Riya had lost track of how long she'd been walking.
The farther she moved from the school, the thinner the sounds became, as though the world were being gently erased behind her. Her steps felt too loud even when she slowed, even when she placed her heel carefully before shifting her weight. Every few seconds, she caught herself holding her breath, waiting for something to react—to notice her.
Nothing did.
That somehow made it worse.
She shouldn't be here.
The thought surfaced again and again, useless and insistent. Her chest ached with it—tight, sharp—as if her body understood the mistake before her mind could justify it. Every time she blinked, she saw the letter. The words blurred into the memory of her own hand swinging forward.
The slap hadn't hurt him the most.
It was the hesitation afterward.
The way he had looked at her. The image of Merlin in Riya's mind was already slipping away.
The wind shifted suddenly.
It came heavier, carrying dust, brittle yellow grass, and cold flecks of water from the river. Riya raised her arm to shield her eyes. For a brief, disorienting moment, everything felt unreal—her hair pulled loose by the wind, sunlight catching in it, her too-light frame standing against a force that didn't care whether she stayed upright or not.
She lowered her arm.
That was when she heard it.
A faint ringing. Low. Metallic. So brief she almost dismissed it as imagination.
Riya turned toward a cluster of junk near the riverbank—rusted metal, broken frames, things no one bothered to clean because no one bothered to come here.
Her pulse quickened.
Maybe it's nothing, she told herself.
Maybe it's exactly what I'm afraid of.
She moved anyway.
Each step tightened the knot in her chest. She hated how badly she wanted to find him—and how desperately she hoped she wouldn't. Turning back would have been easier. Smarter.
But her feet carried her forward, between two uneven piles of scrap.
At first, she saw only junk.
Then something wrong.
Fabric.
Folded too neatly. Too deliberately. A dull, muted color that didn't belong among rust and rot.
Riya stopped.
Recognition settled in like weight.
A tent.
It didn't belong here. The stakes were placed too carefully, the fabric too orderly, its muted tone standing out like a deliberate lie.
She reached out.
Her fingers trembled—from the wind, from anticipation, no... from something worse, something nameless. Every inch her hand moved felt stretched, distorted, as though time itself resisted her.
Did I find him?
She hoped she hadn't.
Her fingers brushed the fabric.
She trembled at the thought of Merlin's stare. Could she be able to look him in the eyes? she asked herself. I'm not ready for this, she said inwardly.
"Hands off."
The voice came from behind her.
Riya's breath caught. Her body froze without permission, every muscle locking at once.
She turned slowly.
Merlin stood a few steps away.
For a moment, her mind refused to accept it. She had imagined this too many times—angry, distant, gone, and none of those versions matched the boy in front of her now.
Sunlight caught in his hair, pulling a crimson tint from black strands she'd never noticed before. His features were sharp in the way his father's were, but unfinished—like something still becoming.
And his eyes—
She looked away before she could linger.
"What are you looking at?" Merlin asked.
"I—" Riya swallowed. "I don't think we can leave yet."
After all, what could two eight-year-olds even do? she thought.
Merlin blinked. "Leave?"
He paused, then shook his head faintly. "Who said anything about you leaving? I'm going alone."
His jaw tightened on the last word.
"But you can't just—"
"Don't you have other people to worry about?" he cut in.
She flinched.
"Don't get caught up in foolish assumptions," Merlin said, turning away. You'd probably get hurt.
"They're not foolish," Riya said quietly. "I didn't run all the way here for something foolish."
Merlin turned sharply. "You did what?"
Urgency snapped into his expression. "What have you done?"
"I left school," Riya said. "I came after you."
Merlin went still.
"They'll be searching," he said at once. "By now, they'll be searching."
The weight of his words sank into her chest. The danger she had ignored. The hesitation she had buried.
Merlin grabbed her wrist.
"There's no turning back now."
Her eyes burned.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You don't have to do this. I'll only slow you down. You can leave me here."
His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to stop her.
"It's not your fault," Merlin said through clenched teeth. "My father's been pressuring you for a long time. He's right. I only bring trouble."
"That's not true," Riya said, her voice shaking.
She twisted his wrist, forcing him to face her. Merlin stumbled half a step, caught off guard.
Riya looked up at him. Tears clung to her lashes, unfallen, her expression fierce despite the tremor in her hands.
"I won't let you talk about yourself like that."
Merlin looked away, jaw tight. He blinked hard—but it was too late.
Tears slipped free.
"It's true," he said, voice breaking. "I always rely on you. I never give you credit. And I cause you trouble—everywhere I go."
He lowered his head, fists clenched.
The world fell silent, save for the wind moving over the river.
Riya wiped her eyes and forced a weak smile. She stepped closer and pulled him into a small, careful hug.
"But I've always enjoyed your company," she whispered.
Merlin stiffened.
His eyes opened wide. He looked at the sky again but this time with no spitefulness.
He pulled back slightly, staring at her in surprise. The wind carried cold droplets through the air. Riya noticed the color rising in his cheeks.
She burst into laughter—sudden, breathless, a little unhinged.
Merlin froze, bewildered, unable to do anything but stare. He watched as all the pressure left his chest. His mind became clear, focused on one person alone. Riya.
For a moment, the danger ahead vanished.
And for the first time in a long while, Merlin let himself feel at ease.