“You can give me the update; I’ll tell Soter,” I offer.
“Physically, the patient is fine,” Chiara says, her tone clinical but gentle. She looks both ready for battle and as though she were just pulled from bed—rain boots, leggings, a plaid coat—sleep traded for adrenaline. “The blood isn’t his.”
I close my eyes, relief flooding me.
“Why won’t he talk?” He’s a quiet kid, but not this silent.
“Mute shock. Totally normal at this stage. He doesn’t know us, not yet.”
As she looks back at Fynn, I notice how intently he watches Isolde, never blinking as she stares at Soter. I smile, feeling happy he is safe and that he trusts Isolde enough to let her comfort him after everything he has been through. I used to give Isolde a hard time because of what she did to Wilder, but she has proven again and again that she is a good person whose past does not define her. Maybe I’ve been too hard on Soter tonight. He’s handling the situation with remarkable professionalism.
“He’s formed an attachment to Isolde,” Chiara whispers.
I clear my throat, knowing I need to contact Anselm. “So, what’s next?”
“You can call Child Protective Services. I’ll have Isolde bring him inside and wait until someone from the orphanage can pick him up.”
The urge to argue rises. I want to be Fynn’s protector, his calm in the storm, his family. But I recall Isolde’s tears, the way he holds her, and let it go. They need each other tonight. Separating them would just deepen the wounds. He’s safe. That has to be enough for now. I can take care of him for the rest of his life.
“I’ll make the call,” I say.
Chiara’s smile is tired but kind, so like Desi’s that it knocks the wind from me. “Let them know he’s safe. If they want to speak to me, give them my number. I’ll check on him within the hour.”
“Thank you, Chiara.”
She squeezes my arm before returning to the others. Isolde wraps Soter’s jacket around Fynn, cocooning him. Soter hesitates, sharing a silent glance with Isolde before moving away, shoulders stiff. She gazes after him for a moment, then takes a deep breath and turns away.
I can’t spare energy for whatever’s going on between them. I text Anselm that Fynn is safe, then dial the orphanage, my handsstill shaking as the adrenaline fades. Tonight could have ended a hundred ways. But I’ll make sure Fynn’s story gets a gentler second chapter.
“Hello, this is Domna Foster-Reid, Fynn Cygnus’s adoptive father,” I say to the woman on the line from Child Services at Lethe Orphanage, loud enough to capture everyone’s wide-eyed attention. “I’ve found him. He’s safe.”
The sittingroom door inside the castle swings open. Light from the hallway spills into the soot-scented darkness. I sit upright on the leather sofa. Fynn’s sleeping weight is a fragile anchor against my chest. Doctor Chiara Dunn walks in, her sharp eyes immediately finding me and the boy.
My thumb hovers over my phone screen, a half-written message to Soter glowing:
Isolde
I knew you’d do this again
I delete it, humiliation burning fresh.
I love him—gods help me, I do—but he broke my heart once already. When I chose him over Wilder, Soter’s father called me “Nebula trash” and told his son to “loosen the dead weight” if he wanted to make something of himself. Iwas the dead weight.
He’s spent years trying to apologize for his family, whispering promises that I’m the most important person in his life, claiming he’d do anything for me. That he loves me.
But ambition still burns in him—that desperate need to surpass Wilder, to prove himself to his father. Am I just another trophy in his rivalry with my ex?
Chiara approaches, and I quickly lock my screen.
“How’s the boy?” She presses her hand against Fynn’s forehead.
“Content,” I whisper. “Fell asleep about ten minutes ago.”
“Has he said anything?”
“No. I’m not very good with words tonight, apparently.”
Chiara settles beside me, her presence as comforting as it’s always been. I’ve known her since childhood—not as Wilder’s mother initially, but as a doctor, then later as Altum Healer Dunn, who gave me lollipops at the clinic during visits. “Sometimes presence is enough.” She studies my face in the firelight. “You look like you’re carrying more than just this child.”
