Cara had assumed Violetta was just reserved, but she was beginning to realize that culturally, Afiele’s people were very somber. Violetta was being exceptionally chatty and too inquisitive by Idelt’s standards, but Cara was indulging her.

And they kept their voices quiet. Of course, Cara adjusted to the lower volume, but she realized she hadn’t heard anything…loud in a while. No guffaws, no exclamations of sound.

At any rate, Violetta was still curious. She looked at Cara, clearly excited—for Afiele’s people.

“I want to see lands outside of Afiele. Are they like that? All of them?”

Cara was ready to bluff, but Idelt responded for her.

“Yes. They are.”

Violetta glanced up at her father, surprised.

“You travelled, father?”

“A few times. I didn’t care for it. It’s too noisy and colorful. There was something to it…but then I had to come home to take care of Grandfather.”

“Oh.”

The young woman quieted down. Cara sat there. So strange how Idelt didn’t ask her any questions. But perhaps he was suspicious of her? There were already things she’d picked up on.

No mother. Dead or gone. But the illustration of three people, a man, a wife, and a daughter about eight, drawn in black and white she’d glimpsed when she walked past Idelt’s room, suggested death.

The house lacked electricity, but it was far from a log cabin or medieval shack. The food had been good, too. She turned to the two members of the family.

“Thank you again for taking me into your home, Idelt, Violetta. And serving me such good food. I owe you, truly, and I won’t trespass long.”

Violetta and Idelt glanced up. Surprised. Idelt’s face was much harder to read than Violetta’s, but he just shook his head.

“It’s our duty to Afiele. It’s no trespass. And no one of Noelictus would fail to let you in if you knocked, Miss Cara. No one.”

The meaning of that would not become clear until later. But for now, Cara just nodded. Violetta was pleased by the compliment too.

“I’m glad you liked the food, Miss Cara. I’m no [Cook]. I’ve been meaning to get the class, but I just cook dinners sometimes. My father is Level 12 in the [Cook] class.”

“Nothing special. Just a hobby.”

Idelt waved it off. Cara frowned. Level 12 in a [Cook] class? But he was a [Blacksmith]! Then—it was normal to have many classes. She was about to ask more about that when she heard a sound from the door. A scratching sound.

Or was it a bump? Soft—but unlike phantom noises in your head, you knew you’d heard it.