Jorah had always been good at first impressions.

Not polished first impressions—those were for diplomats and liars—but the kind that stuck. The kind people remembered five years later and still shook their heads about. Usually this involved sarcasm, questionable timing, and a complete refusal to behave like a sensible person.

This time was no different.

The problem was that the woman he was trying to impress noticed immediately.

She was standing near the village well when he saw her—arguing with a man twice her size over the proper way to bind a cracked water rune. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, dark curls pulled back in a messy tie, hands stained faintly blue with magic residue.

"You're compensating," she snapped. "That much pressure will fracture the channel. Again."

The man bristled. "I've been repairing runes longer than you've been—"

"Wrong," she cut in. "You've been patching runes. I actually fix them."

Jorah slowed mid-step.

Oh.

This was already going terribly.

The man stormed off with a muttered curse, leaving the woman muttering to herself as she crouched beside the well, tools clinking softly.

Jorah cleared his throat. Loudly. Too loudly.

She didn't look up. "If you're here to tell me I'm rude, get in line."

"I was actually going to say impressive," Jorah replied. "But rude works too. Keeps expectations low."

That got her attention.

She looked up, eyes sharp and assessing, scanning him from boots to shoulders to the too-easy grin he hadn't bothered to hide.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Charmed," he said automatically. Then winced. "—I mean, Jorah. Just Jorah."

Her mouth twitched despite herself. "Of course you are."

She stood, dusting her hands on her trousers. "Lira."

They shook hands. Her grip was firm. Confident. Warm.

Jorah felt something click—not fireworks, not lightning—but the unmistakable sense that this interaction was about to complicate his life.

"So," he said, gesturing vaguely at the well, "are you always yelling at strangers, or was that a special occasion?"

"Only when they deserve it," Lira replied. "Which is most of the time."

"Good," Jorah nodded. "I'd hate to feel left out."

She studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. "You're with the other two, aren't you?"

Jorah blinked. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "You walk like someone who expects trouble but hopes it won't notice."

"…That's uncomfortably accurate."

"Also," she added, "you're hovering. People who belong here don't hover."

Jorah chuckled. "Fair. We're just passing through."

"Everyone says that."

"And yet," he said lightly, "here we are."

She shook her head and returned to her tools. Jorah took that as an invitation and sat on the low stone edge of the well.

"So what do you do," he asked, "besides terrifying grown men?"

Lira snorted. "Rune repair. Structural magic. Occasionally telling idiots they're wrong."

"Important work," Jorah said solemnly. "Society would crumble without it."

She shot him a look. "You mock, but half the village would be without water if I didn't."

"Then allow me to formally apologize on behalf of half the village," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "We're deeply ungrateful."

She laughed before she could stop herself.

Caught it.

Jorah smiled.

The morning unfolded in fits and starts—conversation interrupted by villagers stopping to ask Lira questions, or by her snapping at Jorah to move when he was in the way. He didn't mind. He liked watching her work. The precision. The way her brow furrowed when she focused.

At some point, Kael and Eira passed by on the far side of the square.

Kael noticed Jorah immediately.

He paused. Tilted his head.

Eira followed his gaze.

They exchanged a look—the kind that didn't need words.

Jorah felt it before he saw them. He turned just in time to catch Kael's expression: mild surprise mixed with unmistakable amusement.

Oh no.

Kael raised an eyebrow.

Jorah mouthed, Don't.

Kael smiled faintly.

Eira, traitor that she was, smiled too.

Lira followed his line of sight. "Friends of yours?"

"Yes," Jorah said quickly. "Very judgmental friends."

Kael lifted a hand in a casual wave.

Jorah groaned. "I hate them."

"Good," Lira said. "That means they care."

Later—much later—they found themselves sitting on the edge of the stream as evening crept in. Lira had finished her work. Jorah had exhausted most of his jokes. The silence that settled between them was… comfortable.

Unexpectedly so.

"I don't usually talk to travelers this long," Lira admitted.

"Am I winning, then?" Jorah asked.

She considered it. "You're tolerable."

"I'll take it."

She skipped a stone across the water. It bounced twice before sinking. "You won't stay."

It wasn't a question.

Jorah leaned back on his hands, watching the sky shift colors. "No."

She nodded. "Figures."

There was no accusation in her voice. Just acknowledgment.

He hesitated. "If it helps, I'm bad at staying."

She glanced at him. "That doesn't help."

He smiled ruefully. "Worth a try."

They sat in silence again.

For the first time in a long while, Jorah felt something unfamiliar tightening in his chest—not fear, not dread, but something closer to anticipation. Possibility.

Dangerous things, those.

When night fully settled, Kael called for him from the inn.

Jorah stood reluctantly. "That's me."

Lira stood too. "Yeah."

They lingered, neither quite ready to step away.

"Well," Jorah said, scratching the back of his neck, "this was… unexpectedly pleasant."

She smirked. "You say that like it's a problem."

"It might be."

She met his eyes, expression unreadable. "Then maybe don't run from it so fast."

The words landed harder than he expected.

Jorah swallowed. "I'm good at running."

"I noticed."

They shared a look—brief, charged, unfinished.

Then Jorah turned and walked away.

He didn't look back.

But he felt it—the spark he was pretending not to carry with him.

From the doorway of the inn, Kael watched him approach.

"You look like someone just rearranged your insides," Kael said mildly.

Jorah sighed. "Please don't analyze me."

Eira smiled knowingly. "You met someone."

"No," Jorah said too quickly. "I met a problem."

Kael nodded. "Those tend to be the important ones."

Jorah said nothing.

Far away, beyond the village lights, the Source marked the deviation.

Another thread had bent.

Not Kael's.

But one tied closely enough to matter.

And that, too, would have consequences.

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