Serafina was rushed to the hospital, but as it turned out, her heart was sturdier than the cargo they’d lost. While she occupied a sterile cot, Julian was left to face the local constabulary.

The duty officer stared at him with weary recognition. "You again?" his expression seemed to say. "It’s been what—three days?"

After a brief, skeptical interrogation of Serafina, the officer paused. "Let me get this straight. You're claiming someone was scattering wedding candy in the middle of the street?"

Serafina nodded fervently, her eyes brimming with a practiced shimmer of tears. "Yes! I looked away for one second—just one second to see the commotion—and when I turned back, the parcels were gone."

The officer’s brow furrowed, a sentiment mirrored by Julian. It defied logic. Even with an accomplice, a haul of that size—bulky quilts and winter gear—doesn't just evaporate into thin air in the blink of an eye.

"And you heard nothing?" the officer pressed. "Felt nothing?"

It was impossible. A bundle of cotton quilts has weight; it has friction. You don't lose a mountain of bedding unless you’re looking the other way for a long, long time. Julian’s mind went to the same dark place the officer’s had: Serafina must have been right in the thick of it, scrambling for sweets with the rest of the crowd.

Serafina was a woman built on a foundation of convenient lies; now that she was finally telling the truth, it sounded like the poorest fiction ever written.

"Officer, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Can we get them back?"

The officer sighed, closing his notebook. She had offered no descriptions, no directions, no leads. "We’ll do what we can. But my advice? Don’t wait on us. Start preparing for winter again. You’re going to need it."

The subtext was clear: It’s gone. Accept it.

When Julian returned to the ward, Serafina was a wreck of red-rimmed eyes and silent sobs. She wasn’t mourning the loss so much as her own misfortune—why did the thieves strike when she was alone? If Julian had been there, the blame would at least have been shared.

Julian looked at her, but the well of his sympathy had run dry. He had bigger problems. Without those quilts, how were they to survive? Their cotton rations—strictly controlled by the state—were already spent. In the countryside, villagers made their own, but they weren't about to share their expertise or their precious heat with outsiders.

He opened the envelope his mother had sent. He didn't even read the letter; he just rifled through the coupons. Flour, meat, tobacco... but no cotton. Not a single one.

Serafina watched his face go pale, his breathing becoming heavy and jagged. "Julian... are you angry with me?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't.

"You're blaming me," she stated, her voice rising with a defensive edge. "You left me there alone with all that luggage! Is it my fault people are criminals? I didn't ask for this to happen!"

Julian looked up, his gaze cold. "How are you feeling?"

She clutched her chest, her voice instantly softening into a fragile reed. "My chest... it still feels so tight. Like I can't catch my breath."

"Then stay here," Julian said, standing up. "Wait until you're stable. I have to head back."

Serafina’s eyes widened. "You’re leaving me? Here? Alone?"

"The supplies are gone, Serafina," he said, his irritation finally breaking through. "I have to tell the others." He fished into his pocket and set two flour coupons and fifty cents on the bedside table. "Buy yourself something to eat."

She grabbed his wrist, her eyes wide and pleading. "Julian, please..."

He peeled her fingers off his skin, ignoring the wounded look in her eyes.

"Julian!" she shrieked, the sound sharp and grating against the hospital walls. He flinched, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

"When you get back to the brigade," she spat, her voice low and venomous now, "ask if Evelyn was in town today."

Julian paused at the door. "What does she have to do with this?"

"I have a feeling," Serafina said, her jaw set. "Why was it so perfectly timed? She knew we were coming for the parcels today. She’s the only one who hates us enough to do this."

Julian stared at her for a long beat. "I'm going home."

"Just ask!" she cried out. "Maybe she was here!"

"And if she was?" Julian snapped. "Could she carry five massive crates on her back? I couldn't even manage that. Use your head, Serafina."

But the seed was planted. Serafina gripped the bedsheets, her knuckles white. Evelyn was too close to the villagers; she had them wrapped around her finger. They could have helped her. They could have plotted it together.

Julian left without a goodbye. Serafina watched his retreating back, a slow, hot rage simmering in her gut. Years ago, when her heart had first "failed" her, Julian had abandoned his own wedding to Evelyn to stay by her side. Now, he wouldn't even stay for an hour. All because of some missing blankets.

Were those rags truly more important than her?

On his way back to the village, Julian stopped at the general store. He bought a small cache of grain and meat. They had worked themselves to the bone during the wheat harvest; they needed the strength.

At the lodgings, Dominic and Caleb were exhausted. They had spent the day hauling wood—two full cartloads. While the other villagers worked in large groups to stockpile fuel, the three of them were on their own. And Serafina? She was a liability. She couldn't swing an axe without fainting, which meant they had to cut enough for four people just to keep her from freezing.

When Caleb saw the meat, his eyes practically turned green. He didn't even notice Serafina was missing. "Meat and radishes tonight?" he salivated, literally spitting in his excitement. "Or maybe a bone broth with sauerkraut?"

"I’ll go get Serafina to start the cooking!" Caleb turned to leave, his stomach leading the way.

"She’s in the hospital," Julian said flatly. "Her heart. She won't be back today."

Caleb stopped dead. "Is it serious?"

"They're keeping her for observation," Julian replied.

Dominic looked up, suspicious. "Again? Why now?"

Serafina had always been a master of her "condition." Back in the city, she was rarely ill—only when the stakes were high enough to warrant a collapse. None of them had doubted her on the day of the wedding, but here, in the harsh reality of the countryside, the timing was becoming... convenient.

Julian sighed and sat down. He couldn't hide it any longer. "It’s not just her. The parcels... they’re gone. Stolen."

Caleb let out a bark of a laugh. "Good one, Julian. You almost had me."

Julian just looked at him, his silence heavy and suffocating.

Caleb’s grin slowly curdled. "Wait. You’re joking, right?"

"I'm not. They took everything."

"Your parcels?" Caleb whispered, his voice cracking.

"No," Julian said, looking into the empty fireplace. "Ours."
Serafina was rushed to the hospital, but as it turned out, her heart was sturdier than the cargo they’d lost. While she occupied a sterile cot, Julian was left to face the local constabulary.

The duty officer stared at him with weary recognition. "You again?" his expression seemed to say. "It’s been what—three days?"

After a brief, skeptical interrogation of Serafina, the officer paused. "Let me get this straight. You're claiming someone was scattering wedding candy in the middle of the street?"

Serafina nodded fervently, her eyes brimming with a practiced shimmer of tears. "Yes! I looked away for one second—just one second to see the commotion—and when I turned back, the parcels were gone."

The officer’s brow furrowed, a sentiment mirrored by Julian. It defied logic. Even with an accomplice, a haul of that size—bulky quilts and winter gear—doesn't just evaporate into thin air in the blink of an eye.

"And you heard nothing?" the officer pressed. "Felt nothing?"

It was impossible. A bundle of cotton quilts has weight; it has friction. You don't lose a mountain of bedding unless you’re looking the other way for a long, long time. Julian’s mind went to the same dark place the officer’s had: Serafina must have been right in the thick of it, scrambling for sweets with the rest of the crowd.

Serafina was a woman built on a foundation of convenient lies; now that she was finally telling the truth, it sounded like the poorest fiction ever written.

"Officer, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Can we get them back?"

The officer sighed, closing his notebook. She had offered no descriptions, no directions, no leads. "We’ll do what we can. But my advice? Don’t wait on us. Start preparing for winter again. You’re going to need it."

The subtext was clear: It’s gone. Accept it.

When Julian returned to the ward, Serafina was a wreck of red-rimmed eyes and silent sobs. She wasn’t mourning the loss so much as her own misfortune—why did the thieves strike when she was alone? If Julian had been there, the blame would at least have been shared.

Julian looked at her, but the well of his sympathy had run dry. He had bigger problems. Without those quilts, how were they to survive? Their cotton rations—strictly controlled by the state—were already spent. In the countryside, villagers made their own, but they weren't about to share their expertise or their precious heat with outsiders.

He opened the envelope his mother had sent. He didn't even read the letter; he just rifled through the coupons. Flour, meat, tobacco... but no cotton. Not a single one.

Serafina watched his face go pale, his breathing becoming heavy and jagged. "Julian... are you angry with me?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't.

"You're blaming me," she stated, her voice rising with a defensive edge. "You left me there alone with all that luggage! Is it my fault people are criminals? I didn't ask for this to happen!"

Julian looked up, his gaze cold. "How are you feeling?"

She clutched her chest, her voice instantly softening into a fragile reed. "My chest... it still feels so tight. Like I can't catch my breath."

"Then stay here," Julian said, standing up. "Wait until you're stable. I have to head back."

Serafina’s eyes widened. "You’re leaving me? Here? Alone?"

"The supplies are gone, Serafina," he said, his irritation finally breaking through. "I have to tell the others." He fished into his pocket and set two flour coupons and fifty cents on the bedside table. "Buy yourself something to eat."

She grabbed his wrist, her eyes wide and pleading. "Julian, please..."

He peeled her fingers off his skin, ignoring the wounded look in her eyes.

"Julian!" she shrieked, the sound sharp and grating against the hospital walls. He flinched, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

"When you get back to the brigade," she spat, her voice low and venomous now, "ask if Evelyn was in town today."

Julian paused at the door. "What does she have to do with this?"

"I have a feeling," Serafina said, her jaw set. "Why was it so perfectly timed? She knew we were coming for the parcels today. She’s the only one who hates us enough to do this."

Julian stared at her for a long beat. "I'm going home."

"Just ask!" she cried out. "Maybe she was here!"

"And if she was?" Julian snapped. "Could she carry five massive crates on her back? I couldn't even manage that. Use your head, Serafina."

But the seed was planted. Serafina gripped the bedsheets, her knuckles white. Evelyn was too close to the villagers; she had them wrapped around her finger. They could have helped her. They could have plotted it together.

Julian left without a goodbye. Serafina watched his retreating back, a slow, hot rage simmering in her gut. Years ago, when her heart had first "failed" her, Julian had abandoned his own wedding to Evelyn to stay by her side. Now, he wouldn't even stay for an hour. All because of some missing blankets.

Were those rags truly more important than her?

On his way back to the village, Julian stopped at the general store. He bought a small cache of grain and meat. They had worked themselves to the bone during the wheat harvest; they needed the strength.

At the lodgings, Dominic and Caleb were exhausted. They had spent the day hauling wood—two full cartloads. While the other villagers worked in large groups to stockpile fuel, the three of them were on their own. And Serafina? She was a liability. She couldn't swing an axe without fainting, which meant they had to cut enough for four people just to keep her from freezing.

When Caleb saw the meat, his eyes practically turned green. He didn't even notice Serafina was missing. "Meat and radishes tonight?" he salivated, literally spitting in his excitement. "Or maybe a bone broth with sauerkraut?"

"I’ll go get Serafina to start the cooking!" Caleb turned to leave, his stomach leading the way.

"She’s in the hospital," Julian said flatly. "Her heart. She won't be back today."

Caleb stopped dead. "Is it serious?"

"They're keeping her for observation," Julian replied.

Dominic looked up, suspicious. "Again? Why now?"

Serafina had always been a master of her "condition." Back in the city, she was rarely ill—only when the stakes were high enough to warrant a collapse. None of them had doubted her on the day of the wedding, but here, in the harsh reality of the countryside, the timing was becoming... convenient.

Julian sighed and sat down. He couldn't hide it any longer. "It’s not just her. The parcels... they’re gone. Stolen."

Caleb let out a bark of a laugh. "Good one, Julian. You almost had me."

Julian just looked at him, his silence heavy and suffocating.

Caleb’s grin slowly curdled. "Wait. You’re joking, right?"

"I'm not. They took everything."

"Your parcels?" Caleb whispered, his voice cracking.

"No," Julian said, looking into the empty fireplace. "Ours."