The fire had burned down to embers by the time I found the words.
Elira sat across from me in her small room above the herbalist's shop in Southshore. A single candle between us. Her hands were wrapped around a mug that had gone cold an hour ago, and she hadn't taken her eyes off me since I started talking.
I told her everything. The emblem. Klaven's Tower. Seth following me through Hillsbrad. The document I carried into Ravenholdt's vault without knowing what it was. The moment I realised whose name was on it.
She didn't interrupt. Didn't look away. Just listened.
When I finished, the room was completely still. I could hear the waves against the harbour wall, muffled and distant.
"You should have told me," she said finally. Her voice was quiet, but not angry. Tired, maybe. Or just heavy.
"I know."
"You carried it for months. Through everything."
"I know."
She set the mug down and stared at the candle flame for a long time. I watched the shadows move across her face and wondered if this was the moment she finally stood up and walked out.
But she didn't.
"Do you remember what I told you?" she said. "About what Garret said. About why my father hesitated."
"Because they were just boys. Scared boys."
She nodded slowly. "He saw what he was about to do and couldn't live with it. That's what killed him. Not the Syndicate. Not the mission. The weight of his own choices." She looked up at me. "You didn't hesitate, Willers. You carried it anyway. Even when you didn't know what it was."
"I don't know what that says about me."
"It says you're still here." She reached across the table and took my hand. Her fingers were cold. "And so am I."
We sat like that for a while. The candle flickered. The harbour wind rattled the shutters.
"I don't know what comes next," I said.
"Neither do I."
"Ravenholdt is still my place. For now."
"I know."
"And you're still in Southshore. With a mortar and a pile of herbs and a dead father's legacy you're still trying to understand."
She almost smiled. "And a leather pouch I never asked for."
"That too."
She squeezed my hand. "We don't have to have it figured out tonight."
"No."
"But we choose each other anyway."
It wasn't a question. I answered anyway.
"Yes."
Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the first chill of autumn through the streets. Somewhere in the dark, a raven called out once and fell silent.
I thought about the farm boy who'd gotten hurt because I followed orders. About Corwin, dead in a ditch. About the weight of thirty years that had worn Ravenholdt down to tired men making tired choices.
And I thought about Elira's father, who had once sat in a room like this, probably with the same cold tea and the same impossible choice, and decided that some shadows were worth carrying if they meant someone else didn't have to.
I didn't have the answers. But I had this moment. This room. This hand in mine.
For now, that was enough.