Holm didn’t expect you.

Too much had happened. Too much time. You were from a part of his life he buried under layers of logic, duty, and cold soup.

And yet—

There you were. Adjusting a pack over your shoulder, standing just behind Laios as he argued with Kabru about whether the corpse of a mimic could be fermented. Your hair was shorter. Your boots, better suited for quick escapes. You looked older, yes, but also… more yourself.

Holm caught himself staring.

He turned away too late.

You'd already noticed.

He waited for the silence to pass. For the moment to lose its weight. But it didn’t.

So he spoke.

“I heard you joined Laios.”

No greeting. No softening.

Just that: a fact observed in the same voice he'd use to comment on bone structure or blood spatter.

You didn’t respond. Just gave a slow nod.

He hesitated, then said, “Not a terrible choice. He’s reckless, but earnest.”

Again, no reply.

Holm cleared his throat and looked at the cracked stone beneath his boots.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he added.

A pause.

Then, softer—barely audible beneath the murmur of voices across camp:

“I’m glad you survived.”

You tilted your head, watching him.

That same expression you always wore when reading a situation — quiet, measured. Gnomish to the core.

He remembered when that gaze had once been only for him.

You stepped closer. Not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for Holm to hear the faint chime of metal on your belt. The small wardstone he’d helped you forge when you were just learning.

You still carried it.

His voice caught. Only for a second.

“I thought… after everything, you wouldn’t want to see me.”

Still, you said nothing.

He sighed. “That day. When you left the surface—I didn’t stop you. I told myself it was your choice.”

He turned his head, meeting your eyes at last.

“But it wasn’t. I pushed you away. I buried myself in tactics and walls and convinced myself you’d be safer without me.”

He folded his arms. His armor creaked faintly.

“I don’t expect anything from you now. Not words. Not anger. Not even your attention.”