Cracks in the Quiet

BIANCA

The blade sang as I dragged the whetstone along its edge. The metallic ring cut through the night air, drowning out the anxious thoughts that had been plaguing me since the attack. One stroke, two strokes, three... The rhythm steadied my nerves, gave me something to focus on besides the mounting guilt.

It was quiet in this corner of the Roguelands. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that preceded a storm.

I tested the blade with my thumb. Sharp enough to split a hair.

Footsteps approached from behind – hesitant, familiar. I didn't need to look up.

"You're back." Nora's voice was tight with worry. "Again."

I continued sharpening, not meeting her eyes. "Go back to camp, Nora."

"Where have you been disappearing to?" She stepped into my line of sight, arms crossed. The moonlight caught the worry lines etched around her eyes. "Three days, Bianca. You've been gone three days without a word."

"I needed space."