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With a shaky inhale, she scrubbed the tears off her cheeks. She had not even realized she was crying.

Movement in her periphery drew her attention over her shoulder.

It was Mortifer—hopping onto the bed.

“Hi, Morty,” she whispered.

The Hob merely went and sat by Darien’s pillow. It had become his spot; he, too, hardly ever left.

“Is Itzel hogging the fridge again?” she asked him.

He nodded, the red-tipped black flames on his head flickering.

“She’s not sharing the ice either, is she?”

He frowned. Shook his head.

“Well,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You’re welcome in here any time.”

He merely scootched closer to Darien and gave the back of his neck a comforting pat with his tiny, shadowy hand.

A fight had broken out the minute Mortifer came home—carried inside by Jack—and spotted the pink-eyed Hob on the fridge, peering out from where she hid in the dark, narrow space below the cupboards. The two critters had started hissing like cats and slapping each other. Jack and Kylar had barelymanaged to pry them apart and had placed them both in time-out.

It might take a while, but Loren had a feeling the Hobs would come around. Learn to share their precious ice and the prized spot on top of the fridge. Learn to like each other, even. Eventually.

Someone knocked. Loren turned?—

Standing in the doorway was Roark.

She was so surprised to see him, it took her a moment to move. To get up and follow him into the hallway. As she walked across the room, she threw a backward glance at Darien—making sure he was okay. That his back was still rising and falling with steady breaths.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered. She shut the door—only halfway.

Roark scanned her puffy-eyed, tear-streaked face. “I thought I would check up on you,” he said. “See how you’re faring.”

She crossed her arms and slumped against the wall, staring at the floor with vision that blurred with a flood of fresh tears. “Not good,” she admitted. Her voice cracked.

“The others said it was brimstone.” An inquiry.

She nodded. “I’m worried that it’s something worse,” she rasped. “He was holding the Sight for so long…”

She drew a slow, steadying breath.

Her heart was breaking. And it would continue to break into even smaller pieces until Darien opened his eyes. Until she knew he was okay. That he would live.

They stood there for awhile in silence. Loren stared at the floor with tear-blurred vision, her father observing her with a level of empathy she had never seen or felt before.

Eventually, Roark said, “He’ll be okay.”

When she lifted her gaze to his face, the tears slipped free, one down each cheek. “Do you really believe that?” The question was hoarse and wobbly.

There was no way of knowing for sure—she knew that. But sometimes, it helped to hear it from another person’s mouth. Confidence. Reassurance.

“Yes,” Roark said—confident and reassuring.

Before she could think it through, before she could stop herself, she was stepping forward and throwing her arms around him.

Roark stiffened. He lifted his arms—holding them out at his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.