There was no comfort here. No peace. He drew in a breath trying to ease the tightness crushing his chest. Heather’s face rose unbidden in his mind—the fear in her eyes the day she told him she was pregnant. She’d wanted to run. But he’d convinced her they’d be safe if they left theOtherworld alone. A mistake born from youth and naivety. You didn’t ignore the Otherworld. You either faced its power, or paid the price for complacency.
Heather Wolfenden.
Reading her name cut deep. The kind of pain that never dulled. They’d be reunited one day, maybe even soon. The Selkie wouldn’t leave Latharna without a fight, and this time he prepared to fight to the death. Even his own, if that’s what it took to keep what little remained of his family alive.
His gaze dropped.
Rhys Wolfenden.
Archie went rigid. The world narrowed to the black stone and the name carved into it. He fists clenched, nails biting hard into his palms. Ina had insisted on the marker even though there was no body to be buried; she said it would give Malachi somewhere to grieve. Somewhere away from Riverside. As far as Archie knew, Malachi never came.
That would change. They wouldn’t run anymore. Wouldn’t circle the grief and pretend it wasn’t there. Tonight, they’d face it together—guilt, rage and all.
There was no comfort in imagining Heather and Rhys reunited. Not while the Selkie were still a threat to his family and to Latharna.
“Not yet, my love.” Archie’s fingers brushed Heather’s name, the stone cool beneath his touch. “Not yet.”
A twig snapped behind him, near the old Hangman’s Tree. Archie spun, hand already clutching the knife, ready to fight. He scanned the cemetery, breath held, muscles coiled.
The tree’s branches swayed gently in the breeze, leaves whispering against one another.
Archie’s grip in the hilt relaxed, and he let out a long, slow breath.
“Not yet.”
Chapter 22
Ina
Ina leaned against her kendo stick, palms resting on the worn leather grip as she dragged air back into her lungs. Sweat licked the back of her neck; a loose strand of hair clung to her face until she blew it away with an irritated huff. The stick was scarred and darkened from decades of training—it wasn’t just a decorative relic, but a tool that had earned its place in her hands.
Her grip adjusted without thought, fingers settling where Aunt Sylvie had always corrected her. Again, she could almost hear her:“If you hesitate little cub, you’re already dead.”
Ina swallowed and pushed the memory down. Sylvie had trained her to fight like it mattered. Daddy stood back and watched, silent approval in his eyes. Enough to ease the ache in her shins when Sylvie played dirty to catch her off guard. Mummy never joined them. She’d been content to hold the pack together, to heal their injuries and to keep their home standing while others bled for it. Ina respected that, but it wasn’t for her.
Heavy footsteps thundered across the kitchen floor above, followed by the slam of the back door.
Ina flinched despite herself, jaw tightening. Malachi always slammed the bloody door. Her irritation came sharp, then softened just as fast. She exhaled through her nose, letting the tension bleed away.
He was heading out to meet his friends, despite her protests. He’d promised to meet them atLucky Crumbs—a lie thin enough to see daylight through. He’d be going to the wall by the sea where he always met them.
Ina let it pass. The beach would be busy at this hour: early morning swimmers, dog walkers, and tourists squinting at the horizon with no idea what lurked under the water. The Selkie were getting bolder—but they weren’t stupid. She picked her battles carefully. Lord knows there were enough of them waiting.
She straightened her back, rolling out the tension that had crept in during training.
“Fatigue is where mistakes breed.”
Sylvie’s voice landed clean and sharp, as it always had. Ina adjusted her stance without thinking, weight shifting evenly through her feet. She’d learned to fight before she learned to soften. There had been no space for gentler lessons—not with Sylvie driving her harder every day, not with Daddy stealing glances while he scribbled in his journal.
She lived for that quiet nod. For the moment he’d go back to his writing, trusting that she could hold the line if she had to. The memory tightened her chest. She let it. Then she let it go.
Malachi would likely tell Jeff he wasn’t leaving Latharna at the end of the summer. Libby Kilbane had let their secret slip months ago—Jeff’s mother was as loudand careless as he was. Ina had done something uncharacteristically strained and stayed out of it, letting things unfold naturally. A risky decision in hindsight. If the Selkie hadn’t attacked, Malachi might have left without ever knowing the truth about his family and the Otherworld.
The thought caught in her ribs, sharp and unwelcome. She turned back to her weapons before the irritation could harden into something uglier.
Libby would’ve shrugged it off. Cousins by blood, strangers since childhood. After Daddy, Sylvie, and Uncle Balfor disappeared, Sylvie’s husband Jack had taken baby Libby from Latharna without a word, without ever looking back. He never came back or made contact with Mummy.
Libby came back years later when Jeff was little. She never openly acknowledged the connection. Even when Rhys was killed by the Selkie, Libby chose normality while Ina chose vigilance.
