First, she went home. Not home to her mother and not home to the house Sedgewick had gotten. Feyla returned to her own small set of rooms in the city. She mounted the stairs to her door on the second floor and went inside. Her hand brushed the rune disc on her wall. The glow-lights dangling from her ceiling lit up and the disc flowed a faint orange-pink. Sedgewick had topped them off with his own magic last time he was here and despite her using them since, the color of his stronger magic still lingered. She should sleep. It was late now, so late, and she's been up since early this morning.

Feyla walked into her kitchen instead. She grabbed a coffee pot and pulled down on her crank to fill it with water. After that first tug, the motions became mindless repetition and soon the coffee was sitting on the stove, brewing.

An idea was growing in the back of her mind. A dangerous idea. She let it brew alongside the coffee and went into her bedroom. Feyla sat down at her vanity seat and stared at her reflection. The hair she'd carefully pulled back earlier now stuck out in various directions as strands escaped the confines of her bun. Her mother's voice tisked inside her head at her sloppy appearance. Feyla pulled it down. Pins clattered to the floor but she made no move to pick them up.

Blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face. She might have looked pretty but the effect was spoiled by how red her eyes still were. People used to say that she looked like her mother but truthfully all the women in her family shared a close resemblance. Feyla's hand came up and twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. Mother had always praised her hair. It was a trait they shared and Arilla had been voicing her opinion on how Feyla should wear it since her birth. Along with her opinions on her clothes. And her friends. And her occupation, her occasional use of makeup, who she should love, what she should want, and how she should act.

In fact, the only thing Arilla had never had any praise or criticism for were her eyes. The one good thing her father had given her.

She should pull her hair back up. Sedgewick and she might both prefer it down but what she would be doing—and she had decided to do it, as if there was ever a true debate—would require her hair to stay out of the way. She should pick up the pins she'd carelessly scattered and tie it back the way she'd been taught. Even a braid was too much of a risk given how long her hair was.

Feyla's eyes dragged toward the scissors resting on top of her vanity. Light glinted off of the smooth metal and revealed a distorted reflection of her face. She cast out all doubt and hesitation from her head and reached for them with her empty hand.

Shhhrip. The steel was good and sharp and the act ended seconds after it had begun. A weight grown over countless years fell from her shoulders. Feyla dropped the scissors and stared at her reflection, her eyes as wild as the Wildwood itself. The cut was jagged and uneven and rested above her shoulders now. It reminded her a bit of Sedgewick's poor attempts to trim his hair. On a different day, she would have cringed at the disorderly edges and boyish length, not at all like her usual careful oiling and styling. But now she smiled, and that wild light her mother never noticed glowed a bit brighter inside the eyes she never mentioned.

The coffee had finished brewing. Feyla drank it with two spoonfuls of sugar and no milk. Once finished, she undid her battle healer's kit from her waist and set it aside. That she would need. The white healer's uniform went the way of her hair. Feyla discarded it just as fast and flung the fabric into a dark corner, letting the white be absorbed by the shadows. She pulled out the clothes that she wore for her occasional visits to the palace training arena, but a different shirt caught her eye.

Folded neatly and sitting in the corner of her room was one of Sedgewick's shirts. Unlike the one that he'd been wearing earlier, this one she already had mended. She plucked it up and ran her finger across the tan stitching visible at the wrist. She hadn't had an exact thread match so the tan stood out against the orange-brown fabric. Slipping her arms through the holes, she then closed the hooks on the left side of the shirt. After grabbing her belt, Feyla looped it around her waist and tugged the shirt straight. She took a final look at her appearance in the mirror. The shirt hung past her bottom and the high collar covered her neck. It shouldn't have been surprising that Sedgewick's old, oversized shirt wasn't flattering on anyone.

Awful and tired. That was how she looked. Good. Feyla squared her shoulders. That was how she felt.

Feyla tapped her foot impatiently while waiting for the door to the guild house to open. A tired apprentice finally peeped her head out. "H—healer Everbloom? Are you all right? Should I get Guild Leader Everbloom?" The young girl stared at her odd appearance.

"No need." Feyla forced a smile that wasn't as reassuring as it usually was. "Go on back to bed. I'll let myself in."

The apprentice yawned and quickly yielded to her request. Feyla shut the heavy door behind her and let out a breath. Mother should have finally gone to sleep as well. The thought of having to confront Arilla midway through her mission set her knees quaking. No panicking. Act normal.

Feyla slipped up the darkened stairs and down one of the halls. Dormaeus—or was he still Reiden?—should have been moved somewhere around here. The other side had fire damage and the research lab had proved too vulnerable. They wouldn't have put him downstairs where patients could walk in either.

"Did you come back to savor our victory too?"

Feyla's ear stood at attention. The chopped hair on the back of her neck jutted out in nervousness. "Is that what you're doing up so late?" she asked, turning to face Daydrel.

Daydrel's smile twisted into confusion. "What happened to your hair?"

"I like it," Feyla replied stubbornly. She glanced around the darkened hallway, the white wood of the floor ashen in the dim light. Her eyes landed on a cracked closet just past Daydrel. Feyla tilted her head to the side and twisted a strand of her shortened hair around her finger. "Don't you?"

She couldn't see a blush in the dark but Daydrel's posture changed noticeably and the sound of him hissing in a breath hit her ears. He reached out and took the strand from her fingers, rubbing it between two of his own. "H—how did things go with Alverdyne?" he asked, sidestepping her own question.

Feyla glanced away but not enough to avoid seeing the way his throat bobbed when she bit her bottom lip. "He's not...talking to me right now."

Daydrel brushed his thumb across her cheek. "You know, I couldn't stop talking to you if I tried."

Feyla choked back a retort saying that was probably because he'd never stopped talking long enough to actually listen to her. "When we left to search the docks, you were pushing to wait till nightfall. When I said Sedgewick would be looking." She removed his hand from her face with all the tenderness she didn't feel. "Were you glad when Desden made us take longer? Did you want to confront him with me?"

"You know what I want." And the way he stared at her when he said it made her feel a bit guilty about what she was going to do.

Feyla took his arm and led him further down the hall toward to closet. "Were you visiting Dormaeus?"

"Just the guardsman outside his room." Daydrel gave her arm a squeeze. "Don't worry, he's right where we left him. I can show you if you want."

She slowed and began backing him toward the closet door. "What if I'd rather stay here?" Feyla wrapped her arms around his neck and began playing with one of the tiny braids in his hair.

Daydrel pulled her flush against him, wrapping one arm around her waist. The other hand skimmed up her back softly. If this had happened a century ago, she might have yielded to the warmth of that temporary comfort. But now Daydrel's touch was like a tiny ember landing on ice-cold steel. It would never melt her again. "You wouldn't have to give up your name if you were with me," he whispered.

Annoyance threatened to break through the mask she wore. So Mother had been helping push Daydrel at her. She met his gaze, taking one final look at the green flecks in his eyes. Was Arilla the reason they were assigned to that same team all those years ago? If she was, had he known? "I'd be giving up a lot more than just a name with you."

And with that, she struck. The green in his eyes darkened angrily for half a second before they fell shut.

Feyla let him slump against her, reaching around to open the closet door just behind him. She lowered him to the ground inside and then pulled out a syringe from her kit. Taking the chance that the pitch would last long enough for her to get out wasn't something she was willing to do. A quick dose of sleeping potion later, and Feyla was closing the door on her old betrothed behind her. Good. She dusted off her hands and slipped down the hallway.

The guardsman at Dormaeus's door went down equally easy once she'd lured him to the closet after worriedly insisting he investigate Healer Daydrel's sudden collapse.

Having deposited the guardsman into Daydrel's new abode, Feyla finally stood alone before the door leading to the wizard who was growing less amnesiac by the hour. No turning back now.

She reached for the doorknob.

*********************

Author's Note: Annnndddd, we're off! What does everyone think of Feyla's new plan? In case it wasn't clear, this part from Feyla's POV occurs at night before the last chapter where Drunk!Sedgewick wakes up. I almost had to delay this one but I managed to pull through. Here's hoping I just haven't postponed that delay to the next chapter. This next part is going to involve even more plot upheaval and I want to get it just right.

This update's song choice is "I'm Only Happy When it Rains" which you might recognize if you watched Captain Marvel.