“My—” Her voice came out thin. “My necklace. It’s gone.” The ground started moving underneath her. All at once, every breath she’d taken with that little piece of silver against her skin, every night she’d clutched it when fear clawed at her chest, every silly daydream about blue eyes and apple-stealing kisses, came crashing down.
“Where did you last see it?” Dax asked, instantly practical.
“Here,” she said, pressing a palm to her sternum. “Always here. I never take it off, I—” Her voice broke. Panic surged, irrational and huge.
“It could have just slipped,” Bennett said, already pushing back his chair. “We’ll find it.”
Harry hopped over the bench. “All right, treasure hunt!” he said, trying for lightness, but his eyes were serious. “Everyone, check everywhere. Bed, floor, stream, stable, down your boots—I’m looking at you, Gage.”
“Why would I take her jewelry?” Gage snapped, but he was already scanning the floor near the hearth.
Silas wandered toward the bed, dropping to his knees to peer under it. He checked the hooks by the door, the pile of folded clothes. Bennett moved toward the washbasin, hands sifting through the laundry pile with uncharacteristic urgency.
Snow White stood in the middle of the room, clenched and useless.
“It’s just a trinket. We’ve all seen it on your neck while you’ve been indisposed. A little bird or something?” Gage muttered, glancing up. “We can get you another.”
“No,” she said sharply. “You can’t.” He shut his mouth. “It was given to me,” she said, voice shaking. “By someone who… who saw me before anyone else did. Before any of you. Before…” She swallowed. “It’s all I have left of him.”
Dax’s expression flickered for a moment, hurt. “We’ll find it,” he said with new conviction. “Or we’ll tear this place down trying.”
Time stretched. They turned up everything except the one thing that had gone missing. No silver glint by the stream. No flash of metal in the cracks between the floorboards. No telltale weight in the pockets of her dresses. At last, exhausted and discouraged, they trailed back into the main room.
“We’ll keep looking tomorrow,” Harry said. “Maybe you dropped it outside on the path.”
Snow White nodded, numbed. She stirred the stew mechanically, appetite gone. The room seemed dimmer, the walls closer. She’d lost so much already—her father, her life as a princess, any chance at a normal existence. Losing this small, stubborn symbol of the boy who’d once looked at her like she was a miracle felt like losing that version of herself entirely.
Later, as dusk settled, Drew lingered by the bed instead of joining the others at the table waiting for supper. He knelt, small lantern in hand, and reached under the mattress, fingertips brushing through dust and the occasional forgotten button.
Something smooth and cold nudged his skin. He pinched it gently and pulled it out. A thin leather cord. A small oval of silver, etched with the worn outline of a falcon. Drew stood there for a long moment, chest tight, then crossed the threshold quietly and held out his hand, palm open towards her. The token gleamed in the fading light.
“Found it,” Drew said reluctantly.
She smiled. Her fingers closed around it, clutching it to her chest. Relief surged so strong she had to blink back tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Drew.”
He shrugged, flushing, and sank down beside her on the step, shoulder just brushing hers. The door creaked. Harry stepped out, leaning on the frame. “Found it?” he called. Snow White lifted the token, letting it catch the last light. The others spilled out one by one—Dax, Silas, Harry, Bennett, Gage—forming a loose semicircle around her.
“Good,” Dax said simply.
“You look like yourself again, Snow,” Bennett added, smile soft.
Gage snorted. “Told you it’d turn up.”
Silas yawned and dropped down behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, chin hooking on her shoulder. Harry flopped onto the step below, leaning his head against her knee. Bennett took the other side, legs stretched out. Dax leaned against the wall, watchful. Drew stayed where he was, shoulder still touching hers. For a long moment, they sat like that in comfortable silence, the forest murmuring around them.
Snow White looked at the faces turned toward her, at the way their bodies unconsciously arranged themselves in a protective curve, at the steadiness in their eyes. She thought of the mirror, of the men’s hands on her, of the way she’d ridden Drew while Harry and Dax and the others had bent toward her like she was their axis.
She closed her fingers around the token one more time, then let it drop back to rest against her collarbone. “Thank you,” she said again, looking at each of them in turn. They didn’t answer with flowery declarations or oaths.
Harry nudged her ankle. “What are we having for supper?” he asked.
“Burnt stew, if you keep distracting her,” Gage replied.
Silas hummed into her neck. “As long as she makes it,” he said. “I don’t care if it’s burnt.”
Dax’s mouth twitched. “I care,” he said. “But I’ll eat it anyway.”
Gage rolled his eyes. “This family is pathetic.”
