Oswin walked at the back of the group, watching Caius's shoulders tense when he called for them to keep moving through the night. The others murmured complaints about rest and blisters, but Oswin stayed quiet. He knew why they couldn't stop. Every hour mattered now. When the group finally paused for water, Oswin slipped his notebook from his bag and traced the last entry with one claw. Three days since the scratch. The salve jar felt light in his paw — half empty already. He'd been applying it more often than the notes recommended, which meant fear, not medical judgment. Caius glanced back at him from the front of the line, and Oswin closed the notebook. He tucked both items away and stood. They needed to reach the ruins before his supply ran out, before the choice was taken from both of them. The rusted sign appeared an hour before dawn, tilted against rubble like a broken tooth. Oswin could barely read the faded letters in the dim light, but he recognized what it meant. The ruins were still days away. His hind leg throbbed where the scratch sat hidden beneath his travel pack, and he felt the fever starting behind his eyes. He watched Caius study the sign, saw him calculate the distance they still had to cover. Then Caius turned and met Oswin's gaze across the resting group. No words passed between them, but Oswin saw the question there. He touched the front pocket of his bag where the note waited, then nodded once. They would keep walking. Caius led them onto the cracked pathway as the first gray light touched the old lampposts. The broken road stretched ahead, unforgiving and long. Oswin fell into step behind the others, his leg burning with each stride. He counted his remaining steps in salve applications. Maybe four more days. Maybe five if he could bear the itching. The distance to the ruins didn't matter anymore. Only the distance between now and when he'd need Caius to open that front pocket. He checked his gait, forcing the limp away. The group couldn't know. Not yet. Not while he could still tend their blisters and keep them moving forward.

The road split where the barricade began. Oswin stopped when he saw it — wooden crates stacked chest-high across the cracked pavement, each one marked with faded red stamps. Someone ahead whispered about supplies, wondered if they could use what was inside. Foxface reached the barricade first and touched one of the flyers nailed to a makeshift log wall behind the crates. Her ears flattened. "Disease control," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "These crates were locked here on purpose. To keep people out." The group went quiet. Oswin stepped forward, his leg burning, and studied the flyers — quarantine notices layered over older ones, dates spanning years. The stamps on the crates matched the symbols on the papers. Someone had sealed supplies here during an outbreak, probably The Red, and never came back for them. Caius moved beside him, voice low. "We could go around. Find another route." But Oswin shook his head. The barricade told him something the flyers couldn't — that others had tried to reach the ruins before them, that they'd been sick enough to need quarantine, and that they'd failed. He looked at the sealed crates, then at his travel bag where the salve jar waited, half empty. "We go through," he said. "If they got this far while infected, we can get farther." He didn't say the rest — that seeing proof of others who'd tried and failed made his own attempt feel less like certain death and more like a path someone else had started. Caius studied his face for a long moment, then nodded and called the group forward. Oswin watched them climb over the barricade one by one, and for the first time since the scratch, he felt something other than fear. He felt like he wasn't the only one who'd ever walked this road. But when Foxface turned back to help him over, she noticed his limp. "You're favoring that leg," she said, not asking. The others stopped climbing, waiting. Oswin felt Caius's eyes on him from the other side of the barricade. He could lie, blame it on the night march, on old injuries. Instead, he looked at the quarantine flyers again — all those warnings from people who'd kept secrets until it was too late. "Blister," he said finally, meeting Foxface's gaze. "Bad one. I'll wrap it when we stop." She accepted this with a nod and offered her paw. He took it and climbed over, the lie sitting heavy in his chest. The scratch burned against the fabric of his pack, and he knew he'd just chosen his path. He would keep the worst of the truth hidden, but he wouldn't pretend he was untouched anymore. Small admissions to buy time. It wasn't honesty, but it wasn't silence either. Caius fell into step beside him as they left the barricade behind, and Oswin felt the weight of that middle ground — the space between the note in his bag and the moment someone would need to read it. An hour past the barricade, Foxface called for a rest. Oswin sat against a piece of rubble and pulled out his travel bag, aware of her watching. He removed the salve jar and a clean cloth strip, then made a show of unwrapping his good foot. The blister he painted there was real enough — a small one from the night march. He treated it carefully while Foxface nodded with approval and turned away to distribute water. Caius crouched beside him, silent, and Oswin met his eyes. They both knew which leg carried the real wound. But Caius didn't challenge the performance. Instead, he handed

The raven-kin guard handed Oswin a rag to clean his hands after the last inspection, and he took it without meeting her eyes. His leg burned where the scratch pressed against his trousers, and he knew he'd been lucky — offering to help had turned him from a suspect into an ally. But Foxface was watching him from the other side of the checkpoint, her expression unreadable, and when the guards finally waved them through, she fell into step beside him instead of taking the lead. "That was smart," she said quietly. "Volunteering like that." Oswin nodded, tucking the medical kit back into his bag. "They needed help. Made sense to offer." She was silent for a moment, then spoke again. "You didn't show them your blister, though. The one you wrapped this morning." Oswin's chest tightened. She'd been watching more carefully than he'd thought. He stopped walking and turned to face her. The rest of the group moved ahead, leaving them alone on the road. "It's fine," he said. "Didn't need checking." Foxface tilted her head, studying him the way the raven-kin guard had studied the travelers. "You're hiding something," she said, not accusing, just stating a fact. "And Caius knows what it is." Oswin felt the weight of the note in his bag, the salve jar that was already half empty, the scratch that worsened every day despite his careful treatment. He could lie again, build another layer of misdirection, but Foxface wasn't asking for the truth — she was telling him she'd already seen through the performance. "If it becomes a problem," he said finally, "Caius will handle it. You don't need to worry." She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "All right," she said. "But when it becomes a problem — not if — you tell me before someone else finds out at a checkpoint. Because next time, they might not let you play doctor." She walked ahead to catch up with the others, and Oswin stood alone on the road. He'd passed the checkpoint, but he'd lost something in the process — Foxface's assumption that he was telling the full truth. She didn't know about the scratch yet, but she knew he was keeping a dangerous secret, and she'd made it clear she wouldn't accept another performance. Caius appeared beside him, silent, and together they started walking again. The ruins were still days away, and every checkpoint between here and there would be another test. But now Oswin knew the shape of the problem: he couldn't hide the scratch and he couldn't reveal it, so he would have to keep buying passage with usefulness until his salve ran out or his luck did. He touched the front pocket of his bag where the note waited, and kept moving forward.

The road stretched ahead toward the next checkpoint, and Oswin counted his steps to keep from counting the hours left in his salve jar. Foxface walked at the front of the group now, her pace steady, and Caius stayed near the back where he could watch everyone. Oswin found himself in the middle, exactly where someone would place a problem they were monitoring. They stopped for water at midday, and Oswin set his backpack against a fallen log. He was reaching for his canteen when he noticed Foxface crouched beside his bag, her hand frozen on the front pocket. The note. She'd opened it looking for something else — maybe a map, maybe supplies — and now she held the folded paper between her fingers like it might burn her. Oswin's chest went tight. He could see her reading, see the moment her expression changed from confusion to understanding. When she looked up at him, there was no anger in her face. Just a quiet horror that made his stomach drop. She stood slowly, folding the note exactly as it had been, and tucked it back into the pocket. "Caius," she said, not a question. "You wrote this for Caius." Oswin nodded once. She handed him the backpack without another word, but everything had shifted. She knew now — not just that he was hiding an injury, but what kind of injury required absolution written in advance. The scratch wasn't a blister or a wound that might slow him down. It was the kind of secret that ended with someone having to make an impossible choice. Foxface walked back to the front of the group, and this time when she looked over her shoulder, Oswin saw her checking not whether he was keeping up, but whether he was still himself. Caius appeared beside him after a few minutes, silent as always, and Oswin expected questions or confrontation. Instead, Caius reached into Oswin's bag and pulled out the medical kit, then opened it to reveal the salve jar. He studied it for a long moment — noting how much was left, how much Oswin had been using — then closed the kit and put it back. "Three days," Caius said quietly. "Maybe four if you're careful." Oswin didn't deny it. There was no point now that Foxface knew what the note meant and Caius had measured what remained. "The ruins are five days away," Oswin said. Caius nodded, his jaw tight. "Then we move faster." He walked ahead without waiting for a response, and Oswin watched as Caius spoke to Foxface, their voices too low to hear. But he saw the moment Foxface's shoulders straightened, saw her nod and adjust her pack. The group's pace changed after that — not frantic, but purposeful. They were racing now, all of them, against the diminishing supply in Oswin's bag and the worsening infection beneath his bandage. Oswin had tried to carry this secret alone, but Foxface had found the note and Caius had counted the days, and now the whole group was running toward the ruins with him. He touched the front pocket where the note waited, then kept moving. The decision was no longer his to make.

The group reached a cluster of parked cars by evening, and Oswin felt the others slowing their pace for the first time since morning. Foxface moved toward the nearest car to check for shelter, and Caius followed to help her clear debris from the doors. Grendel appeared at Oswin's side and gestured toward a ridge that overlooked the ruins ahead. "Come look," he said, his voice too casual. Oswin followed, thinking Grendel wanted to scout the route, but when they reached the grassy ridge, Grendel stepped between him and the path back. The city skyline stretched out before them, broken towers catching the last light, and Grendel stood silent for a long moment. Then he pulled a small tarnished key from beneath his collar — attached to a chain that held two wedding rings. "My wife died of The Red," Grendel said, his voice flat. "Three years ago. I watched her turn." Oswin's throat tightened. He wanted to offer condolences, but Grendel's expression stopped him. "You keep healing everyone else," Grendel continued, his eyes hard. "Foxface's blisters. Hazel's shoulder. You treat them like they matter." He took a step closer. "So tell me why you won't fight for your own life. Why you're letting that scratch kill you when you could ask for help." Oswin looked away, toward the ruins that might hold a cure or might hold nothing. "Because if I become the patient, I stop being useful," he said quietly. "And if I stop being useful, I'm just someone waiting to turn." Grendel was quiet for a moment, then tucked the key back beneath his shirt. "My wife fought," he said. "Every day until the end. She didn't give up just because she was scared." He turned and walked back toward the group, leaving Oswin alone on the ridge. The question hung in the air like smoke: was Oswin managing his death with discipline, or was he just too frightened to admit he wanted to live? He touched the scratch through his bandage, then followed Grendel back down the path. The answer terrified him more than the infection itself.

Oswin stood on the ridge longer than he meant to, watching the broken skyline fade into darkness. Grendel's question sat in his chest like a weight he couldn't name. He touched the scratch through his bandage again, feeling the heat beneath the cloth, then turned back toward the cars. Halfway down the path, his hand went to his vest pocket — a reflex he'd stopped thinking about years ago. The coin was still there, warm against his fingertips. He pulled it out and held it in the failing light, tracing the worn engravings he knew by touch. His brother had given it to him the day Oswin left for medical training, pressing it into his palm with a promise: "Keep this until you come back." Oswin had carried it through every patient he'd saved, every night he'd worked until his hands shook, every moment he told himself the work mattered more than rest. He stared at it now, and the truth cut clean through him — he'd been carrying it because some part of him had always planned to go home. The coin went back into his pocket, and when he reached the cars, he found Caius checking the camp perimeter. "I need you to know something," Oswin said quietly. Caius turned, waiting. "If we find the cure," Oswin continued, his voice steady for the first time in days, "I'm going to use it." Caius studied his face for a long moment, then nodded once. No absolution, no argument — just acknowledgment that Oswin had finally chosen to fight. The note in his bag would stay there, but it wasn't the only ending anymore.

The camp was quiet when Oswin woke, the kind of silence that made checking the scratch feel like cracking ice. He unwrapped the bandage in the dark and counted the days left in his head while his fingers traced the edges of the wound. The fever was still there, steady and patient. He opened the salve jar and stared at what remained — barely enough to cover the bottom, maybe one application if he was careful. His symptom tracker lay beside it, filled with notes he'd written every morning since the scratch appeared. The last entry read "fever holding, coordination stable." He added today's date and wrote "final dose" in the margin, then closed the book and pressed his palm flat against the cover. The sanctuary stood a hundred yards ahead, its stained glass window catching the first light. Oswin had spotted it the night before and steered the group toward it without explaining why. Now he moved through camp, checking Grendel's bandaged shoulder, adjusting Hazel's bedroll away from the damp ground, refilling Foxface's water flask from his own supply. He worked quietly, the way he always did, making sure each of them had what they needed for the push to Nor. When Caius stirred, Oswin caught his eye and nodded once toward the sanctuary. Caius understood without words — one more night of shelter, one more night where Oswin could still do this. The salve jar went back into his bag, empty now except for the residue on the glass. He'd already decided he wouldn't use the last dose today. He'd save it for tomorrow, when they'd need every hour he could buy them.

Oswin woke before dawn and knew immediately something was wrong. The fever had broken through whatever barrier the salve had been holding. His leg burned hot enough that he could feel it through the blanket, and when he pressed his palm against his forehead, the heat answered back. He sat up slowly, careful not to wake the others, and reached for his backpack. The clearing around them was quiet, the ruins of Nor visible through the trees in the distance. His fingers found the front pocket where he kept his symptom tracker, but when he pulled it open, the pocket was empty. He checked again, panic rising in his chest. The note was gone. Foxface stood at the edge of camp, holding the folded paper in her hands. Her eyes met his across the clearing, and Oswin saw the moment she understood what it meant. She walked toward him, her steps deliberate, and held the note out between them. "This was for Caius," she said. "Not for me to find. Not like this." Oswin opened his mouth to explain, but the words caught when he felt the first itch beneath his skin. He looked down at his forearm and watched a small red cap push through the fur, then another beside it. The mushrooms bloomed slowly, their soft glow lighting the space between him and Foxface. He met her eyes one last time, then turned toward where Grendel was sleeping. "Wake him," Oswin said, his voice steady despite the fear. "Tell him I need him to finish this."

Foxface turned and ran toward Grendel's bedroll. Oswin stood, testing his weight on the infected leg. The fever made the ground feel soft, but he could still move. He needed to find Caius and make sure he read the note before anything else happened. But Caius wasn't in his bedroll. Oswin turned in a slow circle, searching the clearing. More mushrooms pushed through the skin along his forearms, their red caps glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light. His vision blurred at the edges. He heard footsteps behind him and spun too quickly, nearly losing his balance. Caius stood there holding his pack, the front pocket hanging open and empty. "The note," Oswin said, forcing the words through the fog in his head. "You need to read it. It tells you—" His thoughts scattered. He couldn't remember what the note said, only that it mattered. That Caius needed to know something important. The fever spiked. Pain shot through Oswin's skull and he staggered forward, reaching for Caius without thinking. His friend dropped the pack and stepped back, hands raised. Oswin saw fear in those eyes and couldn't understand why. Then the pain crested and thought disappeared entirely. He lunged. Grendel's blade punched through his ribs from behind. Oswin gasped and the world came back into sharp focus for three heartbeats. He saw Caius standing frozen, saw the badger's distressed face over his shoulder, saw Foxface holding the folded paper she'd found. The note. Caius would read it now and know he'd done the right thing. But as Oswin's vision darkened, he understood the truth—the note was supposed to spare Caius this exact moment, and he'd failed even in that final kindness.

Nobody moved. Oswin's body lay crumpled in the dirt where Grendel had lowered it, the badger's blade still wet. Caius stood frozen with the open pack at his feet, staring at the note Foxface held. Dawn light made the red mushrooms on Oswin's skin look almost translucent. Foxface walked to Caius and pressed the note into his hand without speaking. He unfolded it slowly, his fingers shaking. The words were simple—whatever he did, he did the right thing. Absolution written in Oswin's careful script. Caius read it twice, then folded it again and tucked it into his pocket. He picked up the pack, shouldered it, and walked past the ruined church without looking back at the body. The others watched him cross the clearing until he stood alone at the forest edge, staring at the tunnel entrance to Nor visible through the trees. Grendel wiped his blade clean and resheathed it. He looked at Hazel, then at Foxface. "We can't stay here," he said quietly. Foxface nodded but didn't move. Hazel knelt beside Oswin's body, touching one of the glowing mushrooms with a fingertip. "He was trying to reach the cure," she said. "We're standing right outside it." She stood and turned toward the tunnel. "If we leave now, he died for nothing." Caius heard her from across the clearing. He didn't turn around, but his shoulders straightened. "The tunnel's there," he said, his voice carrying. "I'm going through." He started walking. Grendel gathered his bow and followed. Foxface hesitated, glanced once more at Oswin's body, then moved after them. Hazel came last, leaving the sanctuary behind. They reached the highway tunnel entrance together, the darkness ahead still leaking red from underground pipes. Caius stepped inside first. The others followed him into Nor.