Marcus dropped his lantern and ran toward the shape crumpled at the edge of his field. The stranger was soaked through, breathing in shallow gasps, fingers blue from the storm. Marcus hooked the man's arm over his shoulder and dragged him through the mud toward the small thatched cottage he'd been fixing up for himself. He kicked the door open, lowered the man by the wood fire, and started stripping the wet cloth from his shoulders. This was the first time anyone had ever taken shelter under a roof Marcus owned. It wasn't the haven he was fighting to build in Witchhazel. But tonight, it would have to be. The knock came as he was ladling broth from the kettle. A woman stood in the doorway, rain dripping from a healer's satchel slung at her hip. She looked past Marcus to the stranger by the fire, then back to Marcus's exhausted face. "I heard there was a man trying to start a refuge," she said. "I came to see if it was true." Marcus stepped aside and let her in.

The healer set her pack down by the wood stove and pulled out a stone mortar, scattering crushed leaves across the table. The atrium glowed warm around them. Marcus watched her hands work, steady and sure, while the stranger slept by the fire. She had not yet said if she would stay. She lifted a small amulet from inside her satchel — roses curled around a pink heart-shaped stone — and laid it beside the mortar. "This was my sister's," she said. "She died on a road like the one out there. No one took her in." Marcus felt his throat tighten. He did not reach for a pitch. He only nodded. "I'll stay," she said, "if you promise me one thing. That no one who comes through your door is turned away. Not ever." Marcus looked at the amulet, then at her. "I can carry that," he said. Something quieter passed between them — a recognition, soft as the firelight on her cheek. She smiled, small and tired, and pushed the mortar toward him. "Then crush these with me. We have work to do before dawn." Their hands brushed over the stone. Marcus did not pull away. The refuge was still only a dream — but tonight, he was no longer dreaming it alone.