Ana jolted upright, her heart racing as a splash of icy water dragged her from the depths of chaotic dreams. Her hand moved instinctively, gripping the hilt of a blade before her eyes had fully opened. It gleamed in the morning light, a bright arc that cut through the room's shadows as she swung, nearly catching Caden before reality forced its way back. She froze, her breath jagged and heavy, then pressed trembling hands to her temples. The sword slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor as she stumbled toward a battered wooden bucket and retched violently. Caden stood motionless, wide eyes betraying his anxiety, his voice a soft, tentative whisper through the fog of her pain.

Her tunic clung damply to her skin, its fabric dark with patches of water and dry blood. It hung askew on her shoulders, the once vibrant blue faded and stained from long travel and hard living. She wiped at her mouth with a sleeve, the cloth rough and just shy of threadbare, before turning a bleary gaze toward Caden.

"Sorry! You didn't wake up, and I thought... Are you...?"

Ana groaned in response, her mind a whirlwind of fragments she couldn't quite piece together. Colors and sounds, sharp and disjointed, left a lingering sting that refused to fade. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the raw rhythm echoing in her skull, drowning out everything else. She sank to the floor, her breath coming in ragged bursts, and felt the cool, indifferent stone beneath her. It did nothing to steady the tempest raging inside.

"Some mornings," she managed, each word a struggle, "it'd be more merciful to kill me."

Caden hovered, his concern palpable, uncertain whether to approach or keep his distance. Ana's voice had been sharper than intended, cutting through the air with a brittle edge. She saw his hesitation, the flicker of hurt in his eyes, and softened—barely.

"I'll be fine. Just need a moment."

Caden swallowed hard, nodding with a seriousness that seemed out of place for his fourteen years. "It's just, last night... your nightmares..."

"Nightmares? Is that what you call a night full of gut-wrenching misery?" Ana retorted. She could feel the cold sweat clinging to her skin, the sickly aftertaste of fear and confusion still bitter in her mouth.

Caden shifted his weight, his feet scuffing lightly against the stone. The sound was strangely soothing in its normalcy. "They seemed bad. Worse than before."

"Nothing a bit of strong ale won't fix." Ana fumbled for her hip flask, her hand still unsteady. She brought it to her lips, but the moment the scent hit her, her stomach churned violently. With a grimace, she dropped the flask and lunged for the nearby—now—empty bucket, retching into it as the room spun around her.

Caden continued to watch her, his expression hovering somewhere between worry and resignation. "I could have made tea instead of... you know..."

"Water was perfect," Ana interrupted, her voice more composed but still tinged with its usual bite. She reached out for the loaf of bread he offered, tearing off a piece with more force than necessary. "Nothing like starting the day by nearly disemboweling your apprentice. Really clears the mind."

A smirk danced on Caden's lips. He kept eating, the wooden table groaning under his elbows as he leaned in, eyes locked on Ana. "What's that shit-eating grin for?" she snapped. "Well," he shrugged, "you did call me your apprentice, didn't you?"

"Oh, fuck off," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

The room closed in around her. The stone walls seemed to lean in, gray and unyielding, a stark contrast to the riot of sensation she'd woken to. The narrow window let in a sliver of early morning light, but it did little to dispel the shadows.

"I didn't mean to wake you so... dramatically," Caden said, his voice hesitant, each word carefully chosen.

Ana dismissed him with a wave of her hand, focusing instead on the task of calming her scattered thoughts.

He shifted again, the creak of his chair loud in the stillness. "About what happened last night..."

"No." Ana's response was quick, leaving no room for argument. Her eyes met Caden's, and she held his gaze, her own fierce and unwavering. "We're not talking about it."

"But you looked like you—"

"No," she repeated, her tone final, but it carried an undercurrent of fear that betrayed her firm resolve. The memory of running footsteps, of ominous conversations half-heard, pressed at the edges of her mind, refusing to be ignored.

"We should get moving," Ana insisted, breaking the tension with the abruptness of her words. She stood, though her legs felt unsteady, as if they belonged to someone else.

Caden hesitated, then asked, "Are you sure you're okay to travel?" His voice was laced with genuine concern, and Ana's pride flared at the implication.

She fastened the straps on her gear with more force than finesse, each motion precise and angry. "If you think I'm letting a miserable night keep me from my own damn plans, you've got another thing coming."

The edge in her voice seemed to reassure Caden more than any promise of well-being could. He rose from the table, still watching her, but the look of anxious uncertainty had softened to something more like reluctant acceptance.

They gathered their things in silence, the quiet charged with the weight of things unsaid. Ana's mind was still a tangled mess of half-formed thoughts.

With a final, quick glance around the room, Ana shouldered her pack. The air between her and Caden crackled with tension, a mix of stubbornness and resolve that felt almost comforting in its familiarity. Side by side, they left the cramped confines behind.

The innkeeper glanced up as they reached the bottom of the stairs, wiping sweat from a brow etched with lines of patience and stress. Ana tossed a handful of silver coins onto the counter, each one sounding a clear, metallic note as it struck the wood.

"For the night's hospitality," she said, her voice is rough.

He wore a satisfied grin and a sturdy worker's tunic, its sleeves rolled up to free his hands. The fabric was coarse, a faded red with dust smeared liberally across the front. A fraying rope cinched the tunic at his waist, serving as an impromptu belt. Ana smirked as she took in the sight.

The innkeeper's eyes flicked from Ana to Caden and then to the pile of coins. "Generous," came the shrewd reply. "You want some of it back, maybe, if you help getting in—"

"We don't have time for—"

Ana's protest was cut short by a loud crash in the yard behind the inn, followed by the scuffling of boots. Young stablehands jostled into view, arms piled high with barrels and crates.

"—unloading," the innkeeper finished, gesturing toward the chaos with a knowing smile.

Ana folded her arms, ready to argue. She glared at the innkeeper, then at Caden, who stood uncertainly, his expression a mix of reluctance and interest.

"Nothing like filling your stomach while we're stuck here, I suppose," Ana relented grudgingly and nodded toward the door. "Get to it, then."

Caden didn't need telling twice. He slipped off through the doorway, eagerness overtaking his hesitation.

Ana watched him go. She dropped onto a stool at the bar, wrinkling her nose at the lingering aroma of stale ale and burnt toast that wafted from the kitchen. With a resigned sigh, she waved to the innkeeper for a drink.

"Wasn't expecting you still about," he commented, setting a frothy mug down in front of her.

"Me neither," Ana muttered, taking a tentative sip. The ale was bitter but strangely calming in its familiarity. She let out a long breath and settled in, her head cradled in her arms, while the tavern buzzed around her.

The innkeeper rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his thick, greying beard framing a round face that spoke of equal parts patience and stress. He studied Ana with a mixture of curiosity and amusement in his weathered eyes.

"Good lad, that one," he said, nodding toward the doorway where Caden had disappeared. "Eager to please."

Ana shrugged, her voice barely audible as she mumbled into her arms. "If you say so."

The innkeeper leaned back, crossing his arms over the worn fabric of his apron, stained from years of hard use. "Not many take the time to train up a boy like that. Must be he's worth the effort."

Ana feigned indifference, her response a half-hearted grunt.

"Sure you'll be glad you did," the innkeeper continued, his tone casual but laced with something that made Ana bristle. "Best enjoy having him as long as he's still a lad."

She sat up, meeting his gaze with a sharp look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He chuckled, unfazed by her glare. "Time has its way of slipping past. One day they're running to keep up; the next, they're long gone." He gave the bar a knowing pat and moved back toward the kitchen, leaving Ana alone with the ale.

Ana buried her face back in her arms, the innkeeper's words gnawing at her despite herself. The warmth of the room began to wrap around her like a heavy blanket, coaxing her eyes to close and her thoughts to dull. For a brief moment, she drifted in that precarious space between wakefulness and sleep.

"Hey!" one voice shouted suddenly above the others. "Watch out!" There was a loud splash. Laughter erupted through the open door—the unmistakable sound of Caden and another voice chiming together.

Time stretched and blurred as Ana nursed her hangover, her thoughts drifting lazily. Days like this had a habit of crawling by, each minute an eternity until she could think clearly again. The noise of the tavern faded to a dull hum as exhaustion claimed her. The room grew fuzzy at the edges, and she let herself sink into the murky embrace of sleep.

She awoke—not sure when—to Caden's voice cutting through the comfortable fog. He was breathless and animated, his words tumbling over each other in their haste to escape.

"We go everything unloaded! What should we do next?" He plopped down beside her, still catching his breath. "The stablehands said there's another wagon coming soon."

Ana groaned, the sound escaping before she could think better of it. She sat up, rubbing her eyes with a rough hand. "Been here long enough," she said, her voice low.

Caden's face split into a wide grin. "So we're leaving now?" he asked eagerly.

"Now," Ana confirmed, standing and tossing back the remains of her drink. She felt steadier, more herself, with each step towards the door. Caden trailed at her heels, nearly colliding with her as she paused outside, her eyes scanning the sky. "What's wrong?" he asked, puzzled. Ana's hand shot out in response—a deft flick on his forehead that left him rubbing the spot and scowling in protest.

"Head in the clouds, kid," she said with a half-smirk. "Not smart to get caught daydreaming."

Caden feigned indignation but seemed pleased by her teasing. They walked together down the dusty road, the old ruts and tracks leading them away from the village and its noise.

The road stretched on, the landscape gradually shifting from ash-colored plains to sparse clusters of stubborn trees. Caden moved beside Ana with a spring in his step, energized by the openness and fresh air.

"We're really heading west now?" he asked eagerly.

Ana nodded. "Big city," she said. "You might find you don't like it as much as you think."

Caden's eyes shone with excitement at the idea.