Aria’s POV
The Warden came back alone.
No grey cloak. No horse. No mark on his chest. Just dust on his boots and the same eyes that used to count our blades.
He walked into the market at noon when the noise was highest. No one made a path for him. That was new.
He stopped at Sen’s fire. Looked at the table. Knife still under the tree, cloth over it, mint leaves drying beside it. He looked at our hands. All empty. All learning.
“I’m not here to take,” he said first. Like he’d practiced it. Like “take” was the only word he knew for coming to the ridge.
Ridah didn’t stand. Didn’t salute. She pushed a bowl of water toward him with her foot. Not a gift. Not an order. Just water.
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
He sat. On dirt. Not stone. Not command. He looked at the cloth-co
