“Such things never go away. They shape us. If you will tell me…so they failed you. The petty little people around you.”

Cara whispered.

“Not just them. I went asking. I asked my parents, but they turned out to just be people. I asked my friends, but they were young, and what could they do? So I thought if there was no justice here…I could ask the people who mattered. I asked them, and they ignored me. Or told me I was wrong. I asked for justice, and they told me I was wrong. So an evil man walked, and I was told to go on my way.”

Feremont’s eyes were locked on hers. Cara turned her head. When he and the [Bartender] glanced back, she was smiling. A wry, bitter smile, perfectly placed. It fooled no one, but one man looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard.

Feren? He just scratched at the counter of the bar. He looked up at the ceiling, at Cara, searching for words. Then he replied simply.

“I wish there had been justice. That I had been there.”

“To save me from being a fool? Or to be the hero?”

Cara laughed. Mockingly; she couldn’t help it, even if he was serious. It was, after all, the kind of thing fools said as if it changed anything. But Feren looked at her and she hesitated.

“No. I wish these things. But I meant…afterwards. To deliver the justice that was never there. That…that is what I believe. Even if the past will never change, there should be a reckoning. No matter if it is now, or later, or in ten years. Do you believe that?”

Cara went still. The man’s eyes glinted.

“I do.”

He nodded. His fingers tightened on the cup. Cara went on, and looked back.

“I do. There should absolutely be justice. I only wish that there were no need for it to begin with. I wish…”

She looked at him.

I wish.

Feren’s hand tightened further, and he nodded. Too late. I wish there were other ways. But too late.

All they had was wishes and what remained. He whispered to her, a question rising in his throat like bile and memory. The question he knew the answer to, that rang in the soul of his being.

“Could you forgive them? For what they did to you? How do you sleep while they walk about under the open sky? Or are you waiting? Waiting for…”

He was turning to her to ask, when he heard the sound. It was…

Humming.

At the bar, the young woman was just leaning on one arm. On the old, thick wood. Humming. It was not a happy song.

But neither was it a sad song. It was a song somewhere in between. It provoked…tears. Sadness. It was a personal song.