Halt had known something was wrong the moment he woke up. It wasn't the cabin itself — that was as silent as ever, save for the faint crackling of dying embers in the hearth. But there was an absence, subtle and yet unmistakable. Will.

He'd heard the boy moving in the middle of the night, pacing quietly but restlessly, and though Halt hadn't let on, he'd kept one ear open. Now, as the faint light of dawn crept through the window, the silence told him Will hadn't returned to his bed.

Halt rose stiffly, shrugging into his cloak, and glanced at the empty cot. The blankets were rumpled and pushed aside. His mouth settled into a thin line. Without hesitation, he grabbed his bow and stepped outside, boots crunching softly in the fresh snow. The air was sharp and cold, the kind of cold that bit into your lungs, but Halt ignored it. He had a fair idea of where Will had gone.

It didn't take long to find him. Down by the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in the trees, Will sat slumped against a fallen log, his back to Halt. He was staring into the snow-covered ground, head lowered, shoulders hunched forward. He looked small — far too small for someone who had survived what Will had endured.

Halt approached quietly, his footsteps deliberate, giving Will just enough time to hear him coming. Will's head snapped up, his eyes wide with something that Halt couldn't quite place at first — fear, guilt, shame. It was the look of someone who had been caught doing something they knew they shouldn't.

"Will." Halt's voice was low, steady, but firm. "What are you doing out here?"

Will opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Halt's sharp gaze swept over him, noting the tremor in his hands, the pallor of his skin, the faint sweat along his brow. Then he saw it. A small leather pouch, half-buried in the snow beside Will, its drawstring loosened just enough to reveal a powdery residue.

Warmweed.

The realization hit Halt like a blow to the chest, though he kept his face impassive. Will saw the moment he understood, and he flinched as if Halt had struck him.

"I—" Will's voice cracked, and he dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry."

Halt's jaw tightened. He stepped forward, crouching so that he was level with Will. For a long moment, he didn't speak, just studied the boy before him. Will's breathing was shallow, his eyes glassy. He looked haunted.

"How long?" Halt finally asked, his voice quiet.

Will swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak. "A few weeks," he admitted. "It… it helps me forget. Just for a little while."

"Forget what?" Halt pressed, though he already knew the answer.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, his head dropping into his hands. "Everything," he whispered. "The cold. The whips. The chains. I can't sleep, Halt. Every time I close my eyes, I see it all over again. I hear their voices. I feel… I feel like I'm back there." His voice broke on the last word, and he fell silent.

Halt looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but edged with steel.

"Warmweed won't save you from those memories, Will. It'll only bury them. And when it wears off, they'll come back worse than before."

Will didn't respond, but his shoulders trembled slightly. Halt reached out, his hand steady and deliberate, and took the leather pouch from the snow. Will flinched but didn't protest as Halt tied the drawstring shut and slipped it into his own cloak pocket.

"I'm not angry," Halt said, his tone softening, "but I won't let this continue. You're stronger than this, Will. You've already proven it."

Will lifted his head slightly, his red-rimmed eyes searching Halt's face. "I don't feel strong," he whispered.

"Strength doesn't mean you don't stumble," Halt replied. "It means you get up again when you do."

Will looked away, his throat working as he fought back tears. Halt placed a firm hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

"This stops now," Halt said, his tone gentle but firm. "You're not alone in this, lad. I'll help you. Gilan will help you. But you have to let us."

Will swallowed hard and nodded slowly, though he couldn't quite meet Halt's eyes. Halt squeezed his shoulder once before standing.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you back inside."

Will hesitated for a moment, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. As he followed Halt back toward the cabin, he couldn't help but glance back at the fallen log where he'd sat. The snow had already begun to cover the place where the pouch had lain, as if trying to erase its presence altogether.

But Will knew the real battle was far from over.