Helga hears the thud from the kitchen window and freezes, dish towel still in her hands. Something heavy has fallen against the porch steps. She moves to the door and opens it slowly, already praying before she sees what waits outside. A girl lies crumpled on the ground, face down in the dirt. Blood darkens her shirt collar. Her hand clutches something that catches the morning light — a necklace with intricate metalwork and a blue stone that seems to glow from within. Helga knows that kind of craftsmanship. She knows what it means when someone runs with it instead of selling it. She kneels and touches the girl's shoulder, feeling shallow breath beneath her palm. The girl's eyes open, unfocused and frightened. She tries to speak but only manages a whisper. "They're coming." Her fingers tighten around the necklace. "They'll burn everything." Helga helps her sit up, scanning the road that leads past the painted wooden chest at the farm's entrance — the old storage box Ivor's grandfather placed there to mark the boundary. Nothing moves yet. But the girl's terror is real, and Helga has learned to trust that kind of fear. She pulls the girl to her feet and half-carries her toward the green and yellow shed behind the house. The structure stands far enough from the main buildings that smoke wouldn't reach it first. Inside, behind the stored tools and seed bags, there's space enough to hide someone small. Helga settles the girl on a bed of empty grain sacks and takes the necklace from her trembling hands. She tucks it into her apron pocket. When they come asking, she'll have an answer ready. The farm has room for one more.

Helga watches from the kitchen window as dust rises on the road. Five riders, maybe six. They're moving too fast to be passing through. She dries her hands on the towel and hangs it on its hook, then walks to the front door where Ivor already stands with his hand on the frame. He doesn't look back at her. He just reaches for the wall where three ceremonial swords hang beside a worn hammer — gifts from his grandfather's time serving the lord's guard. Ivor takes the center blade and hooks it to his belt. Then he steps outside and pulls the door shut behind him. Helga moves to the window and sees him walk past the old pavilion tent they'd raised last summer for harvest celebrations. Its faded banners still hang limp in the still air. Ivor stops just beyond it, squaring his shoulders as the riders slow their approach. The lead rider wears polished armor and sits tall on a gray horse with dark stockings. He calls out something Helga can't hear through the glass. Ivor answers, his voice low and steady. The rider gestures toward the farmhouse, then the east barn. Ivor shakes his head once. The rider leans forward in his saddle, speaking again. This time Ivor takes one step closer and rests his hand on the sword hilt. The riders go quiet. Helga holds her breath. After a long moment, the lead rider straightens and turns his horse. The others follow. They ride back the way they came, slower now, until the dust settles and the road is empty again. Ivor walks back to the house and opens the door. He unhooks the sword and hangs it back on the wall without meeting Helga's eyes. She waits. He finally speaks, his voice rough. "They'll come back with more questions." She nods. He glances toward the shed, then back at her. "You'll need a better place to hide her." It's the first time he's said it out loud — that the girl can stay. Helga feels the weight lift from her chest. The farm has room for one more, and now Ivor knows it too.

Helga moves the girl from the shed to the east barn before dawn, carrying water and clean cloth in a wooden bucket. The boy is already awake when she arrives, spreading fresh straw in the corner stall. He glances at the girl, then at Helga, and nods once before returning to his work. Nathan Snake arrives just after sunrise, walking his horse up the long path from the road. He stops at the old stone memorial wall Ivor's grandfather built years ago to mark the boundary of the family land. Helga sees him from the barn door and walks out to meet him. He's holding a sealed envelope in one hand, the wax thick and unbroken. He doesn't speak right away. When he does, his voice is quiet. "I need to ask something I have no right to ask." Helga waits. He looks past her toward the small stone chapel that sits at the edge of the property, half-hidden by overgrown vines. "There's someone in there. She's been there since last night. I didn't know where else to bring her." Helga feels the weight settle in her chest. She wants to say yes. She wants to open the door wide and let everyone in. But the riders came yesterday, and Ivor drew his sword, and now Nathan has brought someone else without asking first. She glances back at the east barn where the girl and the boy are hidden. Then she looks at Nathan. "How many people know she's here?" Nathan shakes his head. "Just me." Helga takes the envelope from his hand and breaks the seal. Inside is a letter written in a careful hand, asking for sanctuary for a woman who witnessed something she shouldn't have. Helga folds it closed. "The riders will come back," she says. Nathan nods. "I know." She looks at him for a long moment, then turns toward the chapel. "We move her to the barn before noon. And you tell me everything." Nathan follows her across the yard. Helga opens the barn door and calls the boy over. She explains what needs to happen — two people hidden instead of one, both out of sight, both fed and watched. The boy listens and agrees without hesitation. Helga feels something shift inside her. This is no longer a farm where she shelters one person at a time in secret. This is something bigger, something that will draw attention whether she wants it or not. The riders already marked the property. Nathan just added another reason for them to return. But Helga has made her choice, and there's no turning back now. She walks Nathan to the edge of the property and watches him leave. Then she goes inside to pray.