She came up the mountain road just before dusk.
I was waiting at the gate, trying to look like I hadn't been waiting at all. The guard recognised her by now — nodded as she passed — and I fell into step beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You know," she said, "when you said 'visit the manor,' I pictured a library. Maybe a nice sitting room."
"We have both."
"Then why are we walking toward the back courtyard?"
I didn't answer. I just kept walking.
The training yard was empty at this hour. The torches hadn't been lit yet, and the evening light was soft and grey, casting long shadows across the stone. A few practice dummies stood against the far wall. Wooden swords in a rack. The smell of dust and old sweat.
Elira stopped at the edge of the yard and looked around.
"This is where you train?"
"One of the places."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she turned to me with that look — the one that meant she was already two steps ahead.
"Show me."
I should have known she'd say that.
I showed her the concealment technique. The basic one — the first thing they teach you. Pull the shadow around yourself like a cloak. Not invisibility, not really. Just… less noticeable. A trick of perception. Stand still enough, quiet enough, and people's eyes slide past you.
I'd been practising it for weeks. I could hold it for maybe ten seconds before the shadow slipped.
Elira watched me demonstrate. Nodded. Then she closed her eyes, took a breath, and did it.
First try.
I stared at the space where she had been standing. She was still there — I could sense her, barely — but my eyes refused to confirm it. She was just a gap in the light, a place where the eye didn't want to rest.
She held it for almost a minute.
When she let it go, she opened her eyes and looked at her hands like they belonged to someone else.
"That felt…"
"Strange?"
"Natural."
I didn't say anything. I was too busy trying to decide whether I was impressed or deeply unsettled.
She looked up at me and smiled. "Teach me another one."
We stayed in the yard until the torches were lit and the stars came out. I taught her the shadowstep — the footwork, the weight shift, the moment of pull before you move. She didn't master it in one evening. But she came close.
On the walk back down the mountain, she was quiet. Not the heavy kind of quiet. The thoughtful kind.
"Does it ever scare you?" she asked.
"The shadow?"
"How easy it is."
I thought about it. "Sometimes."
She nodded. Said nothing. Reached out and took my hand in the dark.
We walked the rest of the way to Southshore like that — her hand in mine, the mountain behind us, the lights of the village growing closer with every step. And for a little while, the world felt simple.