Evelyn was unaware that Caleb was already on his way to join her. The relentless rhythm of manual labor had taken its toll: her soles were a map of raw blisters, and a layer of skin had been chafed away from her delicate shoulders by the weight of the shoulder poles.

To her, however, this was a trifle. In her previous life, when she was first abducted into the mountains, her legs had been broken three times just for attempting to escape. The scars on her body then had been a dense, overlapping tapestry of pain. These current stings were merely signs of progress.

After bolting her doors and windows, Evelyn drew a bath, fortifying the water with a generous measure from the spirit spring. Twenty minutes of soaking dissolved the bone-deep fatigue, but she pointedly avoided using the spring to heal her blisters or her chafed shoulders. Though she was a stranger to the North, a decade in the mountains had taught her the primal laws of survival.

If she healed the wounds now, the friction of tomorrow’s work would only tear them open again. It was better to let them harden—to let the skin transform into leather and callus. Only then would the earth stop biting back.

Thanks to her ritual, Evelyn woke without the agonizing stiffness Dominic had predicted. Day after day, she remained diligent and efficient, earning the quiet respect of the Red Wolf Valley locals. Peasants value grit above all else, and seeing a city girl work with such uncomplaining grace made them wonder if the other youths were simply lazy. Perhaps, the gossips whispered, the others were just "acting" tired to avoid their fair share.

Hazel, hearing these murmurs from the village women, grit her teeth in fury. "Dominic, your sister is truly something. Now the whole village thinks we’re just putting on a show! They think we’re slackers!"

Mabel, another youth from the city, looked thoughtful. "Dominic, you and Evelyn are blood. Whatever this feud is, you need to settle it. She belongs with us. We have to stand united to protect our interests here."

Hazel scoffed. "United? Did you miss the part where she pulled a knife on him?"

Mabel had seen it, but she had also seen Dominic’s suffocating condescension. Evelyn’s coldness hadn't grown overnight; it was a harvest of years of bitter planting.

Dominic understood Mabel’s logic, but his pride was a jagged thing. "I’ve been away for years. I don’t know what demon has possessed her. But I am her older brother, and with our parents gone, it’s my duty to set her straight. She needs to understand the gravity of her mistakes before I take her back."

He resolved to ignore her until she came to him in tears. But that resolve shattered the moment he returned from the commune office. He charged into the fields, his face a mask of outrage.

"Was it you?" he roared, looming over her. "Did you sign Caleb up for the rural placement?"

"My handiwork entirely," Evelyn replied, a spark of genuine pleasure lighting her eyes. It seemed the Wards lacked the leverage to undo the paperwork; Caleb was officially bound for the dirt.

"Are you even human?" Dominic’s finger trembled as he pointed at her. "Caleb is your brother! He’s just a boy! Mother fainted from grief when the notice arrived!"

Evelyn felt her spirits lift further. Fainted? she thought. Pity she didn't drop dead.

"What is that look on your face!" Dominic, incensed by her lack of remorse, snatched her hoe and flung it aside.

Evelyn calmly retrieved the tool. She didn't argue; she simply raised her hand and called out to the village accountant, who was patrolling for shirkers. "Accountant! Dominic isn't doing his own work, and now he’s harassing me so I can’t finish mine!"

The accountant, a stern man with his hands tucked behind his back, marched over. Dominic tried to cut him off. "I took the morning off! I’m on official leave!"

"You might be," Evelyn said smoothly, "but I’m not. Every minute you stand here, you’re wasting the brigade's time."

The accountant wagged a finger at Dominic. "She’s right. If your business is done, get back to your own plot or clear out."

Fuming, Dominic spun on his heel, his fists clenched white.

The news spread through the labor corps like wildfire: Evelyn had personally signed her younger brother up for the hardship of the frontier. Hazel was aghast. "How does she dare? Isn't she afraid your parents will kill her when they find out?"

Dominic couldn't wrap his head around it either. Evelyn was only two years older than Caleb, but she had been his primary caretaker since she was six. She had practically raised the boy. Before Dominic left home, Evelyn had doted on Caleb more than anyone.

"She... she must have lost her mind," Hazel whispered. "The broken engagement must have snapped something in her. Who pulls a knife on one brother and sends the other to a labor camp?"

For the first time, Dominic felt a flicker of resentment toward Julian. A wedding was a sacred thing; to stand a girl up, regardless of the delay, was an unforgivable stain. How was Evelyn supposed to show her face? How was the Ward family supposed to maintain its dignity?

"Mad or not," Mark remarked, "your sister is a cold-blooded operator."

"She’s more than cold," Hazel spat. "She’s malicious. What kind of person destroys their own flesh and blood like this?"

Contrary to the "vicious" reputation the city youths tried to pin on her, the village elders adored Evelyn. She was polite, hardworking, and devoid of the arrogance that usually arrived with the urbanites.

She made a habit of carrying fruit candies—the cheap, one-cent variety—in her pockets. Whether heading to the fields or returning at dusk, she would hand them out to the village children. These small acts of kindness did not go unnoticed.

The villagers all had private garden plots, but since Evelyn had arrived late, she hadn't been assigned one. Consequently, every time she walked home, neighbors would press fresh vegetables and fruit into her hands. Those whose children had tasted her candies were the most generous.

Evelyn tucked the excess produce into her "space." By winter, these fresh greens would be worth their weight in gold.

Then, the day finally came. Dominic stood at the edge of the farm and saw a ghost.

Caleb was a wreck. His hair was a matted nest, he smelled of sour sweat and old grease, and his face was overgrown with patchy stubble. He was so gaunt he looked skeletal. If Dominic hadn't known he was coming from the city, he would have mistaken him for a famine refugee.

"Caleb... what happened to you?"

Caleb looked ready to collapse into tears, but he was too weak for a breakdown. "Brother," he rasped, "I’m starving. Do you have anything to eat?"

Dominic hurried him back to his quarters. He reached into a small cabinet at the head of his bed and pulled out a tin of biscuits. As he held it, he paused, a sudden memory surfacing.

These were the biscuits Evelyn had sent him last month. Along with a tin of malted milk and a set of new summer clothes. Since he had moved away, his parents sent a parcel every three months—but Evelyn had quietly sent one every six, filled with things she had bought with her own meager savings.