Ventessa remained perched on Marcus's head.

"You said North East," Ventessa said. "Where exactly?"

Marcus visualized the map he had studied in the library.

"The Aldridge Estate," Marcus said. "It is near the border of the Whispering Woods. Just north of the river ."

"I know the river," Ventessa said. "Silverwood Manor?"

Marcus blinked. "You know the name?"

"I know many things," Ventessa said simply. "I am old."

"Silverwood Manor," Marcus confirmed. "That is the place."

"Very well," Ventessa said.

The carpet hummed.

It rose higher into the air. It hovered at tree-top level.

"Hold on," Ventessa ordered.

Marcus sat down. He wrapped one arm around the dragon girl. He grabbed the edge of the carpet with the other.

"Ready," Marcus said.

The carpet shifted forward.

Then, Marcus froze.

A memory hit him. It was sharp and painful.

He remembered the dungeon.

He remembered the smell of rot and old fear.

He remembered the cage.

He saw Thomas's broken face, Elara's dead eyes, the onion man praying in the corner.

They were still there.

They were trapped in the cells beneath Voss's shop.

They were waiting to be sold. Waiting to be broken.

Just like the dragon girl.

Marcus looked at the dragon girl. She was safe now. She was free.

But the others weren't.

"Stop," Marcus said.

The carpet halted. It hovered in place.

"What now?" Ventessa asked. She sounded annoyed.

Marcus looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly.

He clenched them into fists.

"We can't go to the estate yet," Marcus said. His voice was quiet but firm.

"We have to make a stop."

Ventessa sighed. The fluffball deflated slightly.

"Where?" she asked.

"The town," Marcus said. "The place where we were sold."

"Voss's slave market."

The bear looked at him. "Why? Did you forget a souvenir?"

"No," Marcus said. "The others."

He looked up. He tried to look at the top of his head.

He swallowed hard.

"They are still in the cages," Marcus said. "We left them behind."

Silence fell over the carpet.

"So?" Ventessa asked.

Her tone was indifferent. It wasn't cruel. It was just factual.

"They are strangers," she said. "They are not my concern."

"They are people," Marcus argued. "Innocent people."

"People die every day," Ventessa countered. "People get sold every day. I cannot save the world."

"I am not asking you to save the world," Marcus said. "I am asking you to save twelve people."

"No," Ventessa said.

The carpet began to move forward again.

"We are going to the estate," she stated. "You are late. You said it was urgent."

"It IS urgent," Marcus said. "But this is more important."

"Not to me," Ventessa said.

"Ventessa, please," Marcus begged. "We have the power. You... have the power. It would take five minutes."

"You are not a Hero," Ventessa said coldly.

The carpet picked up speed. The wind whipped at Marcus's hair.

"You are weak," she continued. "You almost died fighting one noble. And now you want to attack a slaver stronghold?"

"There will be guards," she listed. "There will be mercenaries. Voss is not alone."

"You shouldn't dream about saving everyone," Ventessa lectured. "That is arrogance. You are barely staying alive yourself."

Marcus gritted his teeth.

He knew she was right. Logically, she was right.

He was weak. He was late. He was injured (mentally, at least).

But he remembered Elara's face when Snake dragged her away.

He remembered Thomas trying to crawl to her with broken ribs.

He couldn't leave them.

If he went home now, he would be safe. He would be a Viscount's son again.

But he would never sleep again.

"I know I am not a Hero," Marcus shouted over the wind.

He grabbed the fluffball on his head. He pulled her off and held her in front of his face.

Ventessa looked surprised. Her black eyes blinked.

"I am not trying to save everyone," Marcus said intensely.

"I don't care about the world right now," he admitted. "I don't care about the other slaves I haven't met."

He looked into her empty eyes.

"I only want to save the ones I know," Marcus said. "The ones I sat with. The ones I talked to."

"They deserve better," he whispered. "They deserve a chance."

Ventessa stared at him. She floated in his grip.

"Why?" she asked. "Why should I help you?"

"I saved you," she pointed out. "I healed you. I am flying you home."

"I have done enough," she said. "Why should I do more?"

Marcus's mind raced.

He needed leverage. He needed a deal.

She was a spirit. Spirits operated on contracts. On exchanges.

What did he have?

He had no money. He had no magic.

He looked at the fluffball in his hands.

She was soft. She was warm.

She had spent the last hour sleeping on his head.

She had called it "comfortable."

A lightbulb went on in Marcus's brain.

"If you help me," Marcus said slowly.

He brought her closer.

"I will let you sit on my head," Marcus proposed.

Ventessa blinked. "I am already sitting on your head."

"Without complaint," Marcus added. "For the next week."

Ventessa paused.

She seemed to consider it.

"My head is warm," Marcus pitched. "It is high up. You get a good view."

"And," he added the kicker. "I won't use hair gel. I will keep it messy. Just how you like it."

The bear gasped. "You wouldn't."

Ventessa hummed.

"One week?" she asked.

"One week," Marcus confirmed. "You can nap there. You can eat there. I won't say a word."

"Two weeks," Ventessa countered.

"Ten days," Marcus haggled.

"Twelve days," Ventessa said. "And you have to wash your hair with lavender oil."

Marcus frowned. "Lavender oil? Why?"

"It smells nice," Ventessa said. "If I am living there, I want good aromatherapy."

Marcus sighed. "Fine. Twelve days. Lavender oil."

"And," Ventessa added. "You buy me snacks."

"I have no money," Marcus reminded her.

"When you get money," she clarified. "I want spicy noodles. Lots of them."

Marcus smiled. A real, genuine smile.

"Deal," Marcus said.

Ventessa nodded. It was a solemn motion for a fluffball.

"Deal," she agreed.

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