Relief swept through me, dizzying and unexpected. After everything—after blood and trees that bled and hands stained in dreams that didn’t feel like dreams—this was a welcome relief.
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny. Because I didn’t know what else to do.
It blinked once, as if it knew what I was thinking. As if it understood.
Squeak. Squeak.
“Hello,” I murmured, the word scraping out of me. The sound was too loud in the hush of the woods. I winced, pressing a hand to my throat.
Ithurt—like I’d been screaming.
I didn’t want to think about why.
The creature didn’t flinch at the sound of my voice. It just … kept watching me. Eyes round and almost knowing. I told myself I was imagining it, that wild things didn’t hold gazes like that. But it didn’t run or twitch. It sat there, its tail swishing gently in the moss behind it.
The fear that had gripped me only minutes ago continued to slip away, like warmth returning to numb fingers. I didn’t understand it. I should’ve still been panicking, heart in my throat, mind racing. I was lost, alone, stained with something I didn’t want to name.
And yet … something about this creature was making me feel not so alone anymore.
Squeak.
It tilted its head.
I crouched, slow and careful. One wrong move, and it would vanish—I was sure of it.
My hand shook as I extended it, fingers open, palm up.
The creature blinked once … then moved. A blur of softness and sinew, it darted forward, tiny claws whispering across moss and stone as it scampered straight into my hand, as if it had been waiting for the invitation.
Squeak.
Warm fur pressed into my skin. It nuzzled into my palm like it belonged there.
Like it had found me.
This close, I could see that its fur wasn’t gray at all, not really. It was the color of dusk, the space between the last gasp of sunlight and the first breath of night. Its tail curled over the edge of my hand, that red tip pulsing faintly like a wick just snuffed out.
“What are you?” I murmured, cocking my head as I examined it. There were plenty of mice and rats around the village, but this little beast was clearly not one of those.
The creature tilted its head in perfect mimicry, as if to say,Isn’t that the question?
I blinked. It blinked back.
Another one of those strange, startled laughs threatened my throat, but I swallowed it down.
“Helena!”
I jumped, heart jerking in my chest, and my small, whiskered companion letout an indignant squeak. I leaned down instinctively, intending to set it gently back on the ground. But before I could, it scampered up the sleeve of my cloak with astonishing speed and latched itself to the fabric, perched like it belonged there, its tiny paws gripping tight, as if daring me to try again.
“Helena!” Again, closer. Urgent.
Branches snapped behind me. I turned just as the underbrush rustled—and my mother burst through the trees.
Her hair, usually coiled tight and precise, flew around her face in a tangle of curls. Her cloak had slipped from one shoulder, her dress was torn at the hem, and her green eyes—
They were wild.
Grigorios stumbled to a halt, his blade dropping a fraction. Filippos exhaled sharply, like he hadn’t believed I’d be there at all. Dorian pressed his fingers to his lips, then toward the sky—a prayer to the gods.
