Lenora's POV
In the third month of winter, Harlan told me he was going somewhere.
We were at the refuge kitchen, the lamp between us, the particular intimacy of winter evenings that makes people say the things they've been carrying.
"The eastern territories," he said. "Petra Vane's network has identified seven settlements that need medical training. There are no qualified healers within two days' travel of most of them." He looked at his hands. "I'd like to go."
I looked at him.
"For how long?" I said.
"A year, at least. Maybe two." He met my gaze. "I'm not leaving because things are difficult here. Things are better here than they've been." He paused. "I'm leaving because the work is there. And because—" He stopped.
"Because staying has started to feel like hiding," I said.
He bli
