They didn’t talk.
Not really.
But they moved together now.
Not just near each other — **with** each other.
Jarrell walked where she walked.
A half-step back. Watching. Listening. Learning.
Selena didn’t lead him.
But she didn’t stop him either.
---
They passed through a clearing.
Mist curled around their ankles like a living thing.
Up ahead — movement.
Rell raised a hand.
She nodded.
They approached slow.
A group. Four people. Nomads by look — scar-torn leathers, bent staves, makeshift carts dragged behind them. One held a lantern lit with blue-green magic. It pulsed faintly with sigil-thread.
Selena stopped.
One of the nomads smiled. A woman. Elder. Peaceful.
The others followed behind her — cautious but non-threatening.
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"Travelers?" the woman asked softly.
Selena gave a tight nod.
One of the men — younger, curious — stepped forward.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, gently reaching for Selena’s arm to check a bandage.
He didn’t touch her.
He didn’t get the chance.
A **burst of raw Casting magic** exploded from her.
Lightning. No chant. No warning.
The man flew backward into a tree, smoke curling off his chestplate.
The elder gasped.
The group turned. Fled.
Didn’t wait for more.
Didn’t ask why.
---
Selena stood shaking.
Her staff out. Jaw clenched.
She didn’t apologize.
Didn’t explain.
Jarrell didn’t speak.
But he watched.
Watched how she didn’t lower her hand right away.
How her breath stayed ragged.
How her gaze stayed hollow.
**[THOUGHTS]**
That’s not a normal response...
Maybe there’s something deeper going on
to her not wanting to be touched.
He remembered that look.
Back home.
A girl on the train. Flinching when a stranger stood too close.
A waitress covering her wrist when someone spoke too loud.
He’d seen it.
Different worlds.
Same pain.
---
That night, they camped by a root-bent tree. Fire low.
Selena didn’t sleep.
Jarrell didn’t ask why.
Instead, he turned away from her.
And saw it again.
The **spirit**.
Not flickers this time — **form**.
Vague. Glowing. Humanoid but wrong. Too thin. Too sharp. Too still.
It hovered by the firelight. Watching him.
Its head tilted.
Eyes blank.
**[THOUGHTS]**
That thing again.
Getting clearer.
The spirit didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
But he felt it.
Something like warning. Or sadness. Or expectation.
He turned back toward Selena.
She was staring at the fire.
Not at the spirit.
Just her own thoughts.
**[SPEAKS] (softly)**
**“…No talk tonight.”**
He turned back.
The spirit was gone.
---
In the morning, Selena stood first.
She didn’t speak about the nomads.
He didn’t bring it up.
But they walked closer now.
Side by side.
Both of them listening.
Breathing like the trees.