Page 37

For now, I'll walk. I'll breathe. I'll try to make sense of the chaos Ronnie Wynn has once again introduced into my carefully ordered life.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow I'll see her again, if only to watch those gray eyes flash with anger. To remind myself that some fires are worth getting burned by.
I walk deeper into the forest, letting instinct guide me through the maze of ancient trees. The canopy above thickens, dappling the forest floor with shifting patterns of light and shadow. My thoughts circle like hungry predators—always returning to Ronnie, to the life she's built without me, to the sharp sting of being discarded so completely.
The trees begin to thin, and I slow my pace as the unmistakable sound of children's laughter filters through the branches. I approach cautiously, my footsteps silent on the moss-covered ground. The forest opens into a small clearing bathed in golden afternoon light.
And there they are.
The xaphan from earlier sits cross-legged in the center of the clearing, his massive gray wings folded loosely against his back. Sunlight catches in his white-blond hair, creating an almost-halo effect that does nothing to soften his sharp features. He's watching the children with an intensity that seems at odds with the gentle smile playing at his lips.
The little girl with the downy silver wings darts around him, her black curls bouncing with each exuberant step. She's holding something tight in her small fist—a cluster of wildflowers, their purple blooms crushed in her enthusiastic grip.
"Uncle Ady! Look what I found!" She thrusts the mangled bouquet toward him, beaming with pride.
Uncle.
The word hits me like a physical blow. Not father. Uncle.
The tall xaphan—Adellum, or Uncle Ady apparently—takes the flowers with exaggerated reverence. "These are magnificent. The finest blooms in all the forest." His voice is deep, almost musical, with an accent I can't quite place.
I shift my position slightly, trying to get a better look at her face without revealing my presence. As she turns, laughing at something the other child has said, I see her profile clearly for the first time.
The breath freezes in my lungs.
She has my eyes. Not the brilliant silver of the other xaphan, not Ronnie's stormy gray, but my own burnished gold. And that's not all—the shape of her chin, the high arch of her cheekbrows, the distinctive curve of her ears that's unique to high-born xaphan lines...
My mind races, calculating dates, possibilities, implications.
Three years. The child looks to be around three years old.
Three years ago, I was visiting Ronnie monthly. Three years ago, she vanished without a trace.
The other child—older, perhaps seven or eight—has no wings, but shares the same pale blond hair as the xaphan. She's crouched by a fallen log, apparently inspecting something beneath it.
"Brooke, don't put your hands in there," the xaphan warns, his tone firm but kind. "We don't know what might bite."
"It won't bite me," the girl responds with absolute certainty. "I can feel it. It's just scared."
The xaphan sighs, a sound of fond exasperation. "At least let me see what 'it' is before you adopt it and bring it home to your mother."
Each new piece of information reorganizes the picture in my mind, fitting together in a pattern I should have seen immediately. The older girl looks like the xaphan in many ways. And the younger one...
She calls him uncle, not father.
The implications hit me with the force of a physical blow. If Ronnie became pregnant before she disappeared, if she ran because of that pregnancy, if the timing aligns with my visits...
My gaze fixes on the little girl again. She's spinning now, arms outstretched, her tiny wings fluttering with the motion. Joy radiates from her like physical light. Something fierce and protective surges through me, an emotion so foreign and overwhelming I have to brace myself against a tree trunk.
"Uncle Ady, watch me fly!" The little girl leaps from a small rock, her downy wings spread wide but utterly incapable of actual flight. The xaphan moves with startling speed, catching her before she hits the ground.
"Not yet, little spark," he says, settling her on his shoulders. "Soon enough those wings will carry you to the clouds, but for now, this is as high as you go."
She giggles, patting his head with proprietary affection. "Higher! I want to touch the sky!"
The fondness in his expression is unmistakable as he rises to his full height, extending his arms so she can reach toward the patches of blue visible through the canopy. There's nothing sinister in his manner, nothing possessive beyond the natural protectiveness one would show to a beloved child.
Not her father. Her uncle.