For the past week, Raine’s days had begun and ended the same way: measuring powders in the kitchen, testing heat levels that were almost identical yet never quite right, inspecting Landon’s food, and carrying trays through corridors that had started to feel familiar, even if the people inside them had not.
Three times a day, she entered Landon’s room with his meal; she never stayed long, and Landon never asked her to, to her relief.
Three times a day, she watched him drink her concoction. Every time, she tried to see his reaction to a certain ingredient. She watched carefully, measured the reaction, and adjusted. Different herbs. Different ratios. Different heat levels. Tiny changes. She wrote everything down.
"You changed something." Landon always noticed it, his gaze lingering on the darker tint of the liquid before he even touched the cup.
Sitting on her favorite chair in Landon’s room, the farthest spot possible from his bed, Raine didn’t look up from her notes. "I always change something." She was waiting for him to finish his meal and concoction, as always.
"That sounds like a threat." He played with the cup in his hand.
"It’s treatment," Raine said as if she were talking to a grumpy five-year-old child.
He tilted the cup slightly, studying it with exaggerated suspicion. "Will it taste worse than yesterday?"
"Of course." She said with a cheerful tone.
"You enjoy this."
Raine put down the notes she was writing on. "I enjoy you staying alive because it means I am."
His mouth curved faintly at that—not quite a smile nor mockery, but something that lived in between. "That sounds almost genuine. I should be grateful," he scoffed.
Rolling her eyes impatiently, Raine ignored the comment. "Drink."
He did. He always did.
***
The kitchen, however, took longer to adjust. They started treating Raine differently. Not warmly, but less dismissive. Raine still felt the quiet resistance that followed her movements, the subtle irritation when she rechecked something someone else had already inspected, and the unspoken assumption that she was temporary, inconvenient, or both.
Brianna stayed closest to her. Most of the time, she would hover around Raine.
Raine noticed things others ignored, like how Brianna memorized instructions faster than anyone but hesitated to speak. People were impatient with her stutter, but Raine wasn’t. She had begun to understand that Brianna’s silence was hesitation shaped by years of interruption.
One afternoon, while sorting dried herbs together, Brianna spoke quietly without looking at her. "N-not many p-people like working w-with me."
Without shifting her gaze toward her, Raine continued separating leaves. "People are lazy listeners," she said eventually. "Listening requires effort." Still focused on the herbs, Raine added, "Speaking clearly is easy for some people, but listening carefully is a skill. Not everyone develops it."
***
The missing ingredient became Raine’s next frustration. The final ingredient. The one she needed for something she had been building toward. Everything depended on it.
Silver Wyrmroot, a very rare poison-devouring herb.
She went to the market anticipating challenges or the rarity of the ingredient, but she did not expect its absence.
Stall after stall offered substitutes, alternatives, and suggestions, but never the exact herb she needed.
"That one is rare," an older woman told her. "Not many healers use it anymore."
"I need it," Raine replied.
The woman shrugged, not unkindly, though, just casually. "Then you need someone with connections."
Raine already knew who that meant. Asking Janson was practical. It was necessary and logical. Yet, she disliked the idea.
As she turned to leave, she became aware of the way people in the pack house watched her. They didn’t do it openly but with recognition that had not existed two weeks ago. She was no longer anonymous; she was the girl who entered Landon’s room, the one Ariana allowed near him.
"Ugh..." Raine disliked it more than being ignored.
Later that evening, Raine recounted her day at the market to Brianna. She spoke about the challenging herb she had struggled to find, the way people had been watching her, and how they seemed to know that Ariana had permitted her to be near Landon.
Carefully, as if discussing something important that required gentleness, Brianna said, "A-Ariana isn’t... bad," she said.
"I didn’t say she was." Raine hummed.
"She p-protects Master Landon," Brianna added.
Raine paused, glancing up. Brianna hesitated before continuing. "After... after the r-rogue attack... when h-his mother died... Ariana s-stayed."
Raine’s hands slowed. Ariana stayed, not stepped in. This fact mattered. By then, Raine understood what that meant. Presence was crucial, especially when grief was involved. Ariana wasn’t simply trusted—she had become a significant figure in Landon’s life.
A mother figure.
That explained the deference. That explained why everyone trusted Ariana without question. However, it still did not erase the uneasy feeling...
Two weeks into the routine, Raine entered Landon’s room and felt the difference before she saw it. The air had changed. It carried something softer and fresher, a scent that didn’t belong to medicine or illness that usually defined the space.
Her gaze moved automatically toward the source: a vase placed near the window, filled with pale water lilies that looked almost too pristine for a sickroom.
Landon noticed her pause. "What is it this time?" he asked.
Raine didn’t answer immediately. The scent tugged at memory—faint, familiar, just out of reach in a way that unsettled her.
Landon followed her gaze. "Ariana brought them. She said the room looked gloomy."
Raine studied the flowers a moment longer than necessary. The scent kept brushing against something in her memory, but it slipped away before she could catch it. "It doesn’t help, though," she said at last and set the food tray down on Landon’s lap.
After that, she walked to her favorite chair in the room. She watched when Landon lifted the cup, his expression was cold like usual.
The first second felt normal. The second did not.
His shoulders tightened subtly, but Raine noticed immediately. She stood up and stepped forward, already calculating possibilities.
"Too strong?" she asked. She held his shoulder. He trembled slightly.
He shook his head, but the answer never came.
The cough came fast, and Raine caught the cup before it fell. Her stomach dropped. "No," she whispered.
Landon bent forward, trying to control it, but he couldn’t. Another cough.
Blood.