Every once a while, Hawke asks about the shipwreck, and Isabela makes up a story.

A sea serpent attacked us and we ran aground, she says, or my first mate mutinied, and I threw him overboard myself, but we'd already hit the reef. They've made a game of it. She's almost forgotten the truth, and the truth is in the past anyway, so who cares? The future is a new ship, wind in her hair as Kirkwall shrinks behind her.

If she'd been planning to stay, maybe it would be important. But she isn't, so it's not.

Luck will turn in her favor soon. When the opportunity comes, she'll be ready.

The qunari have moved into Lowtown. Isabela tries not to think about it, until the day comes when she doesn't have a choice—Hawke's going to see the Arishok, and she wants her by her side.

She can't go. If any of them recognize her—

The qunari are secretive, but she's heard stories. She's seen what they do to their mages, and that's just from fear of what might happen. What would they do to someone who'd definitely stolen from them?

Probably they're here for other reasons. They wouldn't stay for years just for a stupid book—would they?

Her steps grow heavier as they near the compound. "You'll have to get along without me today," she says, finally, with a disarming grin. "Impossible, I know."

"Why?"

"I have…other plans." She cocks an eyebrow.

"Ah," Hawke says. "Do tell him I said hello."

Isabela waggles her fingers goodbye and saunters down the steps.

At long last, everything has gone spectacularly tits up. The secret is out, and Isabela needs to leave now, while she still can.

It's too late to stay. There would be so many questions—why didn't you sayanything? How could you keep something like this from us? From me?—and she'd never be able to answer them. Hawke, with her eternal optimism, would think it could be fixed. Isabela, however, deals in reality, and she knows it can't.

Hasn't Kirkwall been taking care of itself for hundreds of years? The city—Hawke—they don't need her. She doesn't need them. This place has been an anchor for too long.

She scribbles a note and tucks it under Sam's belt. Even if Hawke doesn't see the paper, she'll notice the shiny silver buckle. The woman is a magpie.

Her throat burns and she swallows hard.

No regrets.

She tucks the book under her arm, and she doesn't look back.