He laughs again. He doesn’t answer. “I’ll just call you clever, then,” he says instead. “Are you frightened? You sound a little frightened. You don’t need to be.”

Treila doesn’t speak.

“I know the way out,” he says. “To freedom, and green grass, and the bounty of summer. I can give it to you.”

Her stomach cramps with longing. She closes her eyes and imagines it, fleeing once more into the woods, but this time in a better time of year, with more skills at hand. She would stay close, she thinks. Watch the castle from afar. Wait to see if it falls, or if Ser Voyne emerges, scarred but ready to be pursued once more. She can reset the calendar, try again.

Or maybe leave. Walk away. She suspects she could find a home in Etrebia’s camp. If they lose, she could follow them across the border. If not, she has some knowledge their leaders might find valuable, and perhaps one day she’d sit in her childhood home once more. Be the traitor they accused her father of being.

“What are you dreaming of?” the boy asks.

Home, she almost says.

“Your breath sounds melancholy,” he adds. “Do you long for it so much, then?”

“If you’re going to do it, then do it,” she snaps in challenge, suddenly too raw, too delicate to be pushed further.

He hums, but offers nothing else.

He also doesn’t retreat. She can feel him, through the narrow gap. Patient. Waiting. She thinks of Phosyne on the floor of her workshop. “Or tell me what you ask for in return.”

“That’s more fair, don’t you think?” he asks.

“It is the way the world works,” she concedes.

“A touch.”

Treila blinks, confused, unable to form any response, question or otherwise.

A soft sound comes from the crack—not a word, not a breath, something closer to a hand against rock.

“Just a touch?” she asks.

“To start with.” She swears she can hear a smile. She doesn’t hear a threat, though she imagines one anyway. To start with is an open door. She doesn’t want an unbounded bargain. Too many things can slip in.

She looks down, steps back just enough to measure the height of the gap again. Thinks over what she knows. Here, now, she has no further options; a candle gives her nothing. Above, the world is swiftly contracting, and the rules have changed so much Treila will not know where to step safely for much longer. What can she give Phosyne to produce another answer? What else does she have to bargain with, herself?

She doesn’t suspect she’ll find the woman half-dead again anytime soon, anyway. She’s more likely to find a corpse.

Just a touch. She thinks of the green world beyond this dark hole, and comes once more to the gap. She hears a boyish intake of breath. She closes her eyes.