Archie exhaled slowly. “No.” His hand slid up, fingers spreading over the back of Malachi’s head, steady and sure. “And if you ever think of touching it, I’ll shoot you myself.”
Malachi let out a weak huff that might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been a breath breaking “But?—"
“No.” Archie pulled back just far enough to catch Malachi’s face between his hands. His thumbs brushed under his eyes, rough and clumsy. He kissed Malachi’s forehead.
Malachi twisted away with a snort, scrubbing his sleeve over his face. “You’re disgusting.”
Archie’s mouth twitched—the closest thing to a smile he’d managed all night.
“Isn’t this cosy?”
Ina filled the doorway, arms folded, eyebrows already climbing. Her gaze swept the rooming in a heartbeat—the overturned chair, the damp footprints, the heap of soaked clothes by the laundry door.
“They came?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Ina crossed the kitchen and took Malachi by the chin, already cataloguing damage.
“This?” She brushed the scrape on his cheek with her thumb. “And this?” Her hand slid to his neck, catching on the shallow cut there.
Before Malach could protest, she pulled him into her arms. He stiffened, then melted into it.
“If I’d thought for one second theSelkie would dare come back here, I’d never have gone to Tilly's and left you here.” She released him and turned to Archie. “I would’ve put her to sleep in the spare room.”
“Bloody whiskey.” Archie let out a breath and sank into his chair. He rubbed his face with his hand, then nudged Malachi’s chair with his foot. Not a command. An invitation.
Malachi hesitated, then sat. Colour crept back into his face.
Ina was already moving again. She reached into the cupboard and lifted three mugs, stacked in one hand. The kettle clicked on. Steam began to build. She hooked the bottom cupboard open with her foot. Plastic takeaway containers surged forward. She swore under her breath and pinned the lot back with her knee. “There’s biscuits in here somewhere.”
Archie watched her for a second longer than necessary—the noise, the motion, and the normality slotting itself back into place. The house was still standing. So were they. For now, that was enough.
Chapter 18
Ina
Ina’s fingers drummed against her mug before she caught herself and curled them into her palm. She bit her tongue, hard enough to taste copper.
She shifted in her seat, and caught Archie and Malachi exchanging quick, sidelong glances—the same look they’d worn their whole lives when something went wrong. Waiting for her to speak. Expecting her to step in and fix everything.
The kitchen clock ticked, echoing through the silence. Each second wound the tension tighter. It scraped along her nerves until she was a breath away from yanking the damn thing off the wall to make it stop.
“Well?” Malachi finally broke the silence. The shadows carved deep hollows beneath his eyes. Too deep for someone so young. Ina’s jaw tightened.
“Well.” Archie nodded and reached for the teapot, giving it a shake. Tea sloshed inside. “Do you want a top up?”
“No, thank you.” Malachi nudged his still-full mug a fraction further away.
Archie set the teapot down without a sound. The Wolfendens were usually heavy-handed, but in times of crisis, they overcompensated with an unnatural lightness of touch, as though terrified they might shatter something fragile.
Ina stifled a yawn. Not from tiredness, but from the effort of restraint—from holding back the truths she’d been swallowing for years. It had never sat right with her that Archie refused to tell his children about the Otherworld. The choice had always felt wrong. Dangerous. She’d raised it before—quietly and loudly. But always met with the same wall.
“I’ll leave you two to it.” She pushed back her chair and stood, easing it rather than scraping it across the floor.
Archie stared at her like a rabbit caught in headlights. “What—” He swallowed hard. “Stay with us, Ina.”
“I’m sick of the secrets.” Ina raised both hands, palms out, holding the line. “If this is happening, then it happens properly. Open, honest communication at this table.”
Archie hesitated, then reached out, inviting her to sit back down. “Please?” A thin smile tugged at his mouth. “There will be no more secrets. I promise.”
Ina studied him, weighing his readiness to keep it. Then she scraped her chair along the floor and sat down again.
