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Mal is unconvinced.

Folk remains magnanimous.

I keep quiet. Gather gear and jump back on the Sirona to secure her while their conversation shifts to Jack, and Folk dispenses the comfort Mal needs from his friends though he will never, ever ask for it.

And Folk…he is sage and kind. I have nothing to add he hasn’t already said, and I am glad of it. As I run out of tasks to do on the boat, the agitation I felt on the water returns. Irrational agitation as the smoke in the air begins to dissipate. But the need to see my son is overwhelming.

I alight dry land again.

Folk is leaving. I feel as though his gaze lingers on me a split second too long, but it’s fleeting enough that I can’t be sure, even when he’s gone.

I say my goodbyes to Mal.

He catches my arm. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Mal stares hard at me, like he wants to flay me open with his eyes alone. “You have this look on your face sometimes. Like you’ve just found out the earth is fucking round.”

He is closer to the mark than I expect, and it doesn’t surprise me that Mal’s noticed the mood tearing through me right now. That he seems to know it’s a byproduct of something deeper is…actually, I do not know what it is. Or how I feel about it. Mal is my friend. Would it be the worst thing in the world to tell him where I’ve found myself in recent weeks?

It has been longer than that.

Yes. But before Poet came to Porth Luck, I could ignore it. Now, I feel him in every facet of my life, even when he’s not there, and I realise I am what Sol would call shook.

I look out over the harbour instead of at Mal. But not for long. The water can’t hold me and my gaze drifts inland instead. The sky is clear now. “There are some things about myself I am perhaps only now understanding.”

Mal leans closer, listening, waiting, I am not sure.

I elaborate all the same. “They are not bad things, just different and I am finding it hard to think of much else when I’m not with Aras.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I think so.” I force myself away from the horizon to look at Mal. “Are you?”

Mal snorts. “I’m trying. That’s got to be enough, right?”

“You are always enough, Mal.”

“Aye, well. I’m always awake at the moment, so if you need someone, I’m around.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m shite at being nice, but I’ll give it a go for you.”

Mal is not bad at being nice, but he doesn’t hang around for me to tell him so. He gives in to the pull to be with his loved ones, and so do I.

I run home and retrieve Poet’s money from my house.

Then I jog up the hill and let myself into the old blue cottage where Aras lives with Hanna and Paul. I have a key and an open invitation to be there whenever I want to be, but it’s a rare day I show up without warning.

Hanna comes downstairs, bubbles on her arms from Aras’s bath. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

We didn’t know each other when we made a child. But we’ve grown to be friends since. Hanna beckons me upstairs and frowns as I pass. “You’re a bad liar, Kuznatov.”

Perhaps, but that is surely not a bad thing. Besides, whatever mood she’s detected is instantly cured by my son’s bright and sunny smile as I take over his bath time, read him a book that was a present from Sol when he was born, and put him to bed.