I was ready to rattle about how this kind of attitude does no good to his bussiness.

But then I heard it. Boots scuffing the floor behind me.

I turned.

Holy—

Villagers. At least a dozen. Mostly men, broad-shouldered, gripping hoes, rakes, and wooden bats like they were expecting a bar fight. Faces tight, eyes narrowed, they stared me down like I’d crawled out of the forest dripping blood.

‘Oh, lovely. Perfect. I escaped just to get jumped by peasants. At this rate, I’ll be back in Atlas’s clutches by dinnertime.’

The innkeeper’s raised a hand, stopping them mid-step. Their hostility lingered, but they didn’t lunge. The silence stretched, heavy, only broken by the hiss of the hearth.

Finally, the innkeeper’s gravelly voice broke through.

“Detaliate. What do you mean by all that?”

I blinked. “Detaliate? Where are we, in confession booth? I just want—”

Their glares darkened. I shut my mouth fast. Survival instincts, you know.

“…Fine. I’ll tell you.”

So I did. Every ounce of pent-up frustration poured out. How I’d woken in a strange bed, memories wiped clean. How I’d been imprisoned by a man I couldn’t even remember. How he claimed we were married without proof, and tried to distract me with books about vegetables. And finally, how I’d set my room on fire just to escape.

By the time I finished, a few villagers had lowered their weapons. One man even let his rake slip to the floor with a hollow clatter.

“…A strange man locked you up?” one villager asked, voice trembling.

“Yes.”

“And told you—” he swallowed hard, “—told you he’s your husband?”

“Yes. I just said that.”

“And there is no token of marriage?” another chimed in.

I spread my hands wide. “Do you see a ring? A bracelet? Even a piece of string tied around my finger? No.”

A ripple of muttering ran through the group. Then, suddenly—

“Nonsense—!” an old villager shouted, slamming his shovel down so hard dust puffed up from the floorboards. His weathered face twisted with fury.

“Poor girl,” another murmured, shaking her head.

“She got kidnapped by a pervert,” a younger man spat, gripping his bat like he was ready to storm the forest this instant.

The tide had shifted. Hostility melted into sympathy. Suspicion into outrage. Slowly, carefully, they lowered their supposed weapons and approached me, eyes softening.

I blinked at them, not sure whether to laugh, cry.

Or demand pie. 

“Wait, you believe me?”

The old man with the shovel nodded firmly. “For now, we’ll believe you. After all, you look like you got trough a lot.”

A chorus of agreement followed.

“Disgraceful.”

“Abomination.”

“Wicked.”

“Pervert,” the young man muttered again, as if the word itself was justice.

‘Wow,’ I thought, dazed.

One woman stepped forward, her gray braid swinging. “We’ve seen a suspicious fellow in these parts. Tall, cloaked. Comes to the village rarely, always hooded. Never speaks. Buys supplies and leaves quick. We didn’t know where he stayed.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Now it makes sense.”

A thrill shot through me. “That’s him. You’ve seen him?”

The villagers exchanged glances. The braid-woman nodded gravely. “Aye. And we wondered what he was hiding.”

“That bastard,” the young man hissed. “Keeping a girl locked up like some goat in a pen—!”

“Goat?” I repeated, deadpan.

“You know what I mean.”

For the first time since waking in that strange bed, I felt a tiny ember of vindication flicker in my chest. Finally. Someone else saw it. Someone else believed me.

But the victory tasted strange. Like biting into an apple and finding it rotten inside. Because if they didn’t know him—if the entire village only saw him as some suspicious cloaked stranger—then… who was Atlas, really?

And why did he claim me as his wife?

I shook the thought away. Survival first, existential crisis later.

“So,” I said, clapping my hands once, forcing brightness into my tone. “Since we’re all in agreement that man is actually a lunatic, how about some food? Bread? Soup? Anything that isn’t boiled cabbage?”

The innkeeper’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but less of a glare. He nodded toward the counter. “Sit. We’ll fetch you something.”

At once, the villagers bustled around like hens. Someone lit more lanterns, another disappeared into the kitchen, and braid-woman guided me to a chair by the fire. I sank into it with a groan of relief.

Finally. Freedom and allies.

Or so I hoped.

Because even as they fussed over me, I caught the edges of their whispers.

“Strange, isn’t it?”

“Never seen her before. Not once.”

“Could she be lying?”

“She said she was imprisoned”

“…But the look in her eyes—”

Their doubt pricked like thorns, but I kept my smile plastered on. Let them doubt. I’d already won their sympathy once; I could do it again if I had to.

Soup arrived—thick, hearty, steaming. I dug in like a starved wolf, ignoring the way they all watched me eat as though expecting me to sprout horns mid-bite.

If i knew my plan would work, i would have eaten something beforehand.

When I finally leaned back, belly full, braid-woman cleared her throat.

“You’ll need a save place to sleep in. The man may come looking.”

I nearly choked. “Looking? As in, here?”

The young man thumped his bat against the floor. “Let him come. We’ll make him regret stepping foot in our village again.”

Their determination was admirable, sure. But I remembered Atlas’s silver eyes, his calm voice. Can he even fight them?

I shivered, pushing the thought down.

Still, when the old shovel-man declared, “You’ll stay here, lass, under our protection,” I didn’t argue.

Because for the first time in three weeks, I was free to do as i pleased.

‘…Still, did he put out the fire safely?’

The thought slithered in before I could stop it. My spoon paused halfway to my mouth, soup dripping back into the bowl.

I shook my head, hard. No. No, no, no. He deserved it. Every cough, every sputter—he earned that. After all, he was a kidnapper. A liar. A jailer.

Still, guilt itched at the edges of my stomach like a burr caught in cloth. I forced another spoonful of soup down, drowning the feeling.

Across from me, the innkeeper cleared his throat. His thick brows knit together as he gave me a long, assessing look.

“So,” he rumbled. “You’ve eaten. You’ll need a bed for the night, too.”

“Yes, thank you,” I said sweetly. I was already picturing myself stretched out in a big bed.

His brow lifted. “Can you pay?”

The spoon nearly slipped from my hand. “Pay?”

“This is an inn, girl, not a charity house.”

I stared at him, horrified. Pay? With what? I had no coins, no jewels, not even a single shiny pebble to my name. 

So, with all the dignity I could muster, I shook my head. “No.”

The innkeeper sighed, the kind of sigh that suggested he’d expected as much. “Then don’t forget to repay me later in life.”

Before I could respond, a shrill voice cut through the room.

“Oh, nonsense!” An old woman with a bent back and sharp tongue shuffled forward, her finger wagging at him. “You’re charging the poor girl for a bowl of broth and a bed? Shame on you, Korrin!”

The innkeeper—apparently Korrin—scowled. “She’ll eat me out of business if I don’t. Look at her appetite already.”

“She’s skin and bones!” the woman snapped. “And scared half to death. Have you no heart?”

“I have bills,” Korrin muttered.

“You have greed, that’s what you have.”

As they bickered, the villagers began to gather closer, some smirking, some chiming in with their own opinions.

“Let the lass stay,” a man said, his bat still tucked under his arm. “She’s been through hell enough.”

“Aye, but Korrin’s not wrong. Can’t just hand out rooms for free,” another countered.

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve ever paid your tab on time, Brann,” someone snorted.

That set off a ripple of laughter and arguments, voices overlapping until it turned into a full-fledged village gossip circle.

I blinked, spoon hovering in the air. What… what is happening right now?

Apparently, I had stumbled into the most entertaining reality of living in a social circle: everyone had dirt on everyone else, and one small spark—like me, was enough to ignite it all.

This is how socialising worked.

“I saw your wife buying candles on credit last week,” one man jeered at another.

“That’s rich, coming from you. Didn’t your cow wander into the baker’s garden again?”

“At least my cow gives milk. What does your bull do? Chew the laundry?”

“I’ll have you know my bull is worth more than your whole house!”

‘Whoah, how could I join in when i was just an outsider?’

Braid-woman shook her head, muttering to me, “This is what happens every time they gather- be it at church or on the field.”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “Do they… always talk like this?”

“Always,” she said dryly. “Usually ends with someone punching the other. Then they’re back sharing beer the next night.”

It was chaos. Ridiculous chaos.

‘I like it’

For the first time in weeks, I felt a laugh bubble up in my chest. A real laugh, not a bitter one meant to cover frustration.

Because this—this noisy, messy, nagging storm of voices—this was life. Ordinary life. 

An old man leaned forward, jabbing a finger toward me. “Mark my words, girl, Korrin may grumble, but he’ll feed you well enough. Just don’t trust his ale. Last time I drank it, I saw stars for three days.”

“Because you already can’t hold your drink!” someone called, sparking another round of laughter.

I leaned back, warmth spreading through me. The fire crackled, villagers squabbled, and for once, I wasn’t the prisoner in a silent house. I was just another voice in the crowd.

Still, the guilt about Atlas lingered. Faint, but stubborn.

‘Did he put out the fire safely? He might be alone now.’ The question scratched at me again, unwelcome.

I shoved it away with the stubbornness of a mule. No. I wouldn’t think about him. He deserved every bucket of smoke-choked misery. He was a liar, and had no right to haunt me here, now, when I was finally tasting air.

I straightened, slamming my spoon down with finality. “I’ll repay Korrin,” I announced loudly, cutting through the chatter. “One day. Be it tomorrow or in ten years.”

The villagers burst into laughter again, clapping my back, praising my spirit.

The old woman wagged her finger one more time at Korrin. “See? She has more sense than you, with all your coin-counting.”

Korrin muttered something about “nonsense and bills,” but he didn’t press the issue further.

The fire’s warmth seeped into my bones. The laughter wrapped around me like a blanket.

And though the guilt still scratched faintly, I smothered it beneath the noise.