Page 59

She repeated his name, rocking slightly, as if trying to soothe a wound that had never closed.

Haruko-san looked down at her bowed head, and this time he did not hide what crossed his face. Love. Grief. Regret so deep it left him half dead.

"If I had only known," he said hoarsely. "If I had been a better father..."

Fae stood frozen, her heart aching with a pain that was not her own, yet felt intimately familiar. Words seemed useless. And yet instinct rose in her, as if she knew this moment was predestined.

"If you had the chance," she asked softly, "to tell him one thing…what would you say?"

Haruko-san lifted his gaze to her. For a long moment, he did not answer. Then his shoulders sagged, and when he spoke, the words came stripped bare of pride. "I would tell him that his father is sorry…sorry for not listening, sorry for being stubborn." His voice shook. "I would tell him how sorry I am for not being a good father, for not protecting him. I would ask him to come home. I would tell him how much we miss him."

Silence fell around them as those words seemed to linger.

At last, his wife lifted her head. With visible effort, she loosened her grip on the toy and extended it toward Fae. Her eyes lingered on it, longing plain and raw, before she finally let it go.

Everything in Fae wanted to ask her to keep him safe.

She closed her fingers around Feraal, holding him close.

"I can't," she said quietly, almost apologetically. "But...I will bring him tomorrow. I'll leave him with you."

The woman nodded faintly, as though accepting a promise made across time itself.

Still, Feraal did not move; he did not speak in her head or stir.

Aiko was waiting just outside to spirit her away. A little later, they were running in the forest. Aiko darted forward with a sharp nip at Fae's tail. Fae felt her wolf roll her eyes in exaggerated long-suffering before she bumped the little creature squarely with her shoulder, sending her tumbling into the leaves.

Aiko's fox scrambled back to her feet at once and shot off ahead, triumphant, daring pursuit.

Fae surged after her, laughter bubbling in her chest, the forest opening before them as the run turned once more into play. Playfully, she opened her mouth wide to hold Aiko's head and mock eat her. A dark blur exploded out of the undergrowth.

A sleek black wolf landed between them, haunches raised, a low growl rumbling from his chest. Aiko merely snorted as she wriggled free of Fae's mouth with lazy grace and butted the newcomer sharply in the side. He stared down at her in visible confusion, ears flicking, before she darted off again.

They played for a while—circling, chasing, and leaping—until the forest's shadows intertwined with the darkness and the pull of home had them walking back to the village.

On the walk back, Aiko slowed and glanced at Fae.

"You look pale," she said, frowning slightly. "I am going to spell you an amulet to build your strength."

"You know how to make amulets?" Fae asked.

Aiko smiled, small and secretive, and did not answer.

That night, Fae lay beneath her quilt, listening.

Feraal usually filled the silence with dry commentary, but there was not a single peep from him. Unease curled low in her chest. She shifted, tugged the quilt higher, and told herself he was simply tired. Everyone was allowed silence once in a while.

She burrowed deeper and closed her eyes.

Some time later—how long, she could not have said—she felt a familiar weight creep up and settle atop the covers. A small, familiar presence, warm and careful.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

There was no answer.

Sleep claimed her, slow and heavy.

As the shadows of the night lengthened, she did not notice the weight grow denser and warmer. Only when morning came—when she stirred and tried to move—did she realize that something was amiss.