Han Bacca's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Han cleaned the last of the dried blood from the creature's ear. Their fingers brushed something stiff under the matted fur. Not a burr. Not a bone. Han parted the coat and pulled out a folded packet, sealed with red wax. It was heavy for its size. The creature whimpered when Han lifted it free. Han set the packet down and stared. Someone had hidden this in a living animal and sent it into the desert. Han broke no seal. They did not need to. The wax stamp showed a merchant guild's mark, the same guild Han had heard cursed at every crossing. Whatever the packet held, mountain folk would kill to get it back. Han's feet started tapping against the wood floor. They wrapped the packet in a cloth and pushed it deep in their field kit, next to their notes. Boots hit the stairs outside. Han froze. The door opened without a knock. A woman ducked in under a wide-brimmed hat, coins jangling at her belt, dust caked on her cracked lips. She looked at the creature, then at Han's kit, then at Han. "That one's mine," the trader said. "I sent it out three days back." She held out a flat hand. "The packet. Give it here." "Actually," Han said, "I don't know you." "Sunny Palo. I move food to families the guild starved out." She did not lower the hand. "That paper names their routes. Their men. If it burns, people eat this winter." Han's mind raced. A stranger. A guild mark. Mountain folk hunting a paper Han now held. Every part of it told Han to hide, to run, to bury this like they'd buried so much before. Their feet would not stop tapping. "Prove it," Han said. Sunny crouched by the creature. She scratched under its chin, once, in a spot the animal leaned into. It knew her. She stood. "I don't write names down. Writing gets people killed. That's why I hid it in fur instead of a saddlebag." Han understood that fear. They had lived it for years, glow tucked under their shirt, notes left unwritten. But they had chosen, just days ago, to stop hiding truth to feel safe. Han opened the kit. They took out the wrapped packet and held it a moment. Then they set it in Sunny's palm. "The guild will look for it," Han said. "They'll trace it to this tree. To me." Sunny tucked it away. "Then you're in it now. Same as me." She said it flat, final, like a door shut. Han looked at the creature breathing steady on the mat. They had gone looking for respect from people who threw rocks. Here was someone asking for help instead. Han picked up their pen. They wrote down the date, the guild mark, and Sunny's name. This time they would keep the record. Outside, far off, hooves crossed the sand toward the tree.