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I am still draped over Oberon’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

With a swift motion, far gentler than I expect, Oberon sets me on my feet. His hands linger on my waist longer than necessary, steadying me. His grip is firm, warm, and frustratingly reassuring.

I shove him hard in the stomach. He barely moves, more from surprise than from strength, I am sure. Heat rushes through me, anger at being tossed around like a rag doll, and something else I refuse to acknowledge. Feeling his torso under my palm, all hard muscles and impossible strength, is different from simply seeing it through his fitted shirt. Focus. Get it together.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” I snarl, baring my teeth.

Oberon’s eyes flare just for a second before his mask of indifference slips back into place. The corner of his mouth lifts in a sly grin. “You will stay close. It was my one condition from your long list of demands.”

I cross my arms and glare, biting back a retort.

Ash, of course, can’t help himself. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” His grin turns wicked. “I’m usually pretty good at navigating holes . . . or so I’ve been told.”

I groan audibly. “Seriously?”

Oberon rubs his forehead in visible annoyance. “Must you always be insufferable?”

Ash winks. “It’s part of my charm.”

Rolling my eyes, I shift my gaze to the path ahead. “Where are we?”

Oberon answers first, his voice steady. “We’re outside of a village called Umberfall.”

“That sounds . . . eerie,” I say dryly.

Ash laughs. “It’s not so bad. They named it Umberfall because mist falls from the cliffs above. It gets pretty foggy at certain times of the day. Great for brooding types like our dear Oberon.”

“I don’t brood,” Oberon mutters.

“Sure you don’t,” Ash says, grinning widely. “And I don’t make inappropriate jokes.”

We start down the dirt road toward the village. The path here is nothing like the overgrown trail near the cabin. It is well-used, wide enough for a carriage, and the dirt is packed down from time and heavy travel. As we walk, a lone faerie passes us going in the opposite direction, hooded, robed, and exuding an unwelcoming aura. Their eyes flick over us with clear disinterest, and I don’t miss the faint sneer curling their lips.

My steps slow as the forest parts, and the village comes into view.

Old brick buildings line the main cobblestone street, their weathered facades scarred by age and war. In between them stand newer wooden structures, hastily built replacements for those lost in the fighting. The mix of old and new gives the place a patchwork feeling, like a town trying to remember what it once was.

Mist drifts lazily from the cliffs above, cloaking the village in a faint gray veil. The air is damp, carrying the scent of moss and ash.

As we enter, the sounds of quiet conversation drift from shadowed alleys and dimly lit doorways.

The creatures here vary, Fae of all shapes and sizes, some tall and regal with shimmering skin, others hunched and sharp-toothed with watchful eyes. Small, winged faeries dart between buildings, their wings catching faint glimmers of light. A hulking figure with bark-like skin leans against a wall, arms crossed, glaring at passersby. None of them looks welcoming.

Ash spreads his arms theatrically. “Welcome to Umberfall. Charming, isn’t it?”

“Charming?” I scoff. “It looks like it barely survived the war. And the locals seem thrilled to see us.”

Oberon walks ahead without looking back. “Stay close.”

“I wasn’t planning on wandering off,” I mutter, taking in the wary gazes following us. “Friendly bunch.”

Ash leans in, lowering his voice. “Don’t take it personally. They don’t like anyone.”

“Well,” I sigh, glancing around at the broken village swallowed in mist. “This should be fun.”

Oberon leads Ash and me down the main road, his long strides measured and silent. I follow closely, my eyes wandering over the village around us. The older buildings bear deep scars, blackened scorch marks crawling up brick walls, their foundations cracked from battles long past. Newer wooden structures stand awkwardly among them. The hastily built replacements don’t quite fit. They look too clean, too temporary, as though they are pretending to belong.

I have known, of course. I’ve seen glimpses of this destruction from the mountaintop. Oberon showed me pieces of it, like puzzle fragments too sharp to touch. But seeing it this close, seeing the creatures who live here, seeing the war’s wreckage pressed into every stone and wooden plank, hit harder than I expected. Pain seeps in, curling into my chest, a hollow ache.