Chapter Text
Michael Wheeler mounted his horse with a restlessness he could neither name nor soothe. He had not the faintest notion of his destination; only that he wished, for a fleeting while, to vanish from the world that had so recently reclaimed him. Ever since his return, an unfamiliar hollow had taken residence within him, a quiet yet persistent ache in the pit of his stomach.
His travels across the vast and varied lands of Europe had, in some peculiar way, felt like a flight—from expectations, from duty, perhaps even from himself. He had believed, most ardently, that upon his return he would once again feel anchored, restored to the comforts of home—to Jane, to his companions, to all that had once defined him. And yet… something refused to settle.
The emptiness lingered.
Might it be that the intoxicating thrill of wandering from one unknown place to another had deserted him entirely? He could not say. But he could no longer pretend otherwise: something, somewhere, was amiss.
He had ridden for near twenty minutes, far removed from the familiarity of his estate, when a carriage came into view—one he did not recognize. It was dark, weathered, and possessed of a most unsettling air as it advanced toward him.
**
William Byers sparred with his sister Jane, his breath quickened, his movements sharpened by an emotion he scarcely wished to name.
“Now we are truly speaking,” Jane remarked with a teasing lilt, sprawled upon the ground. “One might almost believe… that you are cross with me.”
“Jane…” William began, his voice tight. “There is something I must ask you.”
“Oh?”
With effortless grace, she rose to her feet.
“I saw you with Mr. Dustin Henderson.”
At once, a delicate blush spread across Jane’s cheeks.
“Well, he is a very dear friend of ours…”
William shook his head. “I do not think it is merely that. There is something more—I perceived it at once.”
Jane exhaled, as though surrendering to a truth she could not evade.
“Very well… there is something different about him. We have spoken often of late, and I feel as though he understands me… in a manner few do.”
“More than I?” William pressed.
“You know that is not what I mean…”
“But Jane… Mr. Michael Wheeler is courting you.”
“William…” she said softly, her composure beginning to falter. “I am a burden upon your mother. I have reached an age where marriage is not merely expected—it is necessary. I must secure a match, for… for—”
“You are no burden,” William interrupted firmly. “My mother does not see you so.”
“She would never say it,” Jane whispered, tears beginning to gather in her eyes. “And perhaps, as you claim, she does not think it. But she lives it—the strain, the division of her dowry… and your estate alone is not sufficient. You must understand, William…”
He raised a hand, gently halting her. She was right. He did not know what it was to be a woman—to exist within the confines of a world that denied one even the ownership of property.
“The Wheelers possess considerable fortune,” Jane continued. “Do you know what it would mean for your mother—for the name of Byers to be joined with that of Wheeler?”
A chill passed through him at the thought. Byers. Wheeler.
“Then I beg you,” William said at last, his voice low, “do not trifle with the affections of others. You must choose—allow yourself to be courted either by Mr. Wheeler… or by Mr. Henderson.”
“I cannot—” Jane’s voice broke as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I am not certain of Mr. Henderson’s intentions.”
“Dustin is a gentleman—”
“And I am not even certain of my own.”
She dissolved into quiet sobs.
And though he scarcely understood why, William felt the sting of tears threaten his own composure. Yet he restrained himself; he would not burden her further when her mind was already so troubled.
Instead, he crossed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. She wept upon his shoulder, and he held her there, offering what solace he could, for he knew no words would suffice. For now, his embrace was enough.
At length, they parted. Jane withdrew to her chambers, and William found himself quite unable to remain confined within four walls. He set out upon a walk, crossing the very fields where they so often rode together, only then noticing that his sword still hung sheathed at his side.
He swallowed his senseless tears—senseless, for what cause had he to weep?—and though the sun shone golden about him, the world appeared dimmed, as though cast in shadow.
He walked, and walked, and walked.
Until the stillness was shattered.
Voices. Shouting. The unmistakable sound of struggle.
He ran toward the commotion without hesitation—and what met his gaze filled him with horror.
A dark carriage stood abandoned, and beside it, two men grappled with Michael, whose flushed cheeks bore the mark of blows already dealt.
“Well, if you will not comply willingly,” one of them rasped, drawing a blade shorter than William’s, “then we shall proceed otherwise.”
“RELEASE HIM AT ONCE!” William commanded, unsheathing his sword.
The men turned. Though they outnumbered him, he saw it plainly—fear flickered in their eyes.
The armed man lunged. William met him with skill and precision, and after several tense moments, struck his arm, forcing him back with a cry. The man fled at once. The other, sprawled upon the ground, required only a single look from William before scrambling away in terror.
The field fell silent.
William cast his sword aside and dropped to his knees beside him.
“Michael—Michael, are you hurt?”
Michael stared at him, wide-eyed, his expression unreadable, as though caught between disbelief and something deeper still.
William reached for him—his face, his arm, his chest—ensuring, with mounting urgency, that he was whole. His friend’s heart raced beneath his touch, and his gaze did not waver.
“You are safe. You are safe. What happened?”
Michael, still shaken, spoke at last in a low voice, averting his eyes.
“It was nothing. A mere attempt at robbery. I was a fool—worse, a pitiable one. I had not even a coin upon me. I only led them to believe I did, for… well, I cannot say why.”
William studied him closely, as though to reassure himself with every glance.
“You appear unharmed. That is all that matters.”
Michael looked back at him then—and there was something new in his eyes. Something brighter. Something unguarded.
“You saved me,” he said quietly. “William… you saved me.”
A flush rose unbidden to William’s cheeks.
“It was nothing of consequence, I assure you—”
“Since when,” Michael interrupted, a faint smile touching his lips, “did you become so adept with a blade?”
The color deepened upon William’s face.
“For several months now,” he replied—though the statement was, in truth, an utter fabrication.
Michael placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
William could only nod, acutely aware of the warmth rising in his cheeks.
After a moment, Michael glanced about, as if struck by sudden realization.
“Athos… he fled,” he murmured, referring to his horse, before exhaling. “No matter. He knows the road home well enough. I daresay he shall be waiting for me upon my return.”
William let out a soft laugh.
“Are you quite certain?”
Michael laughed as well.
“Quite. And if not, I shall call upon you to aid me in the search.”
“With pleasure.”
Their eyes met—and in that fleeting instant, William felt it keenly: Michael had not looked at him so deeply, so searchingly… not since they were boys.