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The house stood at the edge of the clearing like a scar that refused to fade. All the pack members gave it a wide berth when they passed it. Blaidd had taken it over the morning after the rites were finished and moved all Fae's belongings to their old house. He did not want Fae to return to this cursed place where Maxen had died. Without ceremony, the structure was to be sealed and later, perhaps, torn down entirely and rebuilt.

Lisna had not gone near it since.

She had begun, slowly, to return to herself. She moved through the days like someone learning to walk again. That morning she had come to Fae, eyes tired yet clear.

"I want to go back to the old pack, near Ma and Da," she had said. "Just for a while."

Fae had nodded. Healing did not always happen in the place of breaking. This pack would only remind Lisna of the man she had loved and lost.

Later that day, Fae went to see Eira.

The girl still stared at nothing, perched on the edge of the bed like a shadow. Myra, Blaidd's mother, stood nearby, sleeves rolled, preparing the bath.

"Let me," Fae said gently.

Myra hesitated, then nodded and stepped back.

Steam curled in soft ribbons from the tub. The water was warm, scented faintly with chamomile and crushed mint.

Fae knelt beside Eira and helped her undress.

The child's body was too light, too sharp at the elbows and collarbones.

Dirt clung to her nails in dull streaks. Deep scars ran along her wrists where the vines had bound her for days while feeding off her lifeforce.

Fae helped her carefully into the bath.

Eira did not meet her eyes, but she did not resist, either.

Fae washed her slowly, as though she were made of blown glass and sorrow.

She rinsed the child's stringy hair, fingers gentle on her scalp. Eira flinched only once—at nothing Fae could see.

Once clean, Fae wrapped her in a thick towel and pressed it around her narrow shoulders. She dressed her in fresh linen and soft wool, tying the cords with quiet precision.

Still, Eira's gaze remained fixed somewhere over Fae's shoulder. Somewhere far beyond the room.

Finally, in a voice barely louder than breath, Eira asked, "Do I need to live with the changelings?"

Fae's hands stilled as she sat back slowly and exhaled. "They agreed to keep you only for five years," she said gently. "Or things would have been…much worse. I don't think they are like the other one."

Eira's fingers tightened in her lap.

"That was the condition for them to give up your location," Fae continued quietly. "Your father had no choice."

Silence stretched thin.

"He's not my father," Eira said flatly. "I have no father, and now, I don't have Bowen."

The name cracked the fragile shell she had built around herself.

She began to cry with deep, broken sobs that shook her small frame.

Fae reached for her instinctively, only to have Eira recoil.

She refused comfort. Instead, she folded in on herself, small hands clutching at the wool at her chest as though holding herself together by force.

Fae did not move closer. She sat next to her and let her weep. Some wounds would heal in their own time.