Ethan Skydor's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The woman's eyes opened. Ethan was halfway across the room when she spoke his name. Not a question. Not a guess. She said it like she'd been waiting to say it, like she'd carried it with her through whatever had torn open her side and left her bleeding on his doorstep. "Ethan." Her voice was rough but clear. She lifted one hand to her throat, fingers closing around a necklace he hadn't noticed before. A blue jewel caught the light, radiant even in the dim room. "They're coming for him. For your captain." Her eyes found his, sharp despite the pain etched across her face. "Ivor. They know where he is right now." Ethan moved without thinking. He grabbed the dagger from the table and crossed to the door in three strides. Ivor had left less than an hour ago, heading back toward the old marker at the plateau's edge where the royal guard kept their weapons stored. If someone was waiting there — if they knew Ivor would be alone — Ethan didn't have time to ask questions. He pulled the door open and looked back at the woman. She was trying to sit up, one hand pressed against her bandages. "How do you know my name?" The question came out harder than he meant it to. She reached into her shirt with shaking fingers and pulled out a folded paper, edges yellowed with age. An old letter, the kind written in careful script with flowers pressed into the corners. She held it toward him but didn't let go when he reached for it. "Because someone who loved you asked me to find you," she said. "And because Ivor doesn't have much time." Ethan took the letter, shoved it into his coat, and ran. The choice had already been made. He'd let her in, let Ivor see her, let himself be pulled into whatever this was. Now someone he trusted was in danger, and the only way forward was through the fear of losing what little connection he'd allowed himself to build.