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"Please, Mama?" Millie bounces on her toes, her tiny wings fluttering with excitement.
I slide the bracelet over my hand, feeling the cool metal settle against my skin. It fits perfectly, as if crafted specifically for me. The beads shift slightly, catching the sunlight, and for a moment they seem to glow from within—amber like Araton's eyes, dark blue like the evening sky we'd once watched from my bed, his wing draped casually over my shoulder.
"We match!" Millie squeals, holding her wrist next to mine. Her delight is so pure, so uncomplicated. She has no idea of the message contained in these matching bands, no concept of the history that led to this moment.
I stare at our joined wrists, the identical bracelets catching the morning light. What is Araton trying to say? Is this some kind of claim? A peace offering? A reminder of what I kept from him? The weight of it sits heavy on my wrist, a physical manifestation of the conversation we still need to have.
"Yes, baby, we match," I manage through the tightness in my throat.
I quickly drop Millie off with a kiss to the top of her head and a hello to Adellum. And then I'm gone, unable to keep the emotion off my face.
I barely make it through the short walk from Adellum's cottage to my shop, my mind spinning and my new bracelet seeming to burn against my skin. Millie had been delighted to show her "sparkly treasure" to Brooke, who immediately demanded one of her own. Adellum had caught my eye over their heads, raised an eyebrow in silent question, but I'd merely shaken my head. Not now. I couldn't explain what I didn't understand myself.
The morning fog has lifted by the time I reach my store, golden sunlight washing over the stone front of Wynn's Trade & Tinctures. I fish my keys from my pocket, the familiar weight grounding me, and unlock the heavy wooden door. The hinges creak—I keep meaning to oil them, but part of me likes the warning system. No one enters without me hearing it.
Except, apparently, when they're waiting for me to arrive.
I freeze in the doorway, keys still dangling from my fingers. Araton sits behind my counter, long legs stretched out before him, wings folded neatly behind his broad shoulders. Morning light streams through the eastern window, catching in his black hair and illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He's draped himself across my space like he owns it, his golden eyes watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Breaking and entering. Lovely."
"The window latch is embarrassingly simple." He gestures toward the small side window that I leave cracked on warm days for ventilation. "You should fix that."
I step fully inside, letting the door swing shut behind me with a decisive thud. The familiar smells of dried herbs and tinctures envelop me, but they fail to provide their usual comfort. "I'll add it to my list of concerns, right after 'uninvited xaphan invading my shop.'"
His eyes drop to my wrist, where the bracelet catches the light. Something in his expression shifts—a loosening around his eyes, the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth.
"You're wearing it."
I resist the urge to hide my arm behind my back. "Millie wanted us to match," I say defensively.
"Millie," he repeats, and the name on his lips makes me turn. His face has softened in a way I've never witnessed before—the hard lines of his jaw relaxed, his eyes almost vulnerable. For a heartbeat, he looks nothing like the arrogant, commanding xaphan I've known. "Her name is Millie."
The realization hits me like a physical blow. He hadn't known our daughter's name until this moment. Three years of her life, and he's just now learning what to call her. The weight of what I've done—what I've taken from both of them—settles on my shoulders.
"My middle name is Camille," I find myself saying. "I named her Millie after me."
He rises from behind my counter—a fluid, graceful movement that reminds me of how inhuman he is. How different. His wings shift slightly as he straightens to his full height.
"Why did you leave the bracelets?" I ask, before he can speak again, before he can say her name in that soft way that makes my chest hurt.
Araton doesn't answer my question. Instead, he steps closer, his golden eyes never leaving mine. "I want to get to know my daughter, Ronnie."
There it is. The words I've dreaded for three years. My throat tightens, and I grip the edge of my counter so hard my knuckles turn white. "We have a life here, Araton. A good life that I've built for her. For us."
"I'm not trying to take her from you." His voice holds none of the anger from yesterday, replaced by something steadier, more determined. "I just want to know her. To be part of her life."
"As what? The father who visits once a month when his schedule allows? The xaphan who drops expensive gifts and then disappears again?" The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his bronze skin. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
"You never gave me the chance to be anything else." His wings flex slightly—not threatening, but a sign of his agitation. "You ran, Ronnie. You took my child and you ran."
The truth of his words stings. I look away, unable to meet that golden gaze any longer. Beyond him, through the shop window, I can see Saufort coming to life—Old Tal settling onto his porch with his whittling, Tam's grandson running with a basket of fresh rolls. My village. Our home.
"What do you want from me?" I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper.