Weeks had passed since İlyara left Veyra's palace, and throughout that time she had still received no word from Elna.
She was staying in Elna's house, getting by on the vegetables growing in the back garden, the fruit from a few trees, and the canned food she had found in the pantry. At first, she had thought remaining here a little longer would do her good. She needed time for her body to recover and for the turmoil she carried in her mind to settle.
But as the days passed, she realized that lingering within the same four walls did not bring her the peace she had hoped for. She believed she might be able to find a way to continue working as a veterinarian in this world as well; animals needed help no matter where they were, and it was the only profession she knew. Even so, what challenged her most was not how she would build her future, but how she would learn to live with the emotions she had drawn from Veyra.
That anger, that profound grief, and the crushing pain accumulated over years still rose to the surface at unexpected moments, blending with her own feelings and making it difficult to tell which emotions truly belonged to her.
Those feelings seemed to have settled too deeply within her to be separated from who she was now. She could not return them, she could not ignore them, and whether she wanted to or not, she would have to continue her life carrying them with her. If she was going to move forward alone in this world, she first had to learn how to live with the foreign pain she carried in her heart pain she carried in her heart.
That morning, as she did every day, İlyara had watered the garden and then prepared herself a simple breakfast. Just as she sat down at the table, something unexpected happened.
Someone was knocking at the door.
İlyara remained seated for a while without moving at all. She thought the silence might settle again, but the knocking continued.
Maybe it's Elna, she thought. But if it were Elna, she would have called out to me by now.
Perhaps she was being too optimistic.
Because, as always, she was alone.
After taking a deep breath, she rose slowly and walked to the door, but she did not open it right away. Instead, she slipped on the hooded cloak Arın had given her and pulled her hat down over her head.
First, she pressed herself against the door and tried to listen for any sound outside, but she heard nothing. Just as she was about to step back, another knock made her flinch and freeze in place.
"Who is it?" she asked.
There was no answer.
Only another knock came at the door, in the same steady rhythm.
"Who are you?" she asked again, this time more loudly.
The sound from the other side stopped at once.
"İlyara."
Her heart faltered for a moment.
She knew that voice… but there was no reason for him to be here.
Then the knocking resumed once more, in the exact same rhythm.
After hesitating for a few more seconds, İlyara gathered her courage and unlocked the door. When she eased it open, she lowered her gaze first, trying to hide her face as much as possible. There was, after all, a bounty on her head.
I hope they've forgotten about me by now, she thought.
The first thing she saw was a pair of long black boots. Her gaze traveled slowly upward, and the moment she recognized the gold lines running across black clothing and the sword hanging at his side, her heart began to pound.
A Morhena.
She lifted her head sharply.
"Arın…" she said, her breath catching slightly. "…it really is you."
Without saying a word, Arın looked at her and gave a small nod.
İlyara immediately glanced outside, scanning the area, then grabbed Arın by the arm and pulled him inside. By the time she slammed the door shut and turned back to face him, her heart was still beating unevenly.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
Arın looked around the room for a brief moment before turning his gaze back to her.
"Whose house is this?" he asked.
İlyara placed a hand on her hip and studied him for a moment. He truly had not changed at all; it was as though the weeks that had passed, their farewell, and the last words she had spoken had left no mark on him whatsoever.
Instead of answering his question, she walked past him and returned to her seat at the breakfast table.
"Did Veyra send you?" she asked as she settled into the chair.
Without taking his eyes off her, Arın walked to the table and stopped across from her. The old wooden table stood between them like an invisible boundary neither of them had yet crossed.
"Are you staying here?" Arın asked, running his fingers along the cracked edge of the table. His gaze then shifted to the bed in the middle of the room. As he carefully examined his surroundings, he added, "It's quite old. It doesn't seem safe."
İlyara raised an eyebrow slightly. Was he worried about her safety?
That seemed impossible.
"Nowhere is truly safe for me," she said, taking a bite from her plate. Then she lifted her head and looked at him. "I can prepare a plate for you too, if you'd like."
Arın turned to look at her while touching the strips of tape that had been fastened along the edge of the window.
"You know I don't need food."
İlyara shrugged.
"Not needing it doesn't mean you can't eat."
Arın started back toward the table, but this time his foot caught on one of the warped floorboards, and he lost his balance for a brief moment.
"Ahah—"
İlyara covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hide her smile.
"Sorry," she said with a soft laugh. "I never thought a Morhena could lose his balance."
Arın looked at her in silence for several seconds. Then he adjusted his uniform and sword and continued walking with measured steps.
"Veyra used to want me to eat with her," he said.
İlyara's smile faded slightly.
"She eats alone now," Arın added.
"If you don't want to, you don't have to eat," İlyara said quietly. "I don't have much left anyway."
Without saying a word, Arın sat down in the chair directly across from her. His movements were as calm as ever, showing not the slightest hesitation. He picked up a slice of cucumber from the plate on the table and placed it in his mouth.
İlyara watched him in astonishment for several seconds. An involuntary smile touched the corners of her lips. Then she turned back to her own plate and continued eating.
For a while, not a single word passed between them. Inside the old wooden house, the only sounds were the soft clink of a fork against a plate and the low murmur of the wind outside. Even so, realizing that she was not alone for the first time in weeks loosened the tension within İlyara so subtly that she barely noticed it.
After breakfast, İlyara washed the dishes. Once she had dried her hands, she returned to her usual seat at the table, folded her arms across her chest, and looked at Arın.
"All right," she said. "Tell me why you came."
Arın fixed his eyes on hers.
"Veyra ordered me to watch over you," he said in a calm voice.
And yet, beneath the stillness that always seemed to rest in his eyes, İlyara sensed the faintest flicker of something.
Was he lying?
Why would Veyra care about what happened to her?
İlyara straightened in her chair and frowned.
"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" she said, bringing her hand down against the table.
The moment she did, she noticed black smoke rising from between her fingers. The hardness in her expression dissolved at once, and she quickly pulled her hand back and hid it between her knees.
"Sorry," she said, looking away. "I'm still not very good at controlling myself."
Even though she could feel Arın's gaze resting on her, she did not lift her head.
A moment later, she heard the scrape of a chair against the wooden floor.
When she looked up, Arın was no longer sitting across from her.
"You can…"
İlyara flinched and turned sharply as Arın's voice sounded right beside her. The distance between them had vanished so completely that their faces were nearly touching.
"…you can transfer them to me," Arın said, extending his hand toward her.