Chapter 19 Knock Before You Enter.
For a moment, it’s quiet enough that I can almost believe the world has decided to let us breathe. The smoke drifts lazily through the trees, the air warm and heavy with that burnt, metallic tang.
Then I hear voices, dozens of angry voices in the distance. It starts as a murmur, then builds into a chorus of shouting. It's the kind of sound that belongs to people who’ve lost something and want someone to blame.
Ashlyn freezes mid-step, her head snapping toward the treeline. “Oh, that sounds… bad.”
I tilt my head. “Bad like, we should hide bad, or bad like you definitely burned down a small kingdom bad?”
She grimaces. “Uh. Option B.”
The shouting gets louder — the distinct crash of boots through underbrush, the clatter of metal.
“Please tell me they’re not armed,” I mutter.
“Oh, they’re absolutely armed,” Ashlyn says. “Probably with pitchforks. Maybe a few torches if we’re going for aesthetic.”
Gilfred chirps something that sounds suspiciously like, You’ve got to be kidding me. I look at Ashlyn. She looks at me. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the rising storm of voices in the distance.
Ashlyn smiles, wide and unrepentant. “Well,” she says, “time to go. Are you coming, or do you want to face that alone?”
I glance toward the treeline again. The glow of firelight flickers between the branches. The shouts are getting closer, clearer and the words they use are not pretty.
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “I definitely don’t want to face that.”
Ashlyn’s grin widens like a cat who’s just been handed a new game. “Perfect,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Looks like we get to run away together.”
And before I can point out that running away hasn’t exactly worked out well for me lately, she’s already tugging me through the trees, with laughter on her lips, smoke curling behind us, and an army of very angry people chasing us. Gilfred clings to my shoulder like his life depends on it, which, to be fair, it probably does.
I sigh, half-running, half-stumbling after her. “You know,” I say between breaths, “this is exactly how I make terrible life decisions.”
Ashlyn glances back, eyes bright. “You mean fun ones.”
Somewhere in the distance, a horn blows, low, ominous, and far too close.
“Right,” I mutter. “Fun. That’s one word for it.”
By the time we stop running, the sun’s long gone and my legs feel like they’re made of wet rope. The forest has thinned into a stretch of low hills and tangled roots, the smoke far behind us now, just a smear on the horizon. Ashlyn, who somehow manages to look energised instead of exhausted, points ahead, breathless but grinning. “There,” she says. “Shelter.”
At first, I think she’s joking, but then I see it: an old lodge half-swallowed by vines and time, slouched between two massive oaks. Its roof is sagging, its windows are dark, but it’s still standing.
“Perfect,” she says, trotting up to the door.
“Wait.” I grab her arm. “You can’t just walk in.”
She blinks at me. “Why not?”
“Because it’s rude.”
“Rude?”
“Yes.” I fold my arms. “You’re supposed to knock first. It’s, you know, manners. Or superstition. Or both. You never just barge into someone’s home. Especially not when you’ve had the kind of week I’ve had.”
Ashlyn raises an eyebrow, amused. “The kind of week where you somehow freeze an ocean and lose your shoes?”
I glare at her. “The kind of week where you learn to knock, thank you very much.”
She shrugs, smirking. “Alright then, princess of courtesy. Knock away.”
So I do. Three polite knocks. The sound echoes hollow through the wood. I wait... Nothing.
“See?” she says.
I knock again, louder this time. “Hello?” I call softly. “If anyone’s in there, we’re just… cold, mildly traumatised, and in need of moral realignment.”
Ashlyn snorts. “Yeah, that’ll win them over.”
We wait another beat. The woods stay silent except for the wind.
Ashlyn tilts her head, grinning. “Alright. No one’s home.” And before I can protest, she pushes the door open with a dramatic creak.
It’s definitely abandoned. The air inside smells like dust and pine. Cobwebs lace the rafters, the fireplace is cold, and the furniture’s all coated in a thin film of time. Still, it’s shelter. We both stand in the doorway for a long second, just… breathing. Then, slowly, we start to thaw.
Ashlyn flops into a chair that looks like it might give way beneath her at any moment. “Well,” she sighs. “Not the worst place I’ve ever broken into.”
“You’re far too casual about crime,” I mutter, glancing around.
She grins, kicking her bare feet up on the table. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Freeze the Ocean with no shoes is going to lecture me about breaking and entering?”
I roll my eyes, though a smile threatens to betray me. “You don’t even know my name.”
She points a finger at me. “Exactly. Which brings me to my next question. What is your story, mysterious girl with no shoes?”
I glance down at her feet which are also dirty and bare, a matching pair of chaos. “You don’t have shoes either.”
“Yes,” she says brightly, “but I already introduced myself, which means I get a name. You don’t. Yet.”
Gilfred makes a quiet, chirpy noise of agreement from my shoulder. Traitor.
I sigh, giving in. “Fine. I’m Bella.”
Ashlyn’s smile softens just a little. “Bella,” she repeats. “Pretty.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
I settle cross-legged on the floor, tugging my shirt tighter around me. “So yes, I’m Bella. Ice elemental with unstable powers who keeps committing felonies and making terrible life choices. Oh, and this is Gilfred.”
At his name, Gilfred straightens proudly, puffing up like a lizard-shaped hero.
Ashlyn gasps dramatically. “The gecko has a name?”
“He’s more reliable than most people I’ve met,” I say, and Gilfred lets out a proud little chirp.
Ashlyn laughs, leaning back in the chair until it groans beneath her weight. “Well, Bella and Gilfred,” she says, “welcome to our new life of questionable decisions and probable arson.”
I glance at her, half-smiling despite myself. “You say that like it’s supposed to sound appealing.”
“Oh, it will,” she says, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Just give it time.”
I tug a thread loose from my sleeve, staring at it instead of her. “For the record,” I say quietly, “I don’t actually want to keep committing crimes. I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen. I just keep trying to do the right thing, and it somehow turns into theft or...”
“Accidental property damage,” Ashlyn supplies, grinning.
“Exactly.”
Her grin fades a little. “Sometimes,” she says softly, “it’s okay to break a few rules. As long as your soul stays intact.”
I look up. “You think mine is?”
She smiles faintly. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t care.”