Prophecy – Chapter 8 – First Sight

Chapter 8
First Sight

Freya had just pulled the cabbage free when something shifted at the edge of the clearing and drew her attention up from the soil, her hand still wrapped around the stem as she straightened slowly and looked toward the trees. Two men were stepping out from the shadow, not hesitating at the edge, not scanning like travellers unsure of where they had arrived, but moving forward as though the ground between forest and cottage had already been measured and accepted.

She did not recognise them, and for a moment she simply watched, her body still, caught between instinct and uncertainty, her grip tightening slightly on the cabbage as her thoughts struggled to catch up with what she was seeing. The man on the right carried himself easily, his movements loose but controlled, all in black, the fabric fitting close enough to show the lean strength beneath it, his dark hair falling forward in a slight fringe that brushed his brow as he walked. There was something deliberate in the way he moved, as though he saw everything and dismissed most of it without effort, the brief glint of a blade at his side catching the light as his hand shifted near it.

The other drew her focus without trying.

Her gaze fixed on him before she understood why, and it was only then that she saw the chain.

It hung from his throat, dull against pale skin, dragging lightly with each step, the collar tight enough that it had already done damage. His hair had been hacked short, uneven, the colour so pale it was almost white, and it made the bruising stand out more starkly, the dried blood at his mouth, the swelling of a split lip that had not been given time to heal. He wore nothing on his upper body, and that, more than anything, made the rest of it harder to ignore, the marks, the strength beneath them, the way he held himself upright through it without showing any sign of pain.

Her eyes dropped before she meant them to.

His feet were bare.

Blood marked them too, dirt ground into cuts that should have slowed him, should have changed the way he moved, but he walked as though none of it mattered.

And then he looked at her.

The colour of his eyes caught her off guard, pale grey, sharp and clear, close enough to her own that it felt like looking into a mirror.

Her fingers tightened around the cabbage without her meaning them to, her mind fleetingly wondering if it would hurt if she threw it at them. She dropped it reluctantly and her body shifted subtly, her shoulders drawing back as she became aware of the space behind her, the cottage, the door, the distance, all of it registering without her turning away from them.

They looked like rogues. Everything about them suggested it. The way they moved, the way they carried themselves, the knife, the chain. And yet the expected reaction did not come. The first flicker of alarm settled almost as quickly as it rose, replaced by something steadier, something that made no sense at all and yet held firm, a quiet certainty that they were not what they appeared to be, or at least not in the way she had been taught to expect. They kept coming at the same pace, not pushing, not circling, simply crossing the clearing toward her, and she found herself stepping forward before she had quite realised she meant to, her attention narrowing fully onto the man in the chain as everything else seemed to fall away around that single, wrong detail.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice steady despite everything she could see.

He did not answer, but his gaze lifted properly to her, and something in it shifted, not surprise, not confusion, just a quiet awareness that settled and held as though she had stepped into his focus and would not be leaving it.

Up close the damage was worse than she had first thought. The collar had rubbed the skin raw in places looking almost burnt, the bruising deeper, darker, the kind that came from repeated impact rather than a single blow. Up close she could see the tiredness in his eyes and small cuts and bruising and that was enough to settle her next decision before she thought it through.

“That needs cleaning,” she said, already closing the last of the distance between them. “Come inside. I’ve got water.”

She reached for his arm carefully, not grabbing, just enough contact to guide, her fingers brushing his skin briefly before settling more securely, adjusting her pace without thinking so he would not have to.

“Just for a minute,” she added, softer now, “you can go after if you need to.”

He did not resist her, simply allowing it, his movement shifting just enough to match hers.

The other man watched her from the corner of his eye as he went with them.

Freya became aware of it without wanting to be, the weight of his attention settling on her as they moved. Up close his eyes were the first thing that had struck her, deep brown, bright in a way that didn’t quite match the rest of him, sharp and aware and entirely unhidden. His gaze had moved over her without hurry, taking in the dirt on her hands, the loosened strands of her hair, the faint flush still lingering in her cheeks from working, and then it lingered, just for a moment too long, on her mouth before lifting back to her eyes.

He had smiled.

Not mockingly, not kindly either, just with a quiet certainty that made something shift uncomfortably in her chest, though not enough to make her step away. She felt the heat rise in her face again despite herself and turned her attention back to the man beside her, focusing instead on what needed doing, the water, the cloth, the collar that had to come off or at least be eased.

“Careful,” she murmured, the words coming without thought as she adjusted her hold slightly.

Ghost noticed the quiet assumption behind it that he would be cared for, that he was worth the effort and continued to allow her to guide him.

“You don’t have to come in,” she said to the dark haired man, pushing the cottage door open with her free hand as they reached it. “You can wait out here if you prefer.”

“I don’t,” he replied.

She let out a quiet breath that might have been the beginning of a laugh and stepped inside, guiding Ghost toward the chair near the hearth without breaking her pace.

“Then don’t touch anything,” she said, pushing the door open and guiding Ghost inside without slowing, her attention already moving ahead to what needed doing.

“I won’t touch anything important,” Jacob replied easily as he followed them in, closing the door behind him with his foot before dropping into a chair as though it had already been his.

Freya glanced back at him briefly. “You don’t know what’s important.”

“I’ll work it out,” he said, unconcerned.

It should have irritated her, the way he placed himself there without asking, but it didn’t land the way it should have. Something about him settled too easily, as though he belonged in the space and she had simply taken a moment to notice it.

Ghost lowered himself into the seat she had indicated, the movement controlled but not without effort, and Freya’s focus shifted fully to him at once. She fetched a bowl of clean water and set it down, dipped the cloth, and stepped closer, her attention narrowing to the injuries she had already seen.

“This might sting,” she said, quieter now, her hand steady as she reached up.

Ghost didn’t answer, but his gaze settled on her, not resisting, not questioning, simply allowing her to do what she had already decided to do.

The cloth touched his skin and she felt the tension there, the heat beneath it, the roughness where the metal had rubbed and the bruising had set in. She worked carefully, slower than she had first intended, easing rather than pressing, adjusting her touch without thinking as she moved around the worst of it.

“What’s your name?” she asked him after a moment, her voice soft but direct, her attention still on his face.

Ghost’s mouth shifted slightly, as though he might answer, but the movement stopped before it formed into anything useful, the swelling at his lip pulling the attempt short.

“Ghost,” Jacob said from behind her, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s what he answers to.”

Freya glanced back at him briefly, then returned her attention to Ghost, accepting it for what it was without pushing further.

“Alright,” she said quietly, “Ghost it is.”

She rinsed the cloth and brought it back up again, gentler this time as she worked along his jaw. “You’ve been walking like that a while,” she added, more observation than question. “You don’t have to hold yourself up for me.”

Ghost shifted slightly under her hands, just enough to ease the tension through his shoulders, and that small movement told her more than anything he could have said.

Behind her, Jacob had gone quiet, his attention no longer drifting but fixed, following her movements in a way that didn’t shift.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he said after a moment, not interrupting, simply placing it into the space between them.

Freya didn’t look up straight away. “You didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking now.”

She paused just long enough to glance back at him, taking him in properly for a second before answering.

“Freya.”

He repeated it once under his breath, as though testing it. “Freya,” he said again, and something in his expression settled as he looked at her. “That’s… right. It suits you. I am Jacob.”

She shook her head faintly, turning back to what she was doing before the moment stretched too far.

Jacob leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees, still watching her.

“You let us in without thinking,” he said.

Freya rinsed the cloth again, her hands steady even as the question settled.

“You needed help.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what matters.”

She paused briefly, then went back to what she was doing, the rhythm of it settling her hands even as her thoughts stayed elsewhere. “I’m not completely alone,” she said, lighter than she felt, though the edge of truth sat underneath it. “Friends will be here soon.”

Jacob’s attention sharpened on that, not dramatically, but enough that she felt it before she saw it, and when she glanced up at him his gaze was already fixed on her. “Friends?” he asked, and there was something in the way he said it that made it more than a simple question.

“Yes,” she replied, turning slightly back to the table, though she remained aware of him beside her.

He tilted his head a fraction, watching her more closely now. “Men?”

Freya looked at him again, and this time she didn’t miss it, the subtle tightening in him, the way his focus narrowed as though the word had landed somewhere deeper than it should have. “One of them, yes.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, not pushing, not pressing, but not letting it go either. “He matters to you,” Jacob said, quieter now, the words settling rather than striking.

Freya met his eyes properly this time. “He’s my best friend.”

That answer shifted something in him, not breaking the tension so much as containing it, drawing it inward rather than letting it show. His shoulders eased slightly, but his attention didn’t leave her, didn’t loosen its hold, and for a moment it felt as though he was measuring the space that answer created and deciding where he stood within it.

The knife remained in his hand a moment longer than it should have, turning once between his fingers in a movement that had nothing to do with the blade itself, until Ghost’s gaze lifted to it and then to him, the look brief but deliberate.

Jacob noticed, of course he did, and the movement stilled at once. He let out a quiet breath and slipped the knife away without comment, the tension settling rather than disappearing as his focus returned to Freya, the rest of the room fading in importance the moment she held his attention again.

“He can be your friend,” Jacob said after a moment, his tone even, almost reasonable. “That doesn’t change anything.”

Freya frowned slightly at that, not quite understanding what he meant aware that something in him had drawn a line she hadn’t seen being placed.

“Change what?” she asked.

Jacob’s mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile, more an acknowledgement of something already decided.

“You’ll see,” he said, and left it there as though the explanation would come in its own time, whether she asked for it or not.

Across from them, Ghost remained still, his attention moving between them once before settling again, taking in the shift without interfering, as though he understood far more of it than he chose to say.

Freya held Jacob’s gaze for a moment longer, trying to place what she felt in it, something intense but not threatening, strange but not wrong, before she turned back to her work, letting the moment pass without pressing it further.

Jacob, satisfied with that, stayed exactly where he was. “They won’t need to worry about you,” he said quietly.

Freya gave a small breath that might have been a laugh if it had gone a little further. “They will anyway.”

Jacob’s mouth curved slightly at that, something softer settling into his expression, though the certainty in him didn’t shift.

Freya returned to her work, the rhythm of it steadying her, though her awareness stayed split now, part of it on the man in front of her, part of it on the one behind her, and part of it on the strange, unshaken feeling that she was not in danger and something had just been decided that she had no idea about.

She should have questioned that. She didn’t.

Freya had just set the cloth aside when the sound came from outside, sharp and close, the snap of a branch under weight that didn’t belong to wind or anything passing lightly through the trees. She turned instinctively toward the door, already half certain it would be Liam and Darice returning sooner than expected, but she didn’t get the chance to move.

Jacob was there before she had taken a step, rising in one smooth motion and stepping into her space, his hand finding her arm and then her shoulder, guiding her back behind him with quiet certainty. The movement wasn’t forceful, but it didn’t leave room for argument either, her body shifting with it as he placed himself between her and the door. “Stay there,” he said under his breath, and before she could respond he dipped his head and pressed a brief kiss to her hair, the gesture so natural it felt as though it had been there long before she noticed it, and then he was already gone from her again, his attention fixed outward.

Ghost had moved at the same time, crossing to the door without hesitation and placing himself just to the side of it, out of direct view from anyone approaching, his body angled and ready, one hand near the wood as he listened. His gaze flicked briefly toward Jacob, taking in the way Freya had been moved behind him and the quiet contact that followed, a small, almost inaudible huff leaving him before his focus returned to the door and stayed there.

Freya drew a breath, her voice quieter than she expected when she spoke. “It’s probably Liam.”

Neither of them answered. Jacob remained where he was, his stance steady and unmoving, and Ghost did not shift from his position beside the door as the sound came again from outside, closer this time, deliberate, the presence beyond the walls impossible to ignore. The air inside the cottage changed with it, tightening, settling into something held and ready, and Freya, who only moments ago would have gone straight to open the door without a second thought, found herself standing exactly where Jacob had placed her, watching the two of them and, for reasons she still didn’t fully understand, allowing it.

Chapter 7

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