Chapter 12: Names and Other Dangerous Things & Chapter 12.5: A Small Weight

The fire pops and hisses.

A log crumbles into bright shards of coal.

I sit there, nursing the awful drink, trying to decide whether to slip away —

when the girl from the card table drops into the seat across from me.

No invitation. No hesitation.

Just a crooked smile and a bruised kind of brightness.

"You're new," she says.

I shrug. "Maybe."

She snorts. "Maybe's a coward's answer."

I can't help it — a breath of a laugh escapes me.

"Alright, then," I say. "Yes. I'm new."

She leans back, balancing her chair on two legs.

Risky. Reckless.

"Name?" she asks.

I tense without meaning to.

Names are dangerous things in Stonefold.

Names get you cursed. Owned. Killed.

But she's watching me with the kind of open patience that doesn't demand anything in return.

"...Don't have one," I lie.

Her eyes narrow.

Not suspicious — thoughtful.

"Everyone's got a name," she says. "Even if they forgot it."

She leans forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Tell you what. Until you remember yours, I'll lend you one."

Before I can protest, she taps the battered table between us.

"I'll call you *Ash*. 'Cause you look like you survived a fire you weren't supposed to."

Ash.

The word lodges somewhere under my ribs.

Not a weapon. Not a thread.

Something almost human.

---

"What's yours?" I ask, before I can think better of it.

She grins.

A real, wide grin that splits her face like sunlight cracking storm clouds.

"Call me Wren."

A bird's name.

Small. Fast. Loud when it matters.

Fits her.

---

For a while, we just sit.

Not talking much.

Not needing to.

The music picks up again, a lopsided waltz full of missed notes and stubborn joy.

Someone claps in time.

Someone else sings off-key.

Wren drums her fingers against the table, mouthing the words to a song I don't know.

And for a flickering moment,

I'm not a thief.

I'm not a weapon.

I'm just a boy named Ash, sitting in a broken tavern, next to a girl who smiles like it's still allowed.

---

But Stonefold doesn't let you stay soft for long.

Outside, the night breathes heavier.

Shadows pool deeper.

The mask tucked under my cloak grows heavier, as if it knows:

This is the last breath of peace before the storm comes.

Chapter 12.5: A Small Weight

The tavern's fire burns lower.

The music fades into drowsy murmurs.

I shift to leave — the mask under my cloak a cold reminder of what waits for me outside.

But before I can slip into the shadows, Wren catches my wrist.

"Wait," she says.

I freeze.

She digs into the pocket of her patched coat and pulls out something small —

presses it into my palm before I can refuse.

A coin.

Old, bent, nearly worn smooth.

Only a ghost of a symbol remains: a pair of wings, or maybe broken arrows.

"For luck," she says, a little sheepish now. "Not that I believe in it. But... you never know."

I stare at the coin in my hand.

I could leave it.

Drop it.

Pretend it means nothing.

But I don't.

I close my fingers around it, the metal warm from her touch.

"Thanks," I say — and it's harder than any lie I've ever told.

Wren smiles again, smaller this time.

More careful.

"Come back," she says, like a casual joke. Like it's not the most dangerous thing she could've asked for.

I slip the coin into a hidden pocket near my heart.

Then I pull the mask over my face —

and step back into the city's cold mouth.

A boy named Ash, carrying one small piece of kindness into the dark.