—She is—
His inner voice begins to break further. Whatever wards they have are interfering with our current connection.
—...safe…basemen...nderstood?—
"Not really understood at all," I mutter aloud.
The girl flinches, and I immediately go back to my soothing tone, projecting peace as hard as I can.
Outside my bedroom, I hear footsteps then a shriek.
“Argh! Larsen. Put it the fuck away!”
“I’m just like fire, baby…”
“Gross.”
There is a tap on my door. "Theo?" Willow's voice is gentle and full of care. "I'm here."
"Come in, Wills."
The door creaks open, and she slips inside.
She doesn't rush over, doesn't even look the girl directly in the eye—Willow understands she’s like a hunted animal, and eye contact is a threat.
"Who do we have here?" she asks softly, leaning against the wall.
The girl’s grip on my sweater loosens just a fraction and she raises her head to watch, as my bestie sinks onto the floor a few feet away from the bed, making herself smaller, lower.
“This is our new friend,” I whisper. “She hasn’t quite shared her name yet, but I know that she’d love one of your hot chocolates.”—Probably without the rum—
—Well, duh—
Willow takes out her phone and sends a quick text. “Duncan will bring some down and leave it outside the room for us.” She smiles at the child. “It’s going to be alright, honey.” Her voice catches for a split second. —Gods, Theo. The poor little thing—
—I know. How do we help her?—
I see Willow frown, then smile slightly. She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a tiny wooden bird. “You know, when I was little, I used to get scared a lot,” she says, “so my grandpa made me this. It’s a kingfisher. He said it would protect me.”
The little girl stares at the carving.
Willow places it on the edge of the blanket. “If you like, you could have it now. I think my grandpa would like that.”
There’s a pause, then slowly, the girl uncurls one hand from my sweater and reaches for it.
Her fingers are trembling.
"There you go," Willow breathes. She looks up at me, and I see the glint of unshed tears. With a determined nod of the head, my dear friend goes on to tell the girl a story about a kingfisher helping a little girl find her courage.
Our guest seems to listen intently until there’s a noise outside the room, followed by a gentle knock. Duncan’s voice tells us drinks are outside.
“Now, sweetie, how about some cocoa?” When Willow opens the door, I get a glimpse of Alexis.
—Can we talk?—he asks me.
I hesitate, not wanting to abandon the kid, but my instinct tells me Wills is going to be way better at this than I am. “Can you sit with her for a bit?" I ask.
She places the mugs on my desk, then crouches next to me and the child. The girl doesn't flinch this time. In fact, she leans slightly towards my friend.
