Kiran pulled the door of the tannery shut with a final jerk, which knocked snow loose from the sign above. The chilly froth landed on her head, causing her to glare up at the offending source. It was too far above her to knock the rest off with her hand, even in a futile but satisfactory gesture of revenge.

Ryland was tall enough. Sometimes he used to knock snow off her sign or the edge of her roof to help. Sometimes to be a pain. He would do it with one of his stupid understated smirks, too. The sort other people thought had no actual humor behind it, but she knew different. She could still picture his face vividly. The prominence and edge of his nose, the way he never looked quite clean-shaven, the way his brown eyes were constantly darting about when they were outside, and how they rested when it was just the three of them…

Eight months now. No word. No one else was holding out. Not even Ms. Lila. Honestly, Kiran knew how stupid it was to hold on to any scrap of hope. Between the tundra and the Te’iltic castle Fort Salité was built to stand watch over, there was no way Ryland would come home. He knew the risks of joining the Watch as a scout. Beat the odds for over a decade. Did the T’Vair name proud, even if half the bastards didn’t deserve his shine. They sure didn’t deserve the signatory ‘T’ like he did.

…It was time for a drink. Kiran yanked her fur-lined cloak hood over her head, not bothering to dry the top of her head first. Then she started the long stomp through cobbled mud lined with drifts.

Most of the regular faces were already gathered at the tavern when she came in. Kiran had worked a little past sundown, caught up in a fresh stack of hides one of the hunting parties had brought in late in the day. The more work she got, the more money she earned. Even more valuable than that, though, was the distraction. That was just about every day anymore. Work, chores, and a meal or two, dawn to dusk. Anything that delayed sleep or made it come instantly.

Tonight, it would be warm, mulled honey wine. She got the bar’s attention and two steins for her trouble, on owed credit after recently furnishing the place with fresh pelts for patrons to sit on. By the time she headed for a table, the next person to walk in the door was Vael.

He’d washed up from the forge before he arrived. Even redid the few braids he kept in his long, ashy brown hair. He was all smiles as he greeted a few of the nearby regulars, then beamed as he spotted Kiran and made his way over. “Hey! Thanks for getting the drinks.”

“Sure.” Kiran smiled back. They did at least have each other still. “I’m starved, but I didn’t want to let dinner get cold before you got here.”

“Thoughtful.” Vael crossed his legs and settled onto the floor with a satisfied groan. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Not at all. You’re here earlier than I thought.”

“I’m letting Yon close up. He wanted to get a little more work done.”

“Well! How long has he been under you now?”

“Two years. He’s doing well, too! I’ll stop by later, make sure it’s all in order, but I haven’t had a bath in over a week. Figured you’d appreciate it if I corrected that.” He chuckled as he picked up one of the steins and hefted it toward her in silent cheers.

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Kiran did the same. “Sure doesn’t hurt. Staying warm?” An old jest, given the man’s profession, but that’s what gave them both comfort.

“Only in the smithy.” He grinned with his answer. “I swear the fire makes the air colder when I step outside.” He took a long pull from his drink, then sighed satisfactorily. “You?”

“Always.” She took a sip, then set her drink on the table and cupped her hands around it.

Vael nodded. “Ma asked about you. Been a couple weeks since you came by.”

“It’s been busy. Getting ready for the next trade caravan. I’ll stop by soon,” she quickly added.

“You want me to tell her that? She’ll expect you.” His tell-tale russet eyes gleamed with his intentions.

Kiran rolled her eyes and smirked back. “Fine. Sure. Tell her to expect me.”

Vael started to reply—but cut his words off in his throat as he and everyone else caught the deep ring of the fort’s central bell. A few people were already starting to stand when a crier confirmed what they were all trained to assume.

“Breach! Breach! Secure! There’s been a breach!”

“Shit!” Vael shoved his stein aside and sprang to his feet. “I gotta get to Yon!”

Kiran was quick to follow him as they hurried out the door with everyone else. “I got your back!” If the forge was still going, that could turn into a fiery disaster if the enemy got to it. More than just Yon would be in trouble then. And worst come to worst, Kiran could borrow a knife or two. She hadn’t kept going this long just for some Te’il to take her down without a fight.

Once they cleared the bottleneck at the front door, Vael and Kiran took off at a dead run for the smithy. They heard the clash of swords from the wall—a small contingency before the larger forces broke through, maybe. No time to see. Fort residents scrambled all around them, rushing to their posts, their families, their weapons, their shelters. Memories of war made their feet fly, but years of peace interrupted without warning added frenzy to what was otherwise well-known procedure. But Kiran wasn’t letting it grip her. Not even the sudden clash of cold air hitting her lungs would slow her down. Follow Vael, grab weapons, get somewhere safe—those were her only thoughts.

Until they reached the smithy. A stranger hurried out of the wide doors, his hood down low and his black cloak clasped about him, and took a hard right into the thinning crowds. Yon, a stout young man of sixteen, came running after him. “Oi, stop!”

Vael reached his apprentice and clasped his shoulders. “Woah, wait—”

“He’s a Te’il!” the boy blurted. “He stole a sword!”

“What?” The blacksmith froze.

Vael might have been stunned for a second, but Kiran’s blood only boiled. She darted into the smithy, headed straight for where her friend kept finished work, and grabbed the first blade that resembled her fleshing knives. As she came running out, Vael was close behind and made a grab for a gauntlet. “I’ve got him!” She yelled back as he gathered himself.

The Te’iltic thief stuck to the thick of the scrambling denizens around them. They gave him cover, and plenty of fodder for hostages if he decided to stop, but they also hampered his speed. Unfortunately, they were doing the same for Kiran.

But they didn’t have to. This was her home, and she knew it well. Kiran tracked the top of his head just long enough to see he was making a straight line for the nearest wall. Perfect. She broke off from the crowds and dodged down the narrow alleys nearby. A death trap if crowds tried to run through, but just wide enough for one crazy civilian to make her way to her target. She just had to keep running. The next move would come when she needed it to. Ancestors willing.

As she came out to the other side and turned back to catch him, Kiran spotted him easily as he towered over most of the people around him. She grit her teeth and made a last sprint to get out in front of him, shoving whoever remained in her way aside. As he broke from the crowds, she planted herself in front of him, her borrowed weapon out and pointed. “Not so fast!”

The enemy managed to skid to a shocked halt. And he didn’t draw his ill-begotten sword.

Kiran frowned as she took a step forward—then froze. She had a view of his face now, shadowed though it was by his hood and the setting night. Didn’t matter. Once she realized what she was seeing, she knew there was nothing in this world that could make her second guess. She knew that face, and eight months away could never make her forget.