Elsbeth.
By the time we left the nursery wing, the sun had dipped behind MoonHaven's rooftops, painting the sky in molten gold and pale lavender. The stone corridors cooled quickly, like the city itself was sighing into night. The scent of cooking meat and lake wind drifted in from the open windows, grounding me in a world that still dared to believe in peace.
Fen walked beside me in silence, his shoulder brushing mine now and again, steady and warm. His presence was more than comforting. It was anchoring.
We passed a long stretch of high windows that overlooked the communal dining hall. Inside, children clustered around thick wooden tables, voices rising in laughter and squabbles as they passed bowls and broke bread. One little boy tried—and failed—to steal an extra roll. A girl caught him, swatted his arm, and then gave him half anyway.
They were still children. Still whole.
Gods willing, they'd stay that way.
"They don't know what's coming," I murmured.
