The following day came quickly. Mist clung low over the sandbar, the kind that soaked into boots and coats before you’d been standing ten minutes. The rope was staked, the chalk circles drawn. Xavier at my left, Levi at my right, Haiden watching the treeline like he meant to set it on fire. Noah stood a little forward, shoulders loose but eyes everywhere. We were ready for the envoy. Only, it wasn’t the envoy who stepped out of the brush. A woman came instead. Alone. No coat meant to disguise her scent. No practiced envoy gait. Just a woman, walking steady, carrying nothing but her own shaking hands. The moment I saw her face, my stomach dropped. Elliot’s face looked back at me
in older lines, softened by years and grief. The shape of the jaw, the wide eyes that didn’t blink fast enough when theynded on us, his eyes. She stopped at the rope and didn’t test it. She only reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something small, holding it
out in both hands like an offering. A strip of cloth, sun–faded but unmistakable. Red, with
two knots tied close together.
My chest tightened. Elliot had described it almost word for word.
Her voice was raw when she spoke. “Is…my son okay?”
The air shifted. Xavier braced beside me. Levi’s pen paused mid–turn in his fingers.”
Haiden didn’t move, but his stance changed, weight bnced like he was already in a fight. Noah’s gaze flicked to me once, <i>your </i><i>call</i>.
I swallowed, my palm unconsciously pressing against my bump.
“Proof,” Levi said quietly<b>, </b>cutting through the stillness. “You knew we’d need it.”
She nodded, eyes shining. “He was born with a scar, here…” she touched her own small finger, curling it, “from when the midwife’s de slipped cutting the cord. And when he
wouldn’t sleep, I sang him the same song my mother sang me. Sleep, small star. Boat on <b>the </b>barley, back to the bales. I’m here, I’m here.” Her voice cracked, but the wordsnded
whole.
I felt the world tilt. Elliot had whispered those very words in my kitchen just days ago. The rope felt thinner than ever between us<b>. </b>I walked towards her slowly, and I pulled out <b>my </b>phone<b>, </b>touching it once so it lit up and I turned it around to show her. She reached for it with a gasp, tears welling in her eyes as she looked down at the screen.
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<b>C </b>
14:03 Wed<b>, </b>Sep 3
“He’s…perfect. He has the biggest heart, and he loves to y, even though he’s wise beyond his years.” I spoke softly, mother to mother, like it came naturally.
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Her hand trembled over the phone, not daring to touch the ss like it might break if she pressed too hard. A sob slipped out, thin and unguarded. “He’s alive.” Her lips formed the ‘words like she hadn’t believed them until now.
“He’s more than alive,” I said quietly. “Heughs. He builds forts with his best friend. He makes us all stop in our tracks with the way he sees the world.”
Her tears fell faster, catching on her chin. She nodded, once, sharp. “That’s my boy.”
Behind me, Xavier shifted closer, just enough to remind me he was there. The weight of his presence steadied me, even as every instinct screamed at me not to give this woman, Elliot’s mother, by blood, too much ground too fast.
“Why now?” I asked, lowering my voice but keeping it firm. “Why send an envoy first, and then you? Why note the first time?”
Her gaze lifted, raw and red. “Because I was not allowed. They said it had to be tested first, that you’d never believe without proof. But I couldn’t…” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t let strangers speak for me anymore. I had to see him. To know.”
Levi’s voice cut through, calm, controlled. “And what do you want now that you’ve seen proof of him?<b>” </b>
She swallowed hard, eyes flicking to my stomach, then back to the phone still glowing between us. “To hold him again. To tell him I never stopped looking. That I never…” She stopped, gathering herself. “But I know I can’t just walk in and take him. You’re his family now too. I see it. I… I don’t want to hurt him. I just couldn’t not try.” She looked down at my belly with a small smile. “You would understand.”
Her words rang true, but truth wasn’t the same as safety. My hand stayed pressed to my bump. I opened my mouth to respond, but branches snapped like rifle shots before I even felt the wards strain. Xavier was already moving, voice sharp. “Attack!”
The tree line shattered. Wolves poured out in a tide of fur and teeth, eyes ssy, movements stiff, like marites pulled by cruel hands. Ash streaked their coats, smeared down their muzzles. They didn’t fight like living creatures, they lunged too hard, recovered too fast, as though their bones didn’t care if they broke. From the ridge. From
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the bank. From behind. Every angle at once.
“Hands<b>,</b>” Levi spat, eyes narrowing. He was already mapping the field, every strike and counterstrike falling into invisible lines.
Haiden braced, shoulders squared, a rumble starting deep in his chest. The sound rolled across the clearing, enough to make the nearest rogue stumble mid–charge. Noah was beside him<b>, </b>steady and coiled, waiting for the break. And then one slipped through. Too quick. Low. Its eyes fixed on me. My hand flew to my stomach before thought could catch up, my body moving on nothing but instinct. One step back, heart lodged in my throat as
I tripped and fell backwards, watching almost in slow motion as the wolf lunged for me
but it never reached me.
The air cracked like thunder. The wolf froze mid–lunge, suspended, legs kicking at
nothing. In front of me stood Elliot’s mother. Her hair whipped back in an invisible wind, her eyes zing with the same strange light I had seen once before. Elliot’s light, when he had stopped rogues dead in their tracks. She lifted her hand, fingers spread, and the wolf
screamed. Not through its mouth. Through its marrow. A sound dragged up from somewhere deep and wrong, tearing free as a shimmer of pale light peeled itself out of its body, its soul, raw and writhing. With a sharp twist of her wrist, she closed her hand, and the light shattered. The body dropped in a heap, lifeless, ash trickling into the grass. Everything stopped for half a breath.