Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 31 of 42

They reached the boarding house at dusk. Maren and Miller crouched in the brush across the lane. Topper walked the last stretch alone, straightening his shirt, wiping the blood crust from under his nose. He looked almost like himself again. The building was small and white, one story, a tin roof, one door. Nothing like the tall stone hall where Maren had last seen Delia. A clerk lived here on rotation. That was all. A young woman came up the path from the other direction. Tight black bun. Business suit. A gold chain at her throat. Her glasses sat crooked, one lens split across the middle. She had not replaced them. Maren remembered the sound of Delia's voice down the corridor, telling the guards which door she was behind. Guilt moved through Maren again, low and familiar. She had come to ruin this woman a second time. Topper caught Delia at the door. He said something Maren could not hear. Delia went still. Then she unlocked the door and let him in. "You alright?" Miller asked. He shifted closer in the brush. "I don't want it to bother me the way it does," Maren said. Miller did not answer. He watched the door. Minutes passed. Maren counted her breaths. She listened for a shout, a whistle, boots on gravel. Nothing came. A lamp lit inside. A shadow crossed the window twice. The door opened. Delia stepped out first. Topper followed with his arm around her shoulders, easy, like a cousin walking her home. She carried a thick file against her chest, both arms locked around it. No coat. No bag. She had not stopped to pack. No alarm. No guards. Yet. They came down the path together. Delia's face was flat. Her jaw was set. She looked straight ahead and did not slow. Maren stood as they reached the brush. Delia stopped. Her eyes found Maren's face and held. "You," Delia said. "Me." "He said manifests. He said one night." Her voice was level. "He did not say you." "I know." "You will get me killed." "Maybe," Maren said. "Walk with us anyway." Delia looked at the file in her arms. She looked back at the small white building. A lamp still burned in the window. She had left it lit. She had left the door unlocked. "Two days," Delia said. "Then I am done with you." "Two days," Maren said. Miller took point. Topper fell in behind Delia, close enough to touch her elbow, not close enough to earn Miller's eye. They moved off the lane and into the trees before the lamps in the neighboring houses came on. Maren walked beside Delia. The file pressed between them as the path narrowed. She did not ask what was in it. Not yet. Vera would want to see it first, and Maren would need to be in the room when she did.