I'm not lost,

I'm not lost,

I'm not lost,

It's dark now. The last bus left hours ago, but you know where to hide.

You walk with your hands in your pockets, shoulders hunched against a wind that stirs the tops of pines towering over cracked asphalt, your footsteps a metronome keeping time as you trace paths long committed to memory. There are places even she does not go.

This isn't one of them.

She very much does go here.

It never ends well when they run, does it?

Well is relative, she's decided.

The forest closes around you like a fist, branches interlacing over your head until even the stars are blotted out. This far in only the pale scuttle of spiders across dry pine needles breaks the ominous silence. You stop beneath a lightning-riven trunk, dragging the back of your hand across your mouth, and reach for the supplies cached on your way in. Familiar tools, hard edges and rubberized grips, slide into place. The weight is comforting against the small of your back.

Turn around.

You do, slowly, breath frosting the air. She's there, of course, a darker shade of the encroaching night. There are questions in the cant of her head, the slight frown tugging at her mouth, but for once she stays silent. Waiting. The moment stretches, fragile as spun glass, and in the space between heartbeats you see - really see - how very tired she looks. How thin the veneer of control has worn. Your fingers flex, leather creaking, and in the woods something shrieks as claws meet flesh. You wonder if she hears it too. If she's listening for the echoes.

You wonder what she hears in the depths of the woods, in the places not meant for children's soft footsteps. Her gaze sharpens, focusing on the weight slung across your shoulders, the tension singing through your frame.

She smiles, faint and sharp-edged in the gloom, nodding at your burden like she's known all along. Perhaps she always has. "Was it worth it?"

You tell me.

I found what I was looking for, you say. What I needed. Isn't that always worth it, in the end?

She steps closer, posture rigid, fingers curling against the rough denim as she leans forward slightly. Her breath mists the air between you. "And have you considered the cost?" she asks softly.

Cost is currency. Currency is merely a construct. What truly matters -

She holds up a hand, forestalling your response. "I've heard enough. The time for philosophy is past." Her eyes are flinty in the gloom, hard edges glinting like fractured glass. "There's a price we pay for knowledge, child. One you have yet to reckon with."

The cost was knowledge and freedom. And those are the only things that have ever mattered.

I have already paid the price, Miss Thorn. In blood and bone and sacrifice of innocence. What further reckoning remains?

She sighs, a soft sound nearly lost beneath the whisper of wind through needled boughs. "Freedom is never free, is it?" She gestures at the dark bulk of the woods surrounding you both. "Look around, Lintel. Is this freedom?"

Lintel tightens her grip on the strap slung over her shoulder, shifting her weight as she meets Miss Thorn's stern gaze. "I did what needed to be done. Found the truth hidden beneath the surface." She pauses, searching the other woman's face. "You taught me to question everything. To dig deeper, no matter the cost. Was that not the lesson?"