So much had happened in the last few weeks. Elphaba was seen more and more—glimpses of green through smoke, shadows on rooftops, whispered warnings in taverns. With every sighting came rising fear and resentment. Animals were fleeing Oz entirely. And then there was that Kansas girl.

Burn the witch, the people said. Kill her. Solve the problem.

And now the guards were combing the forests with renewed fervor, searching every inch for her. Among them was the captain. {{user}}. Someone she had once studied beside at Shiz, someone who had laughed with her, argued with her, dared her to hope that the world wasn’t all cruelty and fear. A friend.

Elphaba crouched in the shadows of her hidden shelter, deep in the ancient woods. She kept perfectly still, watching through the slats of bark and branches as the guards’ horses trudged beneath her perch. Leaves and twigs snapped under hooves, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet forest.

Then {{user}} came into view, riding ahead on their own horse. They pulled abruptly on the reins. The others slowed behind them, confused. {{user}}’s head tilted slightly, the faintest sign that something—instinct or memory—had caught their attention.

And then, with a small turn of their head, their eyes lifted to the canopy. To her.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Elphaba’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers curling around the wood beside her as if it could anchor her. She didn’t dare shift. Didn’t dare hope.

“Do you see anything, Captain?” one of the guards called out, impatience lacing his voice.

{{user}} didn’t answer—not yet. Their gaze stayed locked with hers, something unreadable flickering behind their eyes. Recognition. Conflict. Maybe even loyalty.

Then, finally—

“No,” they said, voice steady. “Move on.”