Hugo held her fingers again and pulled gently. And her crossed arms and indignant pout came undone like loose knots. “So, Miss Charming,” he said, “what went wrong?”

  Hildebrand pulled her hand back again, but only when Hugo released her fingers. She took a deep breath to calm her beating heart. This time, she held her knees with outstretched hands. Her stiff elbows trembled like tense bowstrings. “It’s a long story,” she said.

  Hugo smiled and parted his lips. “I—”

  “So, I’ll try to keep it short,” Hildebrand interjected.

  She gave him the short version of what happened. And while Hildebrand rambled on and on, waving her hands and shaking fists in the air, Hugo poked at his can of food.

  When she finally finished, Hugo opened his mouth mid-chew, ready to give his review. He stared at Hildebrand staring back at him and shut his mouth. And swallowed his food.

  She had trained him out of that habit, so the nobility couldn’t make a fool out of the Hero. But they always invented things to criticize him for. It was only when scorn weighed heavy on Hugo’s eyelids that those fools minded their loose tongues.

  It was funny to Hildebrand in hindsight. She had spent so much time criticizing him and lecturing him over things he never cared about, so he would look presentable to pretentious fools. None of it mattered in the end.

  Hugo wiped his mouth with his thumb, pulling it across from the corner of his mouth all the way to the other cheek.

  Rough around the edges, she silently observed. And he still didn’t care for decorum. Even now. Was this the man she dreamed of?

  Hildebrand put her thumb to his lips, and she wiped it too, brushing the corner of his mouth. She had personally never cared much for decorum either. But she cared too much about the wrong things.

  Hugo cracked a toothy grin. So toothy, it showed gum. His fingers traced where Hildebrand had touched his lips, masking his mouth with his hand. Like a boy awkwardly trying to hide his giddy excitement. “What would I do without you?” he said.

  “…You’d be just fine,” she said, smiling back. “Hold on. You still have something on your face.” She licked her thumb and pressed it onto his cheek.

  Hugo stiffened up and lowered his hand while Hildebrand wiped away the dry streak of gravy. Only to cover his mouth again once she had finished. But it only drew Hildebrand’s gaze closer. The paradox of a bashful man.

  “Umm,” he murmured, averting his eyes. “So, you told your minion to kill Bridgette?”

  “No!” Hildebrand said, smacking her knees. “It was a misunderstanding!”

  “Huh…” he murmured. The expression, muffled by his fingers, screamed of disbelief. “I believe you,” he said.

  It was a lie, but she believed him, too.

  “She was always too tightly wound,” he said. “I won a duel against her and she started crying.”

  “She’s a maniac. Just crazy…” Hildebrand said. “You didn’t hurt her too badly, right?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t touch a hair,” he said.

  “Just crazy,” Hildebrand repeated. “Unbelievable,” she added. “Utterly ridiculous,” she said, adding one last thing.

  “Hahaha!” He burst into laughter, finally letting go of his face. “She did have a few bruises after,” he said. “But nothing worth crying over.”

  “…O-of course,” Hildebrand agreed. “Why did you even duel her?”

  “I caught her eating something off the ground,” he said.

  “Oh,” Hildebrand murmured. She did her best not to react.

  “I’m positive it was animal droppings,” Hugo said. He turned his hand over. “Poop,” he said, gesturing to emphasize the fact. As if “animal droppings" wasn’t clear enough.

  Hildebrand couldn’t hold it in. She sneered in disgust. She had eaten trash before, during her most desperate years, but never waste.

  “It was poop,” Hugo repeated. This time gesturing with both hands, brows furrowing.

  And this time Hildebrand chuckled awkwardly, not because she found it humorous, but because it was absurd.

  “She challenged me after that. If she won, I’d forget about it and never talk to her again.”

  “And if you won?” Hildebrand asked.

  “I wasn’t planning on talking to her either way,” he said.

  “But she started crying…” Hildebrand said, shaking her head.

  He nodded.

  She understood why Bridgette might have cried in that situation. But that didn’t make the girl any less insane. Hildebrand covered her mouth as if hiding a look of judgmental pity and pulled down on her cheeks. Nor did it make the girl any less amusing.

  “I felt bad,” Hugo said, “so I treated her to dinner in the town.”

  “You took her on a date?” Hildebrand asked. She couldn’t hide the sudden annoyance in her voice. She told herself, This sounds exactly like my plan for Dolph. It was a convincing sign this was just a dream. But it didn’t quell her jealousy.

  Hugo’s brows jumped, and he blinked rapidly. “A what?” he asked.

  “A romantic outing,” she explained. “That’s called a date.”

  Hugo squeezed his chin as he stroked a beard that was long gone. “No,” Hugo said, shaking his head, narrowing his eyes. “I’m certain that’s not called a date.”

  “It is,” she said. She placed a hand on her chest. “Trust me.”

  He raised a brow at her. “That,” he said, pointing, “I’m not sure I believe. And it wasn’t romantic. So, it wasn’t a date.”

  “Not even a little romantic?”

  “No. Just cordial,” he said. “Making friends.”

  Hildebrand rolled her eyes with a grumble. “I don’t remember seeing all this in your memories,” she said.

  Hugo’s mouth hung gently. “Ah,” he said. But his face said, “Ah, not this again.”

  I know that’s what you’re thinking! Hildebrand thought, reading Hugo’s face.

  “You were hiding that from me,” she said with a pout.

  He ran his hand over the back of his head. The gentle rustle of his hand brushing over his new haircut was strangely soothing. Soothing enough for Hildebrand to relax her lips.

  “I told you, they’re not memories exactly,” Hugo said.

  “Well,” she said, resting her eyes. “I’m sure you have your reasons.” Only to side-eye Hugo with suspicion.

  “We were just friends,” he said. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “What?” Hildebrand asked.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  She hummed with suspicion, but let it go and moved on. “Do you know why she joined that death cult?” Hildebrand asked.

  “No,” Hugo said. “A death cult? Are we still talking about Bridgette Eisenbarth?”

  “That’s what the newspapers said. You read it too. I remember,” Hildebrand said.

  “She wasn’t in a cult,” Hugo said. “No cult could stand her for even a day. They’d kick her out right away.”

  Hildebrand quickly placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, but one hand wasn’t enough. She burst out into laughter, guffawing like a donkey. She pointed at Hugo accusingly. “You’re a terrible friend!” she said.

  “It’s true!” he said, chuckling. “She’d annoy the shit out of them.”

  “Hey…” Hildebrand said, pointing again. “Language.”

  He put his hand up with a huff from his nose. Hugo’s way of saying “Roger.”

  “Then why do you think she monsterized?” Hildebrand asked.

  He pinched his chin in place of his beard. “Hmm. She was having problems with her sister.”

  “Sister? Who?” Hildebrand already had a clue.

  “Ashlynn Eisenbarth,” Hugo said.

  As Hildebrand feared, it was Princess Alma’s lone friend whom the rampaging Bridgette murdered. She was making a name for herself too, as one of the most talented of the 2nd year students. Had she not died, Hildebrand would have been happy to recruit her.

  She hardly knew Ashlynn, but her death was the foundation for Hildebrand’s relationship with Princess Alma. Her blood paid for the Apollyan Empire’s silent sanction of the Saintess’s crusade.

  Hildebrand felt a dull pain, a small tightness in her chest. She hardly knew either of the sisters. And it wasn’t her fault they ended up that way, but their misfortune had paved the road for the success of her misdeeds. It was a tangled web of fates, but Hildebrand could see the threads that tied the sisters to her. That was why that dull pain, that tightness in her chest, was so familiar. It was guilt.

  “They were on bad terms,” Hugo said, with a slowing cadence and a soft grumble.

  “You couldn’t… save them?” Hildebrand asked.

  He turned his head away from Hildebrand, lowering it towards the ground. But she caught his sideways glance. It was filled with indignation, but there was a tinge of resentment, too.

  “No,” Hugo said. “I couldn’t.”

  Hildebrand flinched. She didn’t mean to judge him. “I mean—” she said, struggling to find the right words. “They were—” she muttered. “It was…”

  “It was just an ill-fated relationship,” Hugo said.

  He turned his eyes back to Hildebrand.

  “One of many,” he said.

  Dwelling on them, Hildebrand realized the shadows cast deep within his eyes hadn’t lifted even once. Even if light scattered across the surface, there was a dull darkness in them, reminiscent of a corpse’s eyes. Reminiscent of an image burned into Hildebrand’s mind. The kind of memory that made her think, It would have been better if I forgot. If she didn’t remember a thing about the man in front of her.

  Hildebrand shut her eyes tight and turned away. “Ugh,” she quietly groaned.

  “Are you ok?” he asked.

  When his hand reached to comfort her, Hildebrand spurned it, blocking it with her own. It was still cold. Colder than her own icy skin. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just… It’s frustrating. You know.”

  He pulled back and rested his chin on his knuckles. “I know. Some things aren’t meant to be,” he said. “…So, don’t worry about saving Bridgette.”

  She turned back to him, only to find she couldn’t face him. So her uneasy eyes rested on the collar of his coat, looking for one of the familiar ornaments it wore. Those little pins were the insignia of the Hero. But she found nothing on the folded collar. Maybe, hopefully, it was just hidden, folded over on. She looked away, closing her eyes, before she could find out.

  “Let the instructors deal with Bridgette once she turns,” Hugo continued. “Or let your friend deal with her. The strong one.”

  Hildebrand took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m not dealing with that maniac,” she said.

  “I thought you were friends,” he said. “Isn’t she the minion you were talking about?”

  “No. I would never be friends with a bloodthirsty killer like Cynthia,” Hildebrand said.

  There was an accusing silence from Hugo. Like loud, derisive laughter pointing out her hypocrisy.

  “Not her,” Hugo finally said. “She was just a freak.”

  Hildebrand tilted her head at Hugo’s curious assessment of Cynthia. He was more judgmental than Hildebrand remembered. Not that she disagreed. But she wondered how much of that judgment was aimed at her. Not that she could disagree with it.

  Hugo gestured to his hair, brushing the tips of his haircut with his palm. “The one with the short hair,” he said. “Runs off a lot.”

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  “Erika?” Hildebrand asked. No, Hildebrand thought. That couldn’t be.

  Hugo shrugged. He didn’t know her well. Neither did Hildebrand, really. Erika was just a background character in Hildebrand’s life. Someone whose yammering turned into noise, something to turn a deaf ear to. Even now, Hildebrand knew nothing about Erika, other than that she was unreliable. Untrustworthy.

  Hugo interlocked his fingers together and rested his chin on them. “This minion of yours,” he said, interrupting Hildebrand’s contemplation. “Is it Erika?”

  “Oh, no,” Hildebrand said.

  He inhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes to a suspicious squint. “Is it a man?”

  “Y-yes,” Hildebrand admitted. If she hadn’t been on edge, she might not have answered so openly.

  He hummed with disapproval.

  “It’s nothing personal,” Hildebrand said. “Just business.” She rubbed the back of her hand. “I pay him.”

  “Hmmmm.” Hugo’s low, disapproving hum grew longer. More playful.

  “I don’t have my powers,” Hildebrand said. She felt the need to defend herself, even if she could only muster a meager justification. “I need someone on my side…”

  Hugo chuckled. “That’s true,” he said. “That’s a good point.”

  Hildebrand’s gaze turned down to her hands. His open endorsement surprised her.

  “Did you think I was upset?” he asked.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “Do you take me for the jealous sort?”

  “Haha…” Hildebrand pulled on her hair. “No. I guess not.”

  “Well, I am,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  “Aren—” He paused, closing his mouth. She wondered what his question was. “Is he trustworthy?” Hugo asked.

  She nodded.

  “Is he strong?” Hugo asked.

  “Of course,” Hildebrand said.

  Hugo hummed again, more quietly this time. “That’s good.”

  “But I won’t need him soon enough,” she said. Hildebrand presented him with an offering of appeasement. For what, she wasn’t sure. To abate the jealousy of the man who sat smiling, all too happy for her? “I’m stronger now. I’m a capable swordswoman,” she lied.

  “…Don’t fight Bridgette,” he said. “I know you’re thinking about it.”

  “I’m not,” she said. She really wasn’t.

  He raised a brow at her, this time overtly showing his disbelief.

  “I-I’m not!” she said.

  “When Bridgette became a Mara, she even gave me trouble,” he said. “She was at least as strong as a proper knight.”

  “…” That didn’t sound so impressive to Hildebrand. At the height of the war against the hordes of the World’s End, knights seemed to be as common as gnats, and were just as short-lived.

  “You’re underestimating knights,” he said, like he was reading her mind. “They’re not just soldiers who are a little more skilled with the sword. They’re expert swordsmen and mages. Watching a knight fight isn’t the same as fighting one. Things look slower when you’re watching from afar. It’s different when you’re the one in combat.”

  “I know that,” she said.

  The corner of his lips pulled back into a disbelieving sneer. “Hildebrand,” he said. “Have you ever fought a knight?”

  “I-I fought you!”

  His face went blank, and his eyes widened a bit with a small epiphany. “Right,” he said, putting his hand to his mouth. “That’s true. That’s a good point…” he muttered. “But you had a god’s power.” His eyes rolled once to complete his thought. “More than usual,” he added.

  “And you were stronger than any knight. Far stronger…” she retorted.

  “That’s true too,” he said. “But I cheated.”

  “Huh?”

  “I used a lot of things I shouldn’t have, had equipment others could only dream of. I learned from the best of the best. And I didn’t always play fair either.” He sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t you remember when we first met?” he asked. “I was just… a little…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “When we first met, you were already a giant!” Hildebrand said.

  He chuckled quietly. “Right, right. I’m not that tall, but, right. I forgot,” he said. He waved his hand, dismissing the tangent.

  “Without all the advantages I had,” he said, “I’d probably only win against the average knight every seven out of ten fights.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his incredible odds.

  “Hold on. Every six,” he said. “And a half,” he added, putting up seven fingers.

  “Six-and-a-half?” Hildebrand asked, perplexed by the half-win.

  He sighed long and deep, exhausting his lungs. “Ok,” he said, putting up eight fingers. “I’d win every eight out of ten fights.” He grunted quietly. “Heavens forbid a man be humble,” he muttered.

  This time, she sneered in disbelief. At no point did he say anything to dispel the notion he was far stronger than the average knight. If anything, he had reinforced it.

  He grumbled with frustration and nearly leaped to his feet. There was a conveniently sword-shaped stick sitting next to the campfire. It was thick and sturdy. And although it was shorter than some others, it still looked like it would hurt to taking a beating from it.

  It seemed he collected only the best sticks to fuel the fire. He always seemed like the type to have strange hobbies. If only fighting didn't consume his life.

  “What are you doing?” Hildebrand asked, playing with her fingers.

  He pointed it at her neck. And she gasped loudly. She touched the end of the makeshift sword, as if it had a sharp point.

  He wagged it at her. “Take it,” he said flatly. “I’ll show you what a knight is like.”

  Hildebrand reached her hand out, but her fingers curled back. She remembered Hugo’s modern sensibilities. Very equitable, as she had once put it. It meant he wasn’t above fighting women like many knights were. And he didn’t hold back unless it was necessary.

  But all was fair in war. She grasped the stick. “Fine,” she said. “And I’ll show you I haven’t been just sitting on my butt this entire time.”

  Hugo wielded a similar stick and held it in front of him, tapping it against Hildebrand’s stick. It looked longer, with greater reach.

  “Can we trade?” Hildebrand asked.

  “No,” he said. “You’re lighter than me. And shorter.”

  She furrowed her brows. “So?”

  “It’ll be easier for you to balance with that,” he said, gesturing to her stick. “The heavier and longer your sword is, the harder it’ll be to control your balance.”

  “But you used a giant sword in your last life,” she said.

  “Yes… But… I was using magic to balance myself,” he said, speaking hurriedly. “Let’s just use what we’re holding for now.”

  “Ok…” she grumbled.

  His stance and demeanor were much like Hugo Rosenthal’s, surprisingly. That means I have a chance, she thought. She could plainly see Hugo Rosenthal’s movements when he sparred, even against Roy. But she thought wrong.

  Hugo stepped forward and vanished from sight, only to appear just off to her side. His makeshift sword hovered above her shoulder.

  “I-I wasn’t ready,” she said.

  He stepped back without a word. He waited patiently, but his expression grew darker, grimmer. Those shadowed green eyes pierced Hildebrand like daggers.

  She tensed up, gathering her strength and gripping her weapon tighter. She huffed, her chest and shoulders heaving at first, but the rhythm of her breathing grew steady. It wasn’t something she learned from her spar with Bridgette, or from practicing with Dolph. It came unnaturally.

  She had felt the same sensation when she had sparred with Bridgette and Dolph, but it was stronger now in her dream. The familiar sensation of wielding a blade. It was stronger now that her eyes were fixed on Hugo’s, and his on hers.

  She struck first, lunging so far forward, she nearly leaped from her feet and landed with a thrust. She understood his warning about balance. Hugo’s eyes widened as he parried her thrust, pushing her back onto her feet. But his fierce expression undercut the kind gesture. His brows creased and his nose flared and his lips pulled back, like a beast baring its violent nature. A word bubbled up her throat, but she bit down and grit her teeth, swallowing it back down with a gulp. But it didn’t go away. Instead, it dwelled on her mind, repeating itself like a chant. Maybe if she had released it, uttered it, it would vanish into Hugo’s ears, and stop him.

  Scary.

  Hildebrand pressed the attack again, striking faster and faster. Even though she was on the offensive, the hairs on the back of her neck stood ever straighter. Like stinging, cold pins. The dull thuds of the sticks beating together began to resemble the clanging and ringing of metal. Her breathing quickened and her senses grew sharper.

  But so did her fear. It kept her eyes wide open and kept her numb arms swinging. Like she was possessed.

  She knew better than to gaze so deeply into Hugo’s eyes. She had to keep track of his feet and his arms and the twist of his waist. There were so many things she had to be aware of. To think about. But she didn’t have to think about them. Her vision bloomed and she could see everything she needed to, just from the periphery of her vision. Hildebrand fixated on what was truly important, Hugo’s burning gaze. And she returned fire with a sharp glare of her own.

  Finally, Hugo broke his own defense, and pressed forward with all his mighty stature. Hildebrand thrust her sword forward, trying to stop his wild swings short, but each clash returned physical sensations back to her numb hands. All pain. But she didn’t let up. If she did, she would die.

  Why? she wondered. Why did she think that?

  Her focus broke, and her eyes blurred. The black sky swirled around everything she saw, like tendrils invading her eyes. They took hold of her mind and a strange sensation clouded her thinking. Darkness veiled everything except Hugo. And yet, she became more aware of the world than ever. She backed up, stepping over the large stone that had been behind her, narrowly avoiding Hugo’s thrust.

  His attacks became faster, stronger, and more precise. Each attack was beyond Hildebrand’s ability to fend off, but she found the needed strength from an unknown source. From some unknown benefactor. But it didn’t make it any less agonizing. When Hildebrand saw Hugo’s face contorting with anger and grief, and frustration, she knew it was just as agonizing for him.

  That agony was intimately familiar to her, yet just as foreign. There were traces of nostalgia. And regret.

  Hildebrand had felt something similar when she faced Hugo in Kesselberg while gripping Altamea’s Fire tight. But she had averted her eyes and blinded herself with manic tears then. She wanted to do the same now, but she couldn’t. A cold fear gripped her arms and held them out. It guided her hands to keep her sword pointed at her enemy. And it whispered fearful seduction into her ear. “He’ll kill you,” it said.

  She shut her eyes and lowered her sword. Would it please him to do so? Would it make you happy? she wondered. To strike her down. He surely had cause to do so. There was anger on his face, written in the wrinkles of his ferocious countenance. But could she let him do it?

  Hildebrand opened her eyes and saw Hugo. Just a glimpse. She swung upward, parrying Hugo’s thrust. His narrowly deflected attack hit the air near her ear with a whoosh. And when he pulled his sword up, preparing to swing down, Hildebrand stepped in, her hands twisting and her sword swinging above her head from the other side. It connected.

  Her mouth hung quietly open. She looked up to find her stick pressing into Hugo’s neck. She found him, still holding his arm up. He had hesitated. That hesitation earned him a blow to the side of his neck from the dull stick. When Hildebrand dropped her would-be sword, blood trickled from Hugo’s neck. It was an old wound, reopened.

  His eyes were wider than she’d ever seen before. And he released a captive breath. It was almost hot enough to burn her face and chest; it was like ash. And it destroyed what little nerve she had to stay standing.

  She fell back onto her butt.

  She stared up at Hugo, who looked down with a grimace melting into melancholy.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean—"

  “It was a good move,” he said. “You made the right call.”

  It dawned on her that he hadn’t hesitated. He had already made up his mind. He had stopped his attack.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  Hugo held his hand out to her, but she hesitated to accept it. So he reached down further, grazing her fingers. She pinched his fingers gently, still unsure.

  He seized the opportunity to take her hand in his, but rather than pull her up, he plopped down beside her, still holding onto her.

  Hugo rubbed his eyes vigorously, almost using Hildebrand’s hand as a handkerchief. And then rapidly blinked away any evidence they were ever wet. But Hildebrand could still see them glisten in the campfire's light.

  He released her hand, returning it to her after wiping away his unshed tears and her pensive shyness.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he said, a small smirk breaking up his grim visage. “You must have trained hard. That was amazing.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t really. It was just beginner’s luck,” she said. For once, her hair fell into her eyes. She lifted her hand, but didn’t get a chance to brush her hair back. Hugo’s fingers brushed her bangs out of her eyes and pushed her hair behind her ear.

  He smiled. He smiled mischievously. Contagiously.

  Then he poked her forehead, pressing his finger on it. “Yeah,” he said. “I wouldn’t go fighting any knights just yet. I went easy on you.”

  She jabbed him in the ribs. “Sure you did!” she said, trusting that he did. Knowing he did.

  He groaned as he rubbed his side, then chuckled. “I’m serious,” he said. “I attacked a little harder than I intended to, but it was still at the level of a knight in training at best. A uh—”

  “A squire,” Hildebrand said.

  He pointed. “Correct.”

  Hildebrand giggled, pulling his pointing hand down. “You didn’t have a clue what that was called,” she said.

  “I was testing you,” he said. “Just making sure you’re not slacking off at the academy.”

  She slapped his shoulder, a little too hard in her excitement. “Hahaha! You know I was the top student of our graduating class, right?”

  “It wasn’t Anya?”

  She narrowed her eyes and slapped his shoulder again. A little softer.

  “Ow,” Hugo said, rubbing his shoulder.

  “We tied,” she grumbled.

  “How is Anya?” he asked. “And Greg?”

  Hildebrand grimaced.

  “What does—” He mimicked her grimace. “—mean?”

  “Anya’s… Fine. I think,” she said. “But Greg’s a sad sack.”

  “That’s normal,” Hugo said.

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I had to pull him out of his shell,” he said. “Like cracking open an oyster.” He slammed his fist into his palm.

  “And here I thought he was a suave lady’s man,” Hildebrand said.

  “He was,” Hugo said. “Accidentally. The ladies love tortured souls.”

  “I think he’s a little lonely,” she said.

  “Then why don’t you be his friend?” Hugo suggested.

  Hildebrand pressed her lips flat. The hesitation was obvious.

  “Just let him be,” Hugo said, turning his head off into the darkness. “He’ll be fine. Nothing wrong with being a little lonely.”

  “The Old Man always said, it’s not good to be alone,” Hildebrand said. “You know.”

  Hugo let out a quiet “Hah,” and he pulled a knee close, resting his arm on it.

  Hildebrand flinched, realizing whose name she had just invoked.

  “Rinaldo wasn’t always right,” Hugo said listlessly. He turned away from her once again. “You get used to being alone,” he answered.

  His innocent reply weighed heavily on Hildebrand. It accused her of her sins, even if he didn’t. Of being the murderer who stole the lives of people important to Hugo. And to herself. Of leaving a broken world for him to fix. Filled with broken lives.

  Maybe he had turned away from her to hide his contempt from her. That fear crossed her mind.

  But she still mustered the gall to face him so she could refute his answer. She leaned in and grabbed his shirt, tugging on him to make him face her. “That doesn’t mean it’s good,” she said. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Hugo turned to her. And he went quiet, even holding his breath. He gazed at Hildebrand, and she gazed back.

  She hadn’t realized how closely their faces had drawn together. How closely they had been sitting when she pulled him too hard. Hugo’s long eyelashes filled her vision; they seemed like they might become entangled with hers. They were one of his charming points, even though they veiled his eyes, not unlike his hair when overgrown. And his lips were just a shaved whisker’s length away from hers. Hildebrand could see glints from the crackling fire dancing in Hugo’s emerald eyes. They were lighter now. They were just as she remembered, like the pleasant green below the gentle beach tide, like the bottom of the fountain, where the lights danced. They really were lying, she told herself, about the hazy faces in dreams.

  Yet, such a moment could only happen in a dream.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone,” she whispered.

  His green eyes went dark as they shifted away from her. And he pulled away from her. It was too good to be true, even in a dream.

  Hildebrand eyed him as he returned to the log bench to poke at his canned beef. It echoed with the noisy ping of metal hitting metal. Empty. Eventually, he stopped even that, letting silence settle on the campsite.

  But Hildebrand couldn’t take it. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she said. She laughed nervously. “I must have been out of my mind.” Of all people, she was the one person who should have left him alone.

  He didn’t turn to her, and he didn’t lift his eyes, but she could tell he was looking at her through the fringes of hair that covered his eyes again. It was a sixth sense she’d gained.

  She took it as an invitation to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she said once more. “For holding onto you like this.” For holding onto sweet memories.

  She stood. She could feel the dream ending. She had been so tired since their spar ended. It had lasted an eternity, even if it was over in a flash. She was exhausted. Her eyelids drooped like heavy curtains and her vision blurred. Her eyes ached every time she shut them tight. It was time to go. Time to wake up from a wonderful dream. She gave Hugo a smile.

  He was her guiltiest pleasure. The one person she wished to forget, and to be forgotten by. More than any other. If there could be no other.

  Hildebrand hoped when she woke up, she wouldn’t remember a thing. That she might forget all about her troubles and all her sins. And all those intimate moments. All those memories, bitter and sweet. And that he might forget them, too.

  “It was good to see you,” she said, speaking to him for the last time. She turned away from him, facing the starless night surrounding them. Even the dim campfire’s light had been so bright it had blinded her. She could see nothing in the dark now, where she once saw the world. All that stood before her now was an endless void. Something to ease her tired eyes. And her weary conscience.

  She spoke to herself. “Let this be the last time…”

  She felt a steady hand take hers. It pulled her in. It pulled her into Hugo’s arms. Arms that turned her backed towards the low light of the campfire. Arms that wrapped around her waist and pulled their bodies close.

  “Until we meet again,” he said. A mischievous little smile crept onto his face. “Miss Saintess,” he said.

  She couldn’t help but smile back as she leaned into him. Her eyelids lowered slowly. Just slow enough for her eyes to catch a glimpse of Rinaldo’s pin glinting underneath the folded collar of Hugo’s coat.

  “Don’t you mean Little Miss Saintess?” she asked.

  He laid his chin atop her head and rubbed in the prickly fuzz that had once been his beard. She hadn’t done a very good job. “Haha,” he laughed. “Until we meet again, Little Miss Saintess.”

  “It’s a promise,” she said, holding him. “My Hero,” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” he said. He pulled her closer, his patchwork coat warding away the chill of the night sky. His body, warm again, a comfortable place to lay her head. “It’s a date,” he said. “Sweet dreams.”