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“Leanna has been visiting her every month,” Jerry tells me as I watch my mother sleep. “She brings Finn, and your mother enjoys his company. And then there is Teresa from the cottage next door. They’ve become fast friends and spend most of their time together. Your mother is doing well, Maya.”

I caress my mom’s cheek, my heart aching. “Did she miss me?”

The older healer hesitates. “She asked about you plenty of times. I told her you were traveling and would come back soon. I—At first, I believed you truly were dead, Maya. It was Leanna’s conviction that stirred my hope. She never gave up looking for you. She’s been searching all three kingdoms for any sign of you.”

“And yet, we were only a couple days’ journey from here,” I murmur heavily.

“You’re back now, and that’s what important.”

I lift my head. “And Leanna? How is she? Cassian told me she was hurt really badly, that Vivian tried to kill her using the same drug he used on you.”

At the mention of his nephew, Jerry flinches. “He gave me a mild dose, enough to suppress my wolf temporarily, but Vivian—” He pauses, shaking his head as if to get rid of the heavy memories. “Leanna survived, but it was a long battle. Her recovery took time. She’s much better now, though. She’s pregnant again.”

I blink, stunned by this piece of news. “She’s expecting? When is she due?”

“Another three or four months would be my estimate. Her healer has told her not to move between the realms, but she still insists on coming to see your mother.”

I sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

Jerry studies me. “You should probably shower and change. I’m sure Erik wants to know where you’ve been all these months.”

When I glance toward my mother, Jerry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about her. I’m here. While she sleeps, I’ll run my healing energy over her. It will take a couple of hours.”

Reluctantly, I give my mother one last, lingering look before leaving. The door to her bedroom closes with a soft click behind me.

I pause in the narrow hallway, my hand tracing the worn wood of the wall, and I breathe in the scent of lavender and old books that clings to every corner of this place.

The cottage feels smaller than I remember, yet somehow endless in its quiet warmth. It’s a far cry from my mother’s previous apartment. The living room opens up just ahead—faded floral curtains framing the windows, a sagging but familiar couch sitting beside the stone fireplace. Everything is clean. Not polished and new, but lovingly kept, like she’s been waiting for me to step through the front door all along.

My chest tightens.

The small kitchen peeks out to my left, the autumn sun spilling across the cracked tile floor. Pots hang neatly above the stove, and a loaf of bread cools on the counter, as if time pressed pause the day I left. I smile. She hasn’t stopped baking, it seems.

Nothing’s been replaced. Nothing’s been changed.

I move toward the back of the house where two doors face each other across a threadbare rug. My room is on the right. I hesitate before turning the knob, heart pounding harder than it should.

Inside, it’s the same.

My bed, still made with the patchwork quilt Mom stitched by hand when I graduated high school. A little desk tucked under the window, dusted clean. My books, my laptop, my faded t-shirt that I took off the night before I was taken, draped over the chair. The garden sways just beyond my bedroom window, wild and colorful.

I press a hand to my mouth to keep the sob from breaking loose.

She’s been waiting. She never gave up on me.

Sinking onto the bed, I let myself close my eyes and just breathe. I’m home. This may be a temporary home, but it is mine. My mother is here. This is our space.

Falling back against the pillows, I breathe a sigh of relief. It has been so long since I’ve lain on a mattress that I could weep with joy.

But I definitely stink.

Letting out a gust of air, I get up and shuffle over to the closet. I choose a simple, long-sleeved blouse and pair the blue top with a pair of warm jeans.

The feel of hot water on my skin makes me moan in relief. The shower hisses around me, steam curling in the cool air of the small cottage bathroom. I lean my forehead against the tiled wall, letting the water beat against my shoulders, washing awaythe grime of travel, the fear, and the memories I’m not ready to name yet.

My body aches, but it’s a distant kind of soreness, like my mind has separated from it entirely. I stay under the stream until my skin turns pink and the mirror fogs over completely.

When I finally step out, I towel off quickly, shivering against the chill. I slip the blouse over my head, but it sags off my shoulders, the collar gaping awkwardly. The pants are worse. They slide down my hips even when I cinch my belt as tight as it goes.