmless was the last word he would use to describe him.

But… Finnian had met him. Finnian knew more than he did. And hadn’t Finnian always been right? Hadn’t he been the only one who stood by him, even when everyone else turned away?

Selis let out a slow, shuddering breath, trying to release the knot of tension coiled tight in his chest. He’s right. He had to be. Thorn was just… an outsider. A curiosity. Nothing more.

“Alright,” he murmured, forcing his shoulders to relax, his grip on his staff loosening. “Alright. If you say so.”

Finnian’s smile widened, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “That’s the spirit. Keep your focus, Selis. Tonight is your night. You are the one who will lead this council, not some drifter.”

The words wrapped around him like a warm, soothing balm, chasing away the last remnants of doubt. Yes. Yes. This was his night. He was the one with the gods’ favour. Thorn, whoever he was, would be nothing more than a footnote in the grand story of Selis’s return.

“Thank you, Finnian,” he whispered, gratitude welling up inside him. “I—thank you.”

“Of course,” Finnian murmured, his eyes dark and unreadable as he straightened. “What are friends for?”

Selis swallowed, nodding firmly as he turned his gaze back to the rest of the council. The anxiety, the doubt—it was still there, a faint tremor beneath the surface. But Finnian’s words had given him something to cling to, a lifeline to steady himself against the chaos swirling in his mind.

Tonight was his night.

And no outsider was going to take that from him.