Chapter 3 – The Familiar Scent

“Your hands,” Leo said abruptly, eyes fixed on her fingers. “They don’t shake like a battlefield medic’s.”

Seph dipped the cloth in hot water without glancing up. “Maybe I’ve just seen too many wounds.”

“Or maybe you’ve seen the right ones.”

“You’re bleeding again,” she said flatly.

He smirked. “Didn’t answer my question.”

“Wasn’t a question.”

Leo winced as she pressed the cloth against the healing cut on his ribs. “You’re good at avoiding things.”

“I specialize in wounds that won’t close.”

For a moment, the only sound was the bubbling kettle and distant howls from the siege perimeter. The army had moved fast, setting up camp just beyond the border walls of a rebel pack’s territory. Smoke drifted upward from controlled fires. Tension thickened the air.

Seph worked silently, cleaning and rewrapping his bandages.

“You know,” Leo murmured, “when I was younger, I used to dream about someone singing. A girl with silver in her hair. I couldn’t see her face, just the scent.”

“Lilies?” Seph asked before she could stop herself.

Leo’s eyes snapped to hers.

She stood too quickly. “I need to check the infirmary supplies.”

“You’re not dismissed.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He caught her wrist before she could leave. Not harshly. Not like a commander.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

Seph didn’t answer. She stared at his hand.

He let go after a moment, but the look he gave her lingered—sharpened, suspicious, searching.

---

The infirmary was half a tent, half chaos.

Three wounded soldiers groaned on makeshift cots. One had a shattered leg, another writhed in a fever. A young boy, barely sixteen, clutched his side, blood pooling beneath his ribs.

“Don’t worry,” Seph told him gently. “You’ll keep the lung.”

He whimpered. “I heard you’re the Warlord’s woman.”

She nearly dropped her tools. “Excuse me?”

“Soldiers talk,” he said weakly. “Said he doesn’t let anyone near him unless he trusts them.”

“Then maybe they’ve forgotten what trust costs.”

She stitched in silence.

Behind her, someone cleared their throat.

Captain Cormac.

“You’re popular,” he said, arms folded.

“I’m busy.”

“Word’s spreading that the General visits the medic tent twice a day. That you share meals.”

“I patch his wounds. He asks questions. That’s it.”

Cormac studied her. “And what happens when the questions dig too deep?”

She tied the last knot, wiped her hands on a cloth. “Then I disappear again.”

“Not this time.” Cormac stepped forward, voice lowering. “You should know something. The last woman caught hiding moonlight powers was executed before sundown. No trial. Just a silver stake and prayer.”

Seph’s spine stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you. If you’re hiding something, leave now.”

Her fingers curled around a vial of sedative. “Maybe I’m not the one who should be afraid.”

They stared at each other.

Finally, Cormac gave a curt nod. “Watch your steps, healer.”

He turned and left.

---

That night, Leo returned again.

“I’m not hurt,” he said as he entered the tent.

“I noticed.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m not a lullaby.”

He didn’t smile. He looked tired—haunted.

“You ever wonder,” he said, settling on the cot, “what it means to lose memories?”

“No,” Seph replied. “I wonder what it means to survive them.”

His head turned toward her. “You talk like someone who’s seen death up close.”

“Everyone here has.”

“But not everyone sings lullabies when they think no one hears.”

Seph froze.

His gaze pinned her. “You sang last night. Soft. I wasn’t asleep.”

She swallowed. “It calms the fever.”

“It calms me.”

She turned away, packing herbs into labeled pouches. “That’s not my intention.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m remembering something that never happened?”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, he stood and walked toward her.

“You’re not who you say you are.”

She didn’t deny it.

“Do you know what the penalty is for impersonating a citizen within Eclipse ranks?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And yet you stay.”

Seph’s voice was soft. “I was never very good at running from the dying.”

He exhaled, almost like a laugh, but it was bitter.

Then, gently, he reached toward her face.

She flinched.

His fingers stopped just short of touching her jaw.

“I’ve seen wolves tear each other apart for less than that scent,” he said. “But you—you carry it like armor.”

“It’s not for you,” she whispered.

“Then why do I remember it?”

---

The next morning, rumors spiraled faster.

“She’s his concubine,” someone muttered at the rations line.

“No, she’s a prophet. Seen her glow at night.”

“Didn’t you hear? She’s cursed. Marked by the moon.”

“She’s got him bewitched.”

Seph passed through camp like a shadow, head lowered. Soldiers avoided her eyes now—some out of fear, others out of envy.

In the command tent, Leo slammed a fist against the war table.

“End the gossip,” he growled.

Cormac raised an eyebrow. “You could send her away.”

Leo didn’t respond.

Instead, he stared at the map. “These border packs… you think they’d rally to a healer?”

“To a healer? No. To a legend? Maybe.”

Leo’s jaw clenched. “They think she’s a Disaster-Star.”

“Some of your men do.”

“They’re wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

Leo didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

---

That night, a storm rolled in.

Wind rattled the tents. Wolves paced restlessly, howls unanswered.

Seph lit a single lantern and waited.

Leo arrived at midnight, soaked from head to toe.

“Delirium again?” she asked.

“No. Just—memories.”

She gestured to the cot. “Lie down.”

He obeyed.

She pressed fingers to his pulse. It fluttered under her touch.

“I dreamed I failed someone,” he said quietly.

Seph’s voice was gentle. “Most leaders do.”

“No, this was... different. I let her fall. A cliff. Her hand slipped.”

Her fingers froze.

“I wore a pendant then,” he said. “Wolf fang. She gave it to me.”

Her breath hitched.

Leo turned his head toward her. “You know the pendant, don’t you?”

Silence.

“I lost it years ago,” he murmured.

“You didn’t,” Seph said softly.

He stared.

She reached into her satchel. From a hidden pocket, she drew a small leather string. Dangling from it—weathered, chipped, unmistakable—was a wolf-fang pendant.

Leo sat up.

“You—”

“I found it. That’s all.”

“Where?”

“Where you left her.”

The wind howled outside, tearing through canvas.

Leo’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Who are you?”

Seph closed her eyes.

“Someone who should’ve stayed dead.”