My first feeling is one of relief; my second suspicion—did he follow me here? I shake the thought. For the first time since I met him, he looks genuinely surprised to see me. I shift my gaze to Myers who blinks at me, confused, like it's the first time he's seen me.

"Thanks for... everything. I was just leaving."

"As was I." Killian steps back, turning to look back at Myers who shrinks under his gaze. "I hope we've come to an understanding."

Myers nods, eyes skittish as he looks down. I turn away, starting back towards the village streets, aware of Killian mere steps behind me. A hand darts out to catch my wrist, Myers' nails digging into my flesh. I gasp as he spins to face me, eyes bulging from their sockets as he stares at me.

"Don't," he all but hisses.

Before I can say anything, Killian knocks his shoulder back and breaks his grip on my wrist. I step back, eyes wide as Myers dashes back inside his workshop, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of bolts jangling together echoes through the air.

"Are you okay?"

I let out a shaky breath. "I'm fine."

"What were you doing here?"

I meet his eye, swallowing the lump in my throat. I didn't expect to have to make up a lie–nearly nobody comes out here. "What were you doing here?"

"Myers owns the cabin I'm staying in," he says, frowning at my lack of an answer and holding up a key. "One of the keys broke. I came to replace it."

He seems to be telling the truth, but I can't shake the unease settled in my stomach. If he hadn't been there, what would have happened? The entire encounter has left me shaken. I can't help but wonder what my father wanted with a man like that.

We walk along the path back to the village centre. Humidity hangs in the air, the earthy smell of oncoming rain penetrating the forest. The clouds are even darker than they were this morning. I nibble on the edge of my lip and pick up the pace. We don't often have rainstorms in Veymaw, not this early into autumn, but if that's what's coming, getting wet is the least of my worries.

The last rainstorm in Veymaw spoiled hundreds of crops.

"You should be more careful coming here alone," Killian says. I pretend not to hear him. "I'm serious, Freya." He grabs my wrist and pulls my sleeve up, revealing the half-moons Myers nails indented into my skin. "That man is not stable."

"I can take care of myself."

As I stare up at him, I wonder if the reason he doesn't ask why I was there is because he already knows. Or at least suspects. The thought makes my fingers tremble. I pull my hand away. Under the gloomy sky, his eyes seem warmer than usual.

Before he can say anything, someone appears on the path behind him. Jyro. He must be heading to the fields before the storm rolls in.

I step aside to let him pass, nodding politely. His eyes brush over Killian but pause on me, as if trying to figure out how he knows me. I don't see him often, only when he's scolding me for interrupting Casimir at the fields.

"Freya, right?" he says after a few moments. I nod. "Tell Casimir if he's late one more time, he's done. Maybe he'll take it seriously coming from you."

"Casimir's the hardest worker I know but he does need to sleep," I say with a frown. "So maybe you should stop asking him to work on the nets in the middle of the night."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." It starts to spit. Jyro scowls, looking at the sky. "Just tell Casimir this is his last warning."

He brushes past me and disappears amongst the trees. I stare blankly after him, my mind tossing. Casimir told me Jyro asked him to check the nets last night.

"Freya?" I spin around to face Killian. He opens his mouth to say something at the same time that thunder rumbles the sky. "It's about to pour."

"I have to go," I murmur.

It doesn't make any sense. I turn, planning to head towards the fields, when the light drizzle strengthens. The sky pulses with a bolt of light. Even beneath the canopy of the trees, the rain slices through. I raise my hand, trying to shield my face. Despite being mid-afternoon, dark shadows form between the trees along the path, a low cloud stretching towards us. I pause as it crawls along the forest floor, engulfing the trees in mist.

Killian murmurs something I can't hear over the hammering rain. I turn to look at him, but his eyes are trained on the low cloud.

"What?" I shout.

He tears his eyes away from the path, an urgency in his expression. "Come on." He grabs my hand before I can protest, tugging me behind him along the path away from the field. I use my free hand to shield my face from the rain.

When we exit the canopy of the trees and stumble into the village, the wind slams the raindrops into my skin like tiny daggers. There are few people loitering around, running across the street to pull in clothing hanging on lines and pulling their windows shut. The cobblestones slide beneath me as Killian tugs me behind him and into the shelter of the narrow side street, stopping in front of the cabin I found him outside of the other day. I huddle beneath the small jutted out roof as he drops my hand, fiddling with the lock.

The thick cloud hangs at the edge of the forest we came from, seeping into the streets. I frown as it swirls in the air, mesmerised by the way it manipulates the air. The wind whips my hair around me.

The door budges open and Killian grabs my wrist again, pulling me inside. I gulp in short, sharp gasps as I try to catch my breath. Killian moves around the dark foyer. Even if there was sunlight, it wouldn't reach in the narrow street and through the sole window. I glance outside, the sky has turned a dusk grey.

Killian lights a candle, bathing his soaked figure in warmth. His black hair is plastered to his forehead, and his clothes—my eyes widen—they cling to his muscled body like a second skin. My cheeks flush as I dart my eyes away, but I don't miss the dimple denting his cheek.

The glass rattles in the wind as I press my face against it, peering outside. The dark cloud hangs low, flashing purple with a bolt of lightning. "What is that?"

"A storm."

"Veymaw has storms," I say, shaking my head, thinking of the way the fog swirled. "This... this is something else."

I turn back around to survey the cabin. It's the size of Casimir's room, if that. A small bed with a patched blanket tucks into the corner opposing a chest of drawers. There's one door, probably leading to the washroom.

I watch as he leans over the fireplace, setting it aflame, the warmth slowly crawling towards me. I'm soaked to the bone, my white blouse clinging to me and revealing my undergarment. I cross my arms over my chest as Killian rises to his feet.

"I'm dripping all over your floor."

He grins, moving over to the set of drawers and pulling out a few garments. "Here."

I blink at them. "I can't wear those."

"Why not?"

"They're men's' clothing."

"Do you only wear men's' clothing when you're sneaking around in the middle of the night?" He raises an eyebrow. "Besides, you're dripping all over my floor."

I snatch the clothes from his hands and move to the room off the side, my cheeks burning as I slam the door. Staring at my reflection in the small mirror, I strip from my blouse and skirt, squeezing the excess liquid into the tub. My dark hair is just as soaked as the rest of me, the stray hairs sticking to the sides of my face. I run my fingers through the tangles, freeing it from the braid before pulling the clothing Killian gave me over my head.

Unsurprisingly, they're multiple sizes too big. I use the ribbon from my hair to tie around the waist of the black trousers and roll the sleeves of the shirt to my elbows. It goes to my knees, long enough I probably wouldn't need the trousers.

When I come out from the washroom, Killian is standing by the window, peering out. He's changed into dry clothing, his hair still damp. His eyes flash to me, slowly raking up the length of my body.

"What?" I swallow.

He grins. "You look ridiculous."

Heat rushes to my cheeks as I fold my arms over my chest, self-conscious under his piercing gaze.

"Is it passing?" I ask. Rain still hammers the roof, slicing through the screaming wind. "The storm?"

"It should soon." He moves over to me, taking the wet skirt and blouse from my hands and hanging them over the wooden chair in front of the fire. "Come here. I feel cold just looking at you."

There's only his bed and the wooden chair with my wet clothes hanging on the back. I opt for the chair, perching on the edge and wrapping my arms around myself as I stare at the fire. Killian kneels, poking the burning wood with the fire stoker.

"Did you see the mist?" I murmur, leaning closer to the fire. "It was rolling in from the trees."

"It was probably building to be a tornado," Killian says.

I frown. I know tornados. We don't get them often, but when we do, they destroy whatever comes in their path. But that fog, the way it moves along the ground, stretching from the trees like a fist. It moved like it was... alive.

I swallow, looking around the room. There are no personal belongings aside from whatever is in the drawers. I know he just got here, but it adds to the growing list of questions in my head—where are all his possessions?

"You really live here?" I ask.

"It's not much, but it serves its purpose."

"Which is?"

"Sleeping, eating." He's staring at me when I look up, eyes on the healing cut around my neck. I shift slightly, pulling my hair forward. "Are you hungry?"

"How can you even think of food right now?"

"I can always think of food."

I shake my head, gaze drawing to the floor as I remember what happened before the storm started. Jyro's words. I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm certain Casimir told me Jyro asked him to work. I know I haven't exactly been the most honest with him about the forge, but how can he get so upset with me for not telling him when he's clearly hiding something of his own?

"Freya?" I look up. Killian's eyes are softer, like he's coaxing a small child from a hiding place. "What's wrong?"

"Casimir told me Jyro asked him to check the nets last night, but Jyro had no idea what I was talking about." I let out a shaky breath. "Why would he lie to me?"

"People lie all the time."

"Not Casimir." I push to my feet, pacing before the fire. "And if he wasn't working, where was he?"

I feel his gaze as I pace, pulling memories from the depth of my mind. Ever since I've lived with Casimir, Jyro has asked him to work late into the night, but the past few months, it's been more frequent than ever before.

A thunderous bang echoes outside, making me jump. "It's just the wind," Killian says.

"It just doesn't make any sense." I run a hand through my hair. "It has to be a misunderstanding. Maybe Jyro just forgot he'd asked him to work, maybe Casimir misspoke. He just... he wouldn't have lied to me. He's the most honest person I know."

"Maybe you don't really know him."

I stop pacing to look at him. Shadows from the flame dance across his face. "I know him. He's family."

"Everyone has something to hide, Freya. Even family."

The words send a chill down my spine, one that makes my whole-body shudder. And as we stare at each other, his dark eyes more captivating than the flames beside him, there's one question pressing at the front of my mind. "What are you hiding?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you, and I don't really want to do that." He grins, taking small steps towards me. "I'm much more interested in your secrets."

I step back. "I don't have any secrets."

"Is that so?"

My back hits the wall behind me. He smells of pine and rain, an intoxicating scent that threatens to draw me closer. I wonder if he can hear the hammering of my heart, just as loud as the wind howling outside.

"How about what you were doing last night?" he taunts.

"I went for a walk."

"And what about your clothes? Your visit to Myers'?" He tilts his head to the side. "And the dagger, which you seemed more than capable of using when I could've sworn it was forbidden in Elel for commoners to learn to fight." I suck a breath in when his hand brushes the hair back from my neck, his finger brushing across nearly healed cut. "And this cut. Where did you get it?"

Killian's eyes rise back to mine, hand falling away from my neck. He clucks his tongue the same way the professors do when I'm late. "These are all very naughty things, Freya, very unbecoming of a young lady. You could get in a lot of trouble."

I lift my chin. "Are you going to report me to the council?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

"Nothing." Finally, he takes a step backwards. "Not yet anyway."

He returns to the fire. I try to calm my racing heart as his words thump through my head. Killian's only known me for a few days, and he's figured out what others couldn't in a couple of months. It sets me on edge. He might not know why I'm doing what I'm doing, but he certainly knows what I'm doing. He said as much last night.

I think you want them to find you.

I don't understand what he's playing, but I have a feeling that this game of his is much larger than I could possibly understand.

"That poor little old man," Killian murmurs when the thunder claps once more. "He ran straight in the direction of the storm."

Jyro. I look out the window. He's right, Jyro had been heading for the fields when that fog rolled in, and that was the direction that strange looking swirl of air came from.

My hearts skips a beat. "The harvesters," I whisper. I raise my eyes to meet Killian's frown. "Casimir."

His face settles with realisation, and he reaches out. "Freya, don't—"

But he's too late. I've already pulled the front door open and dashed back into the storm.