What the cat dragged in

[Marek]

“I’ve been watching the Vas wagons,” he said, voice low and rough. “I heard the girls were gone. Foolish girls. They won’t last out there. There was something personal in the way he said it like he knew first hand. Like he'd been swallowed once himself, and spat back out only partially whole. “I might go after them,” he said. “Just to see.”

The world had just started to quiet again when Marek stepped out from the dark. Sámiel saw him before he could react—a tall figure approaching slowly from the edge of the midway, all tension and shadows and the slight crunch of gravel beneath his shoes. His hands were shoved into the deep pockets of his canvas coat, and his walk had that odd rhythm of someone who hadn’t planned to interrupt, but had decided to anyway.

“Hi,” Marek cleared his throat. “Sámi. Pop wants to talk to you.”

Sámiel rose with exaggerated slowness, brushing down his trousers, then his coat. He didn’t look at Marek right away. His eyes lingered on Lalitha, catching hers for a final moment. The expression on his face had changed from less wild and wicked. Thoughtful or maybe even concerned.

Marek shifted beside them, and Sámiel finally looked at him, as if just now remembering he was there. He gave a quiet groan, rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll see what Pop wants,” he muttered, brushing past Marek with a squeeze on his shoulder that said he best be careful.

Then he was gone. His silhouette swallowed into the dark, coat trailing behind like the tail of some nocturnal predator.

Marek stood there, momentarily rigid. He watched the space Sámiel had vacated for a beat too long, jaw clenched. Then his gaze shifted back and forth until finally settling on Lalitha.

“I brought something,” Marek said. His voice was softer now. Less sure of itself.

He stepped closer and pulled a small bundle from his coat pocket. Delicate silver chainlinks unraveled in his fingers. At the center of it was a pendant.

It was just a shard of bone, no longer than a thumb joint, cleaned and polished smooth. Twisted copper wire wrapped around its middle like a cage, warm even in the cold air. On the flat of the bone was an etched mark, but not immediately noticeable. And the pendant hung from a leather cord, stiff with use, braided in places where the strands had snapped and been re-tied.

He held it out toward her—not dramatically, not even with ceremony. Just... offering.

“I made it for you,” Marek said. “For luck,” he added. But part of him knew it was protection or something else entirely.

His mouth worked slightly, like he wanted to say more. Instead, he knelt, lowering himself to the same level as her. He wasn’t graceful like Sámiel, but he was solid.

“I used the copper from the rig line that snapped near the fire tent last week,” he said. “The same one you nearly tripped on. I figured... well, maybe if it tried to take you once, it owed you something.”

“The bone’s from an old stew rabbit. Cleaned it myself. The sigil’s... one my mamaie used to draw on door frames when the rains came early.” He hesitated. “She said it kept spirits from walking in. Maybe that’s all nonsense. But I figured it couldn’t hurt.” He started to hand it over but then snatched it back at the last second.

“I know it’s not your style,” he said. “And you don’t have to wear it.”