After Becka left, Helena sat by the window, watching snowflakes fall like whispers against the leaded glass. She felt the room pulse. Its silence beating in her ribs like a second heartbeat. Or perhaps it was her ears, still ringing with the weight of their words.

Aidin Garath, wife to Lord Ossveil’s proxy, didn’t ask her to leave, as she expected. She even assured her of a job, not charging her for the treatment.

That alone stilled her blood. Chills ran down her spine. Why would they extend such kindness to a stranger? Why would they waste resources when the winter was long and unforgiving?

Why are they so kind?

Something under her skin stirred and curled low in her stomach. She could hear a voice inside shrieking to leave. To run from this place that wrapped her in velvet kindness and honeyed nothings. But she knew—there was nowhere else to go.

Helena didn’t dare to look back; it felt suffocating. The damask wallpapers. The crimson rug. The hearth warmed the air with a gentleness she didn’t dare to acknowledge. All of it pressed into her skin like a smoldering cage.

Her mere presence felt like a blemish on its luxury.

She pushed the window open. The cold clung to her skin, the biting air filling her lungs. Outside, the day bled white and grew dark. She stared into it, wondering what to do.

Should I cross the woods? Go north?

The Garath family was considerate and warm. She didn’t dislike it. But because she liked it, she had to leave.

Maybe their master is just as kind…

Helena hadn’t met the lord of the house; she hadn’t been promised to, either. But the priest at the convent used to say that servants reflect their masters. If that were true, then a gentle staff could only mean a gentle lord.

Which only makes it worse…

The door opened with a blare. Helena heard steps approaching, but she didn’t turn, not until a new voice spoke.

“If you don’t go back to bed, I’ll tell on you. Come now.”

A girl. Helena guessed she was older than Becka, but not by much, maybe younger than herself. She had sharp features like Raymond, but had her mother’s round eyes.

The older daughter, thought Helena as she walked to the bed.

“I brought your medicine. It was Becka’s duty, but she’s probably off doing something stupid. I’m Laloid. Becka’s older sister.”

Laloid held a small glass vial and a silver spoon. She poured a bitter-smelling liquid into it and handed it over. Helena eyed it, uncertain.

One more liability…

“Don’t stare like that. It’s not poison. Just… awful.”

Helena downed it in one sip, controlling a grimace as the bitterness spread.

“Told you,” Laloid muttered, wrinkling her nose. She handed Helena two candies.

“To get the bitter out.”

“…Thank you.”

Helena played with the candies as if she could find her hidden motives.

“Is it true? That you lived in a convent, and they kicked you out? Said you were better off dead in the woods. And they stole your things?”

Her tone was clipped. Unlike Becka’s kindness or Aidin’s caution, she was blunt. Helena liked that.

“No… I left because I had to. They didn’t… say those things,” she said, her eyes fixed on the candy wrapper.

“Why, though? Johannes said you’re probably twenty-two. If your age was the issue, they would’ve sent off at eighteen.”

Laloid watched her intently—not with pity, but with the muted intent to understand.

“…Twenty-five,” Helena said. “Yeah, I should’ve left at eighteen…”

Silence stretched like a ghost lingering inside the room. It clung to their skin, thick as fog, curling with every breath.

“Why then? Why now?”

Laloid’s piercing gaze pressed into her, sharp enough to carve through skin. Helena didn’t move, breath held tight, pretending she couldn’t feel it sinking in.

“I… wasn’t useful anymore.”

“And you left? They used you, discarded you. And you just left?”

Her voice rang with something sharp. Disbelief, maybe contempt. Helena could tell she wasn’t angry. She was baffled.

“You didn’t even think of stealing something? You could’ve taken food, money—a damn coat!”

Laloid stared, nonplussed and half convinced that Helena was a few candles short. Helena stared back, wondering why anyone would take what wasn’t theirs.

“I can’t steal something that’s not mine—”

“Who cares! You could’ve frozen to death!”

Laloid bounced in place, the bed jolting beneath her anger. Her heels thudded against the floor in frustration. Helena watched quietly, waiting for her to calm down, and spoke at last.

“I wasn’t going to die.”

“That’s not the point! You left with nothing and didn’t even argue!”

“Why would I argue? They told me—”

“For fuck’s sake! Don’t you ever make a choice for yourself?”

Helena blinked. Startled, not by the accusation, but by how close it hit.

I do choose for myself…, she thought, but the question clung like mist.

“I… came here,” she said. “Crossed the woods. I knew where to go. That’s why it only took four days when it should’ve taken a week. Besides… I’m resourceful. I know how to survive.”

Laloid let out a deep sigh. “Resourceful, you say. Who told you that? Those creeps at the convent?”

Helena gave a slight nod, her eyes dropping to her hands. A faint smile curled on her lips.

“And that’s why you didn’t think of stealing something? Because you knew you wouldn’t die?”

Laloid’s voice held the experience of an older sister, sharp but caring. She’d likely spent years wrangling Becka’s antics.

Helena’s chest grew heavy with warmth. She’d known crying children, frightened ones, but never this. Never a child scolded her out of worry. She looked back at Laloid, who waited for an answer, her brows furrowed.

“Listen”—Laloid stood with a grunt, tired of waiting—”just because you think you won’t die, it doesn’t mean it’s true. And even if it’s true—it doesn’t mean you have to be careless with yourself. Got it?”

Helena stared at her, the words slipping past her.

I wasn’t careless. I’m never careless.

Laloid huffed. Helena’s blank face showed her hopelessness.

“For fuck’s sake… you truly are dumb, aren’t you?”

Helena frowned. She didn’t like being called dumb without a reason, but she’d no retort. She couldn’t understand why they were all so fixated on her crossing the woods.

It’s like they think I’m some kind of savage…

“Whatever. Try not to die until dinner.”

Laloid left. The door thudded shut, too loud for the silence that followed. Helena sat on the bed, feeling the medicine tug her toward sleep like waves.

One day had stirred more in her than two decades living in the convent. She’d met bad people. Cruel and scary ones. Ignorants who didn’t care, or fake ones who pretended just to use her. But she’d never met people like them. They were…

Dangerous.

She lay on the bed, replaying Laloid’s scolding and Becka’s tears. Had anyone ever shown her that kind of care before?

Helena’s thoughts drifted to a distant memory. She must have been nine, maybe ten. She was in confinement. Trapped in a small, dark cell where no light entered unless the door opened. Helena hated it at first, but then she realized monsters hide better in plain sight rather than in shadows. That day, she was barely conscious, fever was high and her wounds deeper. She could feel her mind slipping like sand through her fingers.

That day, Helena was ready to welcome death. She curled into herself, arms around her knees, pleading between sobs for death to come and end her pain. When the door finally creaked open, she thought Death had answered. Curious relief washed over her. But it was only an old nun, the one who sometimes gave her candy. She smuggled Helena out in secret, brought her to her room, and tended her wounds in silence.

That day, she learned what kindness was.

That was the first time someone cried for her the way Becka had. The first time someone rebuked her for treating pain like it was normal, like Laloid had.

It was also when she learned that no kindness comes without a cost.