Two days had passed since the day before’s realisation.

  The village continued to turn, and the comfort of how calm and easy everything felt in the town was unsettling.

  There were still no guards, or anyone remotely resembling authority patrolling.

  And the bell had not tolled since their day at the bath-house.

  Nikolai had exited the room to refill the bucket of water once again, and pick up fresh food supplies for the day. Leaving Maya alone with Amia and her silent partner.

  The confidence of ease and safety in the town felt fake, and Maya was certain that it would only be a matter of time — and she would be determined to make the most of it.

  Inside the room, the tension currently laid elsewhere.

  Maya laid in the bed, her eyes closed and thumb tracing around her fingers.

  She could not feel any pulses or inconsistencies in energy around her like she did before entering town. A part of her questioning herself if it was just a fluke, or if her mind was playing tricks on her.

  Across the room, Amia suddenly spoke.

  “Still not going to say anything?” directed at the woman standing by the window, her gaze unbroken from the gap in between the curtain and the glass panels that led to the outside.

  No answer.

  Amia took a step towards the centre of the room. The floorboard where she stepped made a creak.

  The silent companion finally turns her head to Amia.

  “Yes, I’m talking to you.” The agitation in her voice evident.

  Maya had stopped tracing her fingers.

  Amia threw the cloth that she was holding onto into the floor. Hard enough that it made a thwack.

  Confusion.

  Frustration.

  Amia paced aggressively towards the tall woman, closing the distance in five strides and stopped just short of her.

  Her hand shot forward, fisting into the centre of the halter.

  The resistance felt immovable — like bracing against a wall..

  Yet, it yielded.

  Surprise flickered across her face, gone as quickly as it came. She pulled harder, turning her weight with the motion, and the taller body followed.

  They hit the floor in a heavy shift of air.

  The woman did not raise a hand to guard herself. No protest. Only a sharp exhale as her back met the boards. Her hands braced behind her instead, absorbing the impact.

  Amia dropped with her, knees settling at her sides.

  Her palm pressed flat against her chest.

  For a moment, the strength beneath it resisted.

  Then, surrender.

  The elbows buckled, and her back struck the floor fully with a solid thud.

  “Just. Say something!” Amia spits through gritted teeth.

  Two sets of fingers wrap around Amia’s arm that was holding the woman down as she raises a hand behind her head.

  Not a fist. But a palm instead.

  The palm moves towards the face of the woman.

  “Amia!” Maya gasped as she stops the strike with her hand.

  “Will you not talk, even if the person you followed did this?” Amia aggressively asks as she tries to swing again.

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  Maya forces her entire body onto Amia, tackling her onto the ground.

  A tangle of body and limbs, as this time it was Maya’s above Amia’s. Their breaths clashed against one another as the feel of the light weight of breasts pushed onto the pair below it.

  Not in intimacy.

  But desperation.

  “Amia, what is wrong with you!?” she squeals.

  Amia looks up at the crimson haired face in front of her, amber eyes locked onto hers.

  She had her wrist on Maya’s lower neck, pushing back.

  “I—” Amia struggled to find the words to say.

  “I’ve had enough..” she struggled to get the sentence out of her chest. “I don’t know what to do.”

  She slowly pushed Maya out of her way as Maya collapses onto the ground, her legs still half laid on the torso of the woman below.

  Amia stands, hands on her head — hyperventilating.

  The sound of her breathing filled the room as it echoed against the wooden walls.

  “I don’t—” rapid breaths of inhales and exhales, “I just—”

  “I—”

  Amia’s breathing finally steadied.

  Her hands dropped from her head.

  The room felt too small.

  Too wooden.

  Too close.

  Maya slowly pushed herself upright from the floor. The imprint of the scuffle still visible in the shifted rug and scattered cloth.

  The tall woman had already risen.

  She stood near the wall now. Not retreating. Not advancing.

  Waiting.

  Amia didn’t look at her at first. She stared at the boards beneath her feet.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said again, softer this time. The anger gone, only the weight remained.

  No one answered immediately.

  Outside, a cart rolled past. Laughter drifted up from the street. The village continued as if nothing inside the room had just snapped.

  “She could have stopped me,” Amia said.

  “She tried,” Maya replied. “And yet, she didn’t.”

  Amia’s eyes flicked upward, briefly — toward the tall figure by the wall.

  Maya stood fully now.

  “You’re not angry that she won’t speak,” she says, “you’re angry that at some point, she can.”

  The silence held as realisation struck the both of them simultaneously.

  Maya’s eyes widen.

  “This entire time, it was never about your fear of losing control or authority once she can speak, is it?”

  Amia did not answer.

  She held her breath at the thought of the sentence that comes next.

  “You’re scared of losing the person that you once knew.”

  The quiet that followed was heavier than the scuffle in the room just now.

  The tall figure at the wall did not move.

  Did not look wounded.

  Did not look resentful.

  Amia walked parallel to the woman at the wall towards her chair.

  She buried her head in her hands as she sat down. Strands of white hair twisted around her fingers.

  She let out a big exhale as she blankly stared at the centre of the room.

  Maya was fixing her hair and rubbing her wrist where she had stopped the strike. Dress slightly creased.

  “I—” Amia stutters again.

  She looked to the opposite wall of where the taller woman stood.

  Her eyes closed, as her mind didn’t fully yet decide.

  Like she had been holding onto hot coal — she finally released.

  Her tense back slumped as for a short moment, she relaxed.

  “I grant you permission to speak.”

  The words did not echo.

  It was dry. Solid.

  No ceremony.

  It simply just settled in the room.

  A shift followed.

  Not loud. Nothing explosive.

  Just—

  Alignment.

  Almost like a lock turning into place.

  The woman’s first breath since Amia spoke the phrase sounded different.

  Heavier.

  Yet still steady, as always.

  Her voice, when it came, was lower than either of them had expected.

  “You are not weak for needing me.”

  A small smile crossed her lips as she finished her sentence.

  Reassuring.

  The words were not dramatic, and they were not accusing.

  They were certain.

  Amia’s expression did not change when she opened her eyes. Her head slowly rotated towards the tall figure that now speaks.

  It paced across the room towards her. Stopping shy just a couple of steps from her.

  Amia had to crook her neck up almost to its full extent as the looming figure began to tower over her.

  It got down on one knee and bowed its head, avoiding the gaze of Amia’s.

  And never in all her travels and hardships has Amia ever heard someone more sincere.

  “I am Artemis, Master. How may I serve?"