The front door clicked shut behind Chase, and with it, a thin strand of warmth seemed to leave the room as well.

  Llana turned back toward the hearth, brushing dust from the lip of the kettle she'd begun to heat after the Chief’s arrival. She poured him a cup without asking and set it down across from her before taking her own place at the small, misshapen table.

  "Are you fine with graypine? It's about all I've got." she asked, though she hardly sounded concerned with his answer.

  "Ah, of course! It's the gesture that's worth far more." Chief Deta’s smile was wide, practiced. “It’s been far too long since we sat like this.”

  Llana didn’t respond. She folded her hands on her lap, watching the steam curl lazily upward from her cup.

  “So, how are things in the shed?” he asked next, the same question he always led with.

  Llana didn’t bother to hide her pause. He asked the same question every time—as though he expected her to come up with a new answer eventually. As if that would open some new door in their rehearsed exchanges.

  She set the cup down before him and took her own seat. "It’s fine."

  "Good, good..." he trailed off, tapping a finger once against the wood of his cup. Then, more softly, "And... what of the girl?"

  Llana didn’t hesitate, but her breath did come in a little slower. "She doesn’t remember who she is. Or where she’s from. If she’s lying, she’s quite committed to it.” She replied plainly.

  The Chief chuckled, more in his throat than with his mouth. “You’ve always had a gift for telling people.”

  She sipped her tea.

  He leaned back in his chair, one hand draping lazily over the armrest. “Still. If we may be honest with one another for a moment...”

  Llana nearly scoffed as she heard the word exit his mouth. 'Honesty...' She thought. It was the last word that should have been leaving his mouth.

  “She’s strange,” Llana admitted, taking the words from his mouth before he could speak them. “Clumsy. Curious. She speaks like a child half the time, and the other half like someone twice my age.”

  The Chief raised his brows at that.

  Llana didn’t offer further explanation. Her eyes had drifted to the edge of the table, tracing the old burn mark at its corner. Her fingers ghosted over it.

  “She called herself ‘Run’ at first, didn’t she?” he asked.

  Llana’s eyes flicked up.

  He smiled, indulgent. “The boys told me. Odd name, don’t you think?”

  “It’s what she remembered,” Llana said. Then, after a beat, “I told her it didn’t suit her.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been calling her Chase.”

  “A better fit,” the Chief mused. “Still... odd, isn’t it? Better suited for a poem than girl of the red line.”

  Llana said nothing.

  The silence that followed was thick. Not uncomfortable, but filled with something heavier than words.

  “She’s not ordinary,” he said finally, voice low. “I'm sure that much, we can agree on.”

  Llana remained quiet.

  “She has no blemishes. No scars. No calluses on her fingers. Not a mark to her name. That kind of skin doesn’t belong to a Deta child.” He said, stirring his tea once with his fingertip.

  Llana nearly recoiled at his filthy gesture. A chill settled under her skin as she heard him speak. Not from the words themselves --but the faint note of something more in his voice. Something a bit too soft. Too appreciative.

  "And then there's her hair. That snow-white sheen... And her eyes..." He looked up to Llana, donning a wry smile before he continued. "Forgive me for saying so, but she appears to be of a royalty far greater than even you."

  Llana's gaze immediately snapped to the corners of the room at the Chief's words. Her eyes swept across every shifting shadow, every half-glanced nook and window like they might suddenly begin sprouting ears.

  "Relax," The chief suddenly started, Llana's gaze snapping back to the man as he took a casual sip of his tea. "There isn't a soul within a ten mile radius who could be listening in on us. Aside from those boys out back. And, well --" he gave her a sideways glance, "I don't believe I need to tell you why that wouldn't be an issue."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Llana's lips pressed into a thin line. Her fingers tensing slightly over the warm ceramic of her cup.

  "They still have families," she retorted flatly. "Mothers. Siblings."

  "And?" his question rang callously in the air.

  The word landed like a stone in her stomach. She looked away, her throat tight with things she knew better than to say aloud.

  Meanwhile the Chief took another sip of tea, as though the conversation had never strayed to begin with.

  "Back to the girl," he said in a commanding tone. "Perhaps she's an Uldin. One of theirs could easily possess such eyes."

  "She can't be." Llana retorted near immediately as the Chief arched a brow.

  "The Uldin don't simply possess the color of their eyes, they create it. It's a byproduct of the mana they cycle through their merices over years. The flow of energy distorts the pigments. But it's not natural. It's acquired, born of precision and control." Llana shook her head. "The girl's no older than sixteen. And she can hardly prevent herself from shattering every clay bowl she gets her hands on."

  The corner of the Chief's mouth twitched --though not quite a smile.

  "So you're saying she's too clumsy to be an Uldin?"

  "I'm saying," Llana started evenly, "that whatever she is... she isn't trained like they are."

  There was another pause. The chief's fingers tapped once more on the side of his teacup. Before long, the light returned to his face like a tide that hadn't been gone long enough to miss.

  "Or perhaps," he mused, "she is performing this cycling you speak of --so constantly, in fact, that her little mind cannot keep track of anything else. Maybe that would explain the broken bowls. Maybe she's just too occupied by it to focus on anything else."

  His eyes flicked upward as he finished laying out his hypothesis, his eyes searching Llana's face for some kind of agreement --perhaps surprise at his insightful conjecture.

  Slowly, Llana exhaled through her nose.

  It was always the habit of prideful men to believe themselves more clever than they truly were. She'd grown up surrounded by such people. Boastful, baseless words all spoken with the utmost confidence. All the while blind to their own ignorance. Her father's court had been filled with men like him. And now, here she was still. Sat in a much smaller room, sat across from a man adorned with a far shabbier coat. Yet one playing the same game with the same smug tone. As if he was the first man to think himself brilliant.

  She suppressed the irritation threatening to scrunch her nose as she turned her eyes away, allowing the silence to linger as she regained her composure.

  "No," she finally said flatly.

  The word clipped through the air like a blade, and it was enough to still the tapping of his fingers.

  His brows knit faintly as the smile slid from his mouth. "No?" he repeated. He appeared upset.

  "If she were cycling mana at that level.." Llana began, moving to stand up from her chair.

  "There's no chance I wouldn't be able to tell." She suddenly opened her eyes as she looked down at the Village Chief, the man's own eyes squinting under the faint glow she flared viridian onto him.

  He watched for a moment. Then released a breathless chuckle, offering a few slow claps from his palms. "As expected from my sagacious healer." He smiled wide as he praised her, though his eyes didn't match it. "I can always count on you to speak plainly," he added.

  Llana paused for a moment at his gesture, knitting her eyelids back to thin lines as she faced him.

  The feigned kindness in his voice had wilted, the silence that followed far from comfortable as the Village chief leaned forward once more, his elbows braced on the table's face. "Still, for all your knowledge, you're only able to tell me what you don't know." The words dropped heavy, sharper than before. An unbridled reprimand where once was cloaked malice .

  Llana's fingers tightened over her cup. She didn't speak.

  "As a result," The Chief began again, his tone returning to the light, amenable one he wore before. "I still haven't the faintest idea what to do with the girl," He sighed as he slumped forward in his seat like a tired child. His limbs sprawling out gracelessly across the table as he drew out a dragging yawn. "Perhaps I should take her under my care. Hm? From what I hear, she's growing so so naive under your watch..."

  Though his tone was unconcerned, the words caused her stomach to twist like she'd swallowed a stone.

  She stiffened. Her breath caught-- but she forced it down, holding her voice steady.

  "She's young. There's still time for naivete." She managed to speak firmly. Though she couldn't prevent her voice from shaking ever so slightly..

  The Chief raised his head gently, catching Llana from the corner of his eye. His gaze was flat, uninterested. But she could've sworn she saw something flicker within it--a quiet observation that told her he'd gleaned something she didn't want him to know. Something she didn't even yet understand herself.

  "Perhaps," he said flatly.

  Finally, he rose from the table, reaching for his coat before leaving for the front door. Llana watched every moment with excruciating focus, unable to exhale until she was sure he'd gone for good. But as much as she wished for it. That time had never come.

  "Unfortunately, I do need to return to the delegate," He suddenly said, his voice dripping with exaggerated regret. He slipped on his coat with practiced ease as Llana wondered which possibility would be worse. That he was feigning this, too. Or that he truly enjoyed his time with her.

  "I can't have him seeing anything he shouldn't," His words dripped with the usual blend of casual flippancy, and thinly veiled menace.

  Llana stood, still clutching her cup. The tea inside remained untouched.

  "And about the boys..." He turned back to her as she felt her hope die down once again. "You don't need me to remind you, right?"

  She didn't answer --only nodding once, the movement stiff.

  The Chief only offered her a smile, smaller than before. Just enough to fulfill the formality before he turned and opened the door.

  The cold that rushed in was brief, but it left her arms bristling. Only once the latch had clicked shut did Llana feel her shoulders finally drop down to her chest. She hadn't realized how tense they had been until then.

  She stood there for a moment, her hands slacking at her side as she stared holes into the front door of the cabin. 'Healer...' She mused over her title.

  What a joke.

  For all her ability and knowledge...

  'I'm sorry' she thought as her eyes drifted towards the back door which led out to the garden.

  'I can only buy you a little more time.'