Sir Harry of the Night's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Harry stood outside the inn where she was packing her things. He could hear the soft scrape of a trunk being dragged across the floor above. His hand moved to his sword hilt, then away. He had smiled at her twice today already. It hadn't worked. She was leaving in the morning, and he still didn't know what to say that wasn't another line from a script he'd been reading his whole life. But his feet moved anyway. He climbed the stairs before he could think better of it. At her door, he raised his hand to knock, then stopped. The wood was old, painted over many times, chipped at the edges. He could walk away. She would leave. He would stay hollow and safe. His knuckles touched the door. Three soft taps. When she opened it, trunk half-packed behind her, he didn't smile. He just stood there, silent, terrified, waiting for her to see what he couldn't name. She waited. Her eyes held no judgment, no impatience. Just the same quiet expectation she had carried for weeks. Harry's mouth opened, then closed. His hand found the leather pouch at his belt, the one he always fiddled with when no one was watching. He pulled it free without thinking. Inside was a coin from the wishing well behind the old house where they first spoke. He had taken it that day, meaning to toss it back with some clever wish. He never had. Now he held it out to her, still warm from his palm. Not a gift. Not a gesture. Just proof that he had been thinking of her even when he pretended not to care. She took the coin. She didn't leave. She turned it over in her fingers, moss-green with age. Then she looked up at him and asked the question he'd been avoiding. What did he want. Not from her. From himself. Harry opened his mouth and for once had no answer ready. The silence stretched between them like a rope bridge he'd never crossed. He could feel his chest tightening, the old urge to smile and deflect rising in his throat. But she was still holding the coin. Still standing there. So instead of performing, he told her the truth. He didn't know. He didn't know what he wanted, only that when she looked at him, the silence felt less loud. She nodded slowly, then stepped back and held the door open wider. Not an invitation to stay the night. An invitation to sit down and stop running long enough to find out.