Archie nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak. She wasn’t wrong. If the Wolfendens hadn’t stood back for so long, if they’d stepped in to help when the Selkie were desperate and starving, everything might have turned out differently. Rhys would still be alive. Caspian, too. And Thalassa wouldn’t be bleeding out on the floor at his feet.
“My knife?” Thalassa whispered.
Ina didn’t move. Malachi knelt. He picked up the blade carefully, wiping blood and grime from the handle with the hem of his hoodie. Archie watched him—his son, who had watched his brother dragged into the river, who had nearly died himself—showing more forgiveness and humanity thanArchie ever could. Malachi leaned forward to pass it to her, as Ina’s hand closed gently around his arm.
“For my daughter.” Thalassa’s gaze drifted towards the broken opening in the back wall. “For… my daughter.”
Her breathing sped up, shallow and uneven. Panic flickered across her face, then vanished. Her chest rose once. She exhaled. And didn’t draw another breath.
The Wolfendens stood in silence.
Blood spread slowly from beneath Thalassa’s body, darkening the shallow puddles around her. Malachi knelt again and closed her eyes, his touch careful.
Archie couldn’t move. The relief he’d imagined for seven years never came. Just bone-deep exhaustion and a regret that settled heavy in his chest.
“Now what?” Malachi whispered as he stood, as though anything louder might disturb the dead Selkie at their feet.
Ina raised her crossbow and headed towards the back of the boathouse without answering.
“We finish this for good.” Archie’s voice was steady, even as he limped after her, blood seeping through his jeans. He motioned for Malachi to follow. “Stay close.”
Ina reached the opening in the wall just as the lights overhead flickered.
Archie’s gut tightened.
Darkness here wouldn’t just be inconvenient. It would tip the balance out of their favour should any more Selkie attack.
He grumbled as he tried to keep pace. Sweat slicked his spine, his shirt clinging to him as his injured leg threatened to buckle with every step—even with Malachi braced tight at his side. Each movement sent fire flaring up his thigh. He ground his teeth and kept going. Stopping wasn’t an option.
“Archie!” Murdock’s voice rang out from behind them,echoing sharp and frantic off the stone walls. “Don’t you hurt that child! Remember, children are innocent.” There was a dull grunt, like he was trying and failing to stand.
Malachi faltered, half-turning back. Archie tightened his grip and hauled him forward. He couldn’t afford to look back.
“Now?” Ina aimed the crossbow at the water. “Archie?”
He heard it in her voice—not a flicker of doubt, only readiness. Waiting for the word.
“Wait.” Archie reached out and placed his hand on the crossbow, forcing it down.
Ina’s jaw clenched. Her nostrils flared, breath sharp and controlled, but she didn’t resist.
Faint footsteps caught Archie’s attention. Two Selkie emerged from the shadows. They were old. Their hair thinned to wisps of silvery grey, skin weathered and pale. Their movements were slow and deliberate.
The larger male stepped forward first. He was still tall, broad across the shoulders, but the bulk had wasted away. Muscles stretched tight over bone. The strength left in him wasn’t for fighting anymore. It was for endurance.
He raised his hands, palms open and empty. Behind him stood a smaller Selkie, her fingers knotted tight with those of a child.
Ina’s crossbow snapped back up.
“Wait.” Archie repeated, sharper this time.
Ina didn’t lower it.
Archie stared at the young Selkie. She stared back at him with wide, unblinking eyes, as blue and sharp as her mothers. Her body was rigid, fingers digging hard into the elder’s hand. She didn’t cry or move.
And in that stillness it hit him. This was Rhys.
Not the boy he’d raised, but the boy he’d lost. The boywho looked up at something too big and powerful to fight or flee.
