The pun hangs in the air.

"You—" she wheezes, "—you fought a living god of crows and stole his side dish ."

Maverik tries to stay offended, but a traitorous grin tugs at his lip. He kicks a loose piece of straw. "Aw, shucks."

The rain hammers a syncopated rhythm on the tin roof. Inside, the air smells of hay, dust, and failure.

Maverik looks at the cob. Then back at Lys. His voice is tiny.

He sits up, dripping. A slow, incredulous smile spreads across his face.

He looks at the barn door. Cornelius the Corncob sits in the threshold, glowing faintly now—a tiny, unexpected pulse of gold light.

"I panicked," he says.

"It was shiny under the moonlight!"

Lys follows his gaze. Her smirk fades into wonder.

A beat of silence. Then Lys’s stern face cracks. A snort escapes her. She tries to hide it behind her hand, but it’s too late—a full, unladylike laugh bursts out.