The healer, Mira, emerged from the tent flap, her hands still stained faintly green with crushed herbs, and paused mid-step when she saw Ilyra. Her expression was unreadable for a breath—then softened, the faintest smile curving her lips.
"You're up early," Mira said simply, offering no pity, no probing.
"Didn't sleep," Ilyra replied, and for the first time in days, her voice held weight without weariness.
Kaelen watched the brief exchange from the edge, then turned to tend to his pack, letting her stand alone. Letting her choose.
Mira nodded once, stepping aside as Ilyra walked past. There was no ceremony in the moment, no fanfare—but something unspoken passed between them all. An acknowledgement. A ripple.
Even Cedric said nothing, though his gaze lingered longer than the others. When he turned away, it was with the quiet scowl of someone reassessing an old fear.
