The bandit disappeared in a blur of orange and black.

  Miri blinked once. Twice. She stared at the sky above her and let out a ragged breath. She turned towards the last remaining bandit—

  Correction.

  The last pieces of the bandit.

  Tony was having lunch. He looked up at her, muzzle red, as if to confirm she was still alive.

  Miri gave him a shaky thumbs up.

  * * *

  They didn’t speak for the first few minutes after the bodies stopped moving. The road felt too wide. Too open. Miri kept expecting one of them to sit up. To cough. To curse. To not be done.

  Tony paced once in a tight circle, tail lashing, then came back to Miri and pressed his head into her shoulder hard enough to nearly knock her sideways.

  “I’m fine,” she told him automatically.

  She wasn’t. Her ribs felt like they’d been rearranged. Her wrist ached from the weight of that boot. If Tony had been half a second slower—

  She swallowed.

  Tamsin retrieved her arrows and wiped them clean with slow, deliberate movements. When she straightened, the swelling along her cheekbone was already darkening into something impressive.

  “Camp,” Tamsin said. Not a question.

  They didn’t go far off the road.

  Just far enough that the bodies were out of sight. Not far enough that Miri couldn’t still picture them. Tony lay down heavily once they stopped, favoring his front leg just slightly and Miri immediately knelt beside him.

  “Let me see,” she murmured.

  The chain had burned through fur and skin in a shallow groove. Angry. Raw. But not deep.

  Her fault.

  If she hadn’t called it early. If she’d tracked numbers. If she’d kept her head.

  She pressed her palm to his furry leg.

  “Cleanse.”

  Warmth flowed from her palm into the scrape, controlled and steady. Not a flood — just enough. Dirt and grit vanished. The torn edges of skin smoothed faintly.

  Tony huffed once, but didn’t pull away. He trusted her.

  She ran her hand down his leg afterward, checking for swelling. “Still attached,” she muttered. “That’s ideal.” Her voice sounded normal. Almost cheerful.

  When she stood, her own ribs protested sharply. She sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it.

  Tamsin’s eyes flicked to her side. “You’re favoring.”

  “It’s actually called dignified limping,” Miri corrected as she moved carefully to sit next to the fire.

  “You made an undignified noise.”

  “That was tactical.”

  Tamsin’s mouth twitched. She sat down opposite Miri and pressed two fingers against her own jaw. Winced once. Testing the damage.

  They regarded each other. Neither of them bleeding. Neither of them broken.

  But it had been close. Close enough to still taste it. Close enough that Miri could still see the sky from the dirt. She’d felt the moment stretch thin and fragile. She’d almost left them with one less person in the formation.

  Miri shook her head, reached into her inventory and pulled out one of the healing charms Corven had insisted on.

  Small. Smooth. The rune etched clean and precise. Quality work.

  She rolled it between her fingers. It would take the edge off. Gentle warmth. No backlash. No hangover like the guild draughts.

  Tony and Tamsin both watched her. “We’re not dying,” Tamsin said.

  Miri sighed dramatically. “I could be more comfortable.”

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  “You will survive discomfort.”

  “I object on principle.” She didn’t need it, she just wanted something to undo the feeling in her chest. She stared at the charm another second… then tucked it away.

  “Fine. I’ll suffer heroically.”

  “That is not what is happening.”

  “Let me have this.”

  The fire crackled low and for a while, they simply sat. Miri's thoughts were like fireflies in her head, glowing with a memory and then disappearing into darkness. Then another and another. She couldn't focus on any of them long enough to do anything more than recognize them before they disappeared.

  Then Tamsin spoke. “We lost count.” There were other errors too, but Miri didn’t argue.

  “I thought we had them,” she admitted.

  “You assumed victory before the final commitment.”

  Miri winced. “I hate that you phrase it like that.”

  “It is accurate.”

  Miri leaned back carefully and stared up at the darkening sky. “They split us,” she said. “Tony was pulled too wide. I burned Veil early. You went after the guy with the chain.”

  “Yes,” Tamsin agreed.

  “Next time we track numbers,” Miri said. “Out loud if we have to.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I say ‘we’ve got them,’ you hit me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you say something other than ‘yes?’”

  Tamsin shrugged lightly.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  They didn’t talk more while the stew heated. The fire crackled. Tony lay stretched near it, one paw extended toward the warmth, tail flicking lazily despite the shallow cut at his foreleg.

  Miri sat cross-legged with her sword across her knees.

  Killed a man.

  She knew she had messed up earlier. Not just losing count, but her timing was off, her head scattered like leaves in the wind. She was nursing a bruised ego, but at least she’d survived. Would survive.

  Killed a man.

  Miri raised a hand above the sword. “Cleanse.”

  Warmth rolled over steel. Blood thinned, vanished. The faint grit of the road disappeared. Even the oil smudges dissolved until the blade gleamed in the firelight.

  Perfect.

  Untouched.

  As if it had never been used.

  She stared at the sword, but she couldn’t Cleanse the memory.

  Killed a man.

  Her thumb traced the flat of the blade, careful of the edge.

  They had been bandits, bad guys. And they moved first, so it was defense. They would have killed them. She knew that. But still. Maybe if she had something different she wouldn't have—

  Killed a man.

  But even though she knew she had no choice, that didn’t stop her from seeing their faces. The widening of eyes. The sound a human body makes when it hits the ground. The smell of human blood.

  Across the fire, Tamsin didn’t look at her when she spoke. “You’re staring at it like it insulted you.”

  Miri didn’t look away from the blade. “It did.”

  A small snort. “Steel rarely apologizes.”

  Miri exhaled through her nose. There was a stretch of silence before she said, quieter, “I didn’t expect it to feel like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Close.” Her jaw tightened. “Monsters are loud. Obvious. They’re teeth and claws. These were just… men.”

  Tamsin didn’t answer immediately. She stirred the pot once, twice. “They were men,” she agreed. “Men who chose a trade road and six-to-three odds.”

  “That’s not the part I’m stuck on.”

  “I know.” The stew began to bubble.

  Miri flexed her fingers against the hilt. “I keep replaying the moment before I cut him. Like maybe there was a different version where I don’t.”

  Tamsin looked at her directly now. “There wasn’t.”

  Miri’s throat worked. “You’re not bothered at all?” she asked, sharper than she intended.

  How do you not feel it like acid burning your throat?

  Tamsin didn’t bristle. Didn’t deflect. She poked the stew once, then set the spoon aside. “I am,” she said.

  Miri blinked.

  “I am bothered that we were sloppy,” Tamsin continued. “I am bothered that you hit the ground. I am bothered that Tony was chained.”

  That wasn’t what Miri meant. But it wasn’t nothing.

  “You don’t ever…” Miri hesitated. The words felt childish now. “…think about them?”

  Tamsin’s gaze shifted toward the dark tree line instead of the fire. “I remember the first one,” she said after a moment.

  Miri stilled. Waited.

  Tamsin didn’t elaborate. Just let that sit there between them. “I don’t enjoy it,” she added quietly. “But I do not let it decide whether I fight next time.”

  Miri absorbed that as the silence stretched.

  Tamsin wasn’t untouched. She was… contained.

  Across the fire, Tamsin met her eyes again. “We were clean until we weren’t,” Tamsin continued. “That’s what stays with me.” There wasn’t really anything left to say after that.

  The stew was ready anyway. They ate from the same pot. It was thick and salty and grounding. Tony nudged Miri’s elbow until she surrendered a piece of meat.

  “You already ate,” she muttered. He blinked at her. “Fine. Emotional support meat.”

  Tamsin’s mouth twitched.

  After a while, Miri said, “I don’t want this to turn me into someone I don’t recognize.”

  “It won’t,” Tamsin said simply.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.” A beat. “You used Cleanse a dozen times and you’re still cleaning the blade.”

  Miri glanced down at the shining steel. “…Yeah.”

  They let the fire burn low after that.

  No speeches.

  No moral conclusions.

  Just the quiet understanding that something had changed—and something else hadn’t.

  [ Congratulations. You have reached Level 6. ]