Chapter 2 The Pull That Burned

I woke before the sun, though it didn't feel like I'd really slept. My head was heavy, like someone had been pressing on it all night. The dream-if it was even a dream-kept replaying in my mind. His face, shadowed but sharp. That strange weight in his stare. I couldn't explain it. I didn't want to.

The room was dim, just a weak grey light leaking through the cracks in the shutters. I sat up slowly, feeling the cold air bite at my skin. My toes curled against the rough wooden floor when I swung my legs down. It smelled faintly of damp wood and something else-maybe the rain from last night had settled into the walls.

I dressed without hurry. Pulled my wool dress over my head, the fabric scratching against my shoulders. Tightened the belt at my waist. My fingers fumbled over the buckle, like they didn't want to cooperate. I could hear the faint drip of water outside, probably from the eaves.

When I slipped on my boots, the leather felt stiff, colder than usual. I bent to tie them, staring at the worn laces. Funny how something so small can make you feel grounded, even when your mind's spinning.

By the time I stepped outside, the air was still wet with the last of the night's mist. My breath came out in little white clouds. The dirt path that led into town was slick in places, and I had to watch my step so I wouldn't slip.

The fields on either side were quiet. No birds yet. Just the sound of my boots, crunching softly, steady but loud in the stillness. Every so often I glanced over my shoulder, though I wasn't sure why. Nothing was there. Just fog hanging low over the ground like it was hiding something.

When I reached the marketplace, it was already stirring. The usual calls from the merchants. The creak of cart wheels. Someone laughing near the baker's stand. The smell of fresh bread drifted across the square, warm and tempting, mixing with the sharp, raw scent of onions from the vegetable stall.

That's when I saw him.

He wasn't doing anything-just leaning against a post near the blacksmith's shop, arms folded. The moment my eyes landed on him, it was like he felt it. His head lifted slightly, his gaze finding me.

That same stare from last night. Heavy. Focused. Like he was reading something on my face I didn't even know was there.

I tried to act like I hadn't noticed. Stepped into the nearest stall and reached for an apple, turning it over in my hand like I cared about its color. The skin was smooth, cool under my thumb, but I wasn't really thinking about apples.

"Morning," the stall keeper greeted me. His voice was warm, cheerful in the way people who've lived here forever sound.

I forced a smile. "Morning."

I put the apple back, pretending to be indecisive. My eyes flicked past him, searching the market.

The man hadn't moved.

I left the stall, making my way toward the well in the center of the square. The ground there was uneven, worn smooth in places where countless feet had walked. My steps slowed when I caught sight of him moving now-not toward me exactly, but in the same general direction.

I bent near the well, pretending to adjust my boot. My hands were shaking slightly, and I hoped no one saw. I stared down at the leather, counting my breaths.

When I straightened, he was closer. Close enough for me to notice details I hadn't before. A faint scar along his jaw, pale against his skin, disappearing just under his ear. His coat looked old but sturdy, the kind you wear if you plan to travel far.

"You dropped something?" His voice was deeper than I expected. Smooth, but not soft.

I shook my head quickly. "No."

He didn't smile. His eyes scanned my face for a second too long. Then he turned, walking away, slipping into the narrow alley between the blacksmith's and the candle maker's shop.

I told myself to leave it. To turn around and pretend none of this happened.

Instead, I followed.

The alley smelled faintly of damp earth and smoke. The walls were close, brick on one side, rough timber on the other. He was already halfway down when he stopped.

Without looking back, he said, "You're not very good at following people."

The words hit me like a splash of cold water. I froze.

He turned then, slowly, and his eyes locked with mine. They weren't angry exactly, but there was something in them I couldn't name. "You should be careful who you trail."

"I wasn't-" I started, but he cut me off.

"Yes, you were." His voice was low now, quieter, but somehow sharper.

I took a step back, my heel catching on a loose stone. My pulse thudded in my ears. "I don't even know you," I said, trying to sound steady.

"Maybe it's better that way."

The way he said it-it wasn't a warning, but it wasn't harmless either.

He held my gaze for a moment longer, then walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine. I caught a faint scent of leather and something darker, like smoke from a fire that's been burning all night.

I stood there after he was gone, the sound of his footsteps fading into the market noise. My chest was tight.

When I stepped out into the square again, everything seemed louder-the clatter of coins, the shouts of merchants, the distant bark of a dog.

I stayed longer than I needed to, wandering between stalls without buying much. Every time I thought I'd stopped thinking about him, I'd catch sight of a dark coat or tall figure in the crowd and my heart would jolt.

By the time I left, the sky was shifting toward gold, the sun dipping lower. I followed the road home, my pace quicker than usual. Near the edge of the fields, I glanced toward the bend in the road-and there he was again.

This time he wasn't alone. He stood beside a cart, speaking to a man I didn't recognize. His body was angled toward him, but his head... his head was turned toward me. Watching.

I looked away fast, forcing my legs to keep moving. I told myself not to turn around, but I did. Just once.

He was still watching.

When I reached my door, I stepped inside quickly, shutting it behind me and sliding the lock into place.

It was quiet inside. Too quiet.

That night, I didn't sleep much. Every creak of the wood, every shift of the wind outside, made me think of that look. That voice. And the feeling that somehow, this wasn't over.