It would be a number of days before I felt comfortable broaching the subject of the blades again. The blizzard had kept Emma and I couped up inside her house as walls of snow pounded the settlement and the winds whipped relentlessly down the narrow streets. She ventured out once or twice to deliver food to an ailing neighbor, but I was content to watch it through the windows. I worked on building trust: we played card games and cooked together. Using some of her herbs, I pulled together a simple remedy to help ease her neighbor's cough. I left out the fact that it was wolf medicine.

On my fourth day in Trout Creek, the snow finally ceased. The sun broke through the clouds, reflecting brilliantly on the fresh blanket of white. I awoke to the sound of a plow scraping pavement, clearing the road in front of the house. Emma had been up since dawn and handed me a heavy winter coat when I descended the stairs.

"Come with me," she said. "I can finally take you on a tour of our community."

The residential side of the settlement was larger than I expected. Two streets were lined with small homes, all with trails of smoke puffing out of their chimneys into the cold air. The largest of them were constructed from the same deep crimson bricks as the buildings on the main street. My favorites, though, were the tiny log-cabin style homes tucked into the pines at the very end of the street.

Despite the feet of snow on the ground, Trout Creek's main street was already bustling with activity. Community members had all emerged with shovels, ready to dig out the sidewalks while the plow snaked up and down the block.

As we followed the cleared paths, wading through thigh-deep snow drifts in between, I couldn't help but notice the friendly nods exchanged between neighbors. The residents greeted each other with genuine warmth, their laughter and chatter punctuating the quiet morning. Emma glowed with pride as she toured me around as though she was seeing her community for the first time, through my fresh eyes. It was idyllic in a way I thought existed only in movies.

Emma pointed out the various buildings that dotted the main street, showcasing the town's essential services. The guard station I recognized, sandwiched between a prominent town hall and a bakery. Further on, their own clinic and pharmacy was marked with a neon red cross sign that had long since burned out. There was a church, a small library, and a meager grocery store just beyond.

Trout Creek as a whole was simple and sturdy, standing as a testament to years of resilience against all of the harsh blizzards that came before this one, and the hundreds that would likely follow. The weariness that showed in cracked brick facades and peeling paint was different from that of the apartment I'd been put in when I arrived at the Castle Pack. Here, it felt like a favorite sweater, or an old pair of work boots: dependable. Well-loved.

"It's beautiful here," I said truthfully. For a moment, just one brief moment, I thought that I could almost picture myself making a life in Trout Creek.

"It's been hard," Emma admitted. "But we do well with what we have. Just up there's the foundry, I thought you might like to drop your gift off yourself." She shook the satchel hanging off her shoulder and the silverware rattled inside.

I was losing sight of my goal, but the sound brought me back. "I'd like that, thanks."

The building sat atop a hill, a safe distance away from the rest of the settlement. Along with the foundry, it housed the settlement's lumber and grain stores and had a large space in the front for woodworking. When we entered, a man was carefully sanding down the spindles of a rocking chair. I stopped to admire it for a moment in a bid to catch my breath. It wasn't a large hill, but the walk had me surprisingly winded. I pressed a hand to my stomach where a dull ache was building and shook off the fatigue before hurrying after Emma.

The foundry was in a walled-off space toward the back, already hot, air thick with the scent of metal and smoldering embers. At the center of the workshop stood the forge itself, an intimidating structure of iron and brick. Its roaring flames licked at the opening and cast a warm, golden light across the room.

A woman stepped out from the backside of the forge, clad in a heavy leather apron and thick gloves that made her hands look twice as large as they probably were. Soot was smudged in a line up her cheek where she'd brushed her skin shoving the protective glasses up onto the top of her head.

"Kiera, this is Harper, our resident silversmith." Emma introduced her with a flourish, and Harper removed one of her gloves to shake my hand. Her grip was strong.

"You're new," Harper pointed out. "Welcome to Trout Creek."

Emma withdrew the wooden box from her satchel and passed it to Harper. "Kiera heard about your work; she came bearing gifts."

Harper pulled a few pieces of silverware out and examined them closely before laying them back in the box. "I can work with these," she said with a smile. "I appreciate it."

I grinned back. Why am I so desperate for these people to like me?

"I have some work to down at my office. Maybe you can show Kiera some of your work?" Emma addressed Harper.

"I could always use an extra set of hands as long as you don't mind the temperature," she teased.

Once Harper got me set up with all the necessary protective gear, she began walking me around the workshop, explaining each step of the process. Today, she was casting a ring that a community member had commissioned her to make for their partner's upcoming birthday. I was glad—I wasn't sure I'd be able to help her forge silver blades. Not with the knowledge of what they were being used for.

"Have you been doing this long?" I asked. I wanted to start the conversation light so I could direct it where I needed it to go.

"About twenty years, give or take. This was my dad's shop." She was digging through a drawer of scrap metal for a suitable piece. "His vision's all but gone now, so I took it over a while back."

"He must be proud of you," I offered.

She snorted. "He likes to think he could still do better."

"Do you do most of your work for people in the community?" I was mapping out our conversation in my head, looking for ways to drive it towards my goal while Harper laid out her supplies on the workbench.

"Now, yeah. We used to do a lot more trade, but the demand just hasn't been there. No one wants handmade things like these. Things that take time." She shook her head. "But those that do, appreciate the little details."

"There was one season in my first pack when our crops were decimated by some sort of plant disease." Lying was becoming easier and easier, but I took no pleasure in it. "Trade was terrible that winter; we could hardly barter for enough supplies to get by."

Harper hummed. "I suppose we're lucky we trade mostly in crafts. Though with buyers so hard to come by, I know it's been tight. Our shops have been pretty bare the past couple years."

A pang of guilt shot through me. I was here under false pretenses, welcomed in generously. Using resources that should be reserved for community members. The shame only added to the ache I felt in my stomach.  "I'm sorry."

"It's turning around," she said optimistically, words punctuated by the sharp sound of her hammer against the anvil as she pounded out a strip of metal. "We've been making good money on silver blades. Though it seems you know about those?"

"I'd only heard that you were making them, not much else," I clarified. "What are they for?"

She shrugged. "Protection, I guess. A guy showed up here, a year or so ago? Commissioned a handful of them. He's come back a few more times, I could probably forge them with my eyes closed now. I must've made over fifty."

I tried to keep a neutral expression, hiding my face momentarily by wiping away the sweat that was dripping down from my hairline. Harper, focused on her work, hadn't noticed either way. "That's a lot of work."

"And a lot of money." She grinned at me for a second before dipping her head back over the anvil.

"Who is the guy, do you know?" I was pushing my luck and I knew it, but she didn't seem to mind the inquisition.

"I'm not a part of the business end of these sorts of things. I just provide the product."

I watched Harper work for a few hours, until I could no longer stand the heat of the workshop. She promised it was normal—it had taken her months to grow accustomed to tolerating it all day. The cold when I stepped outside was bracing and a couple deep breaths of it focused my mind quickly.

I needed to speak with Emma again. There was no chance in hell the rogues could afford to commission fifty silver blades; whoever was brokering the deal was the middleman Dmitri was looking for. The thought of so many blades in the hands of rogue attackers was troubling, to say the least, but the people of Trout Creek weren't the enemy. They were simply trying their best to make ends meet. To survive.

Nearing the town hall, I was overcome by a dizzy spell that nearly knocked me to the ground. I managed to shuffle my way to a bench, still partly covered in snow, and fell onto it. I lowered my head between my knees and tried to breathe until it cleared. My stomach twisted on itself. Hungry, I told myself.

But I knew better.

It was now over a week since I'd seen Gabriel. As much as I tried to fortify my mind against the painful thoughts of him, my body was at war with itself. It would do whatever it could to drive me back to him, despite knowing that there was nothing to go back to. I shuddered, imagining feeling this way for the rest of my life. If it continued to worsen, wasn't sure how long I could handle it.