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The house is quiet, but not silent. There’s a softness humming through the walls. Something calm. Something steady.

My feet find the hardwood and I shuffle into the hallway, still not fully convinced I’mconscious.

Lena’s voice carries from Rosie’s room. It’s gentle in a way that feels like it’s holding something fragile. I stop just short of the doorway, careful not to break the moment.

“…and the brave mechanic prince,” she’s saying, “fixed every squeaky carriage in the kingdom. Even the ones that went clunk-clunk-cluck.”

Rosie’s laugh punches straight through my chest. I feel it land somewhere near my heart. It’s the kind of laugh that could drag a man out of hell.

I lean my shoulder into the doorframe, just enough to see.

They’re on the rug. Rosie is curled into Lena’s side, cheeks flushed but smiling. Lena’s barefoot, jeans cuffed, her hair a chaotic knot on top of her head. She’s not reading from the book. It’s open, sure, but it’s all her—characters, voices, gestures.

She’s making it up. For Rosie. For them.

“The prince had a sister,” Lena continues, lowering her voice a little, “Princess Amber. She was clever and fierce and had the loudest laugh in the land.”

Rosie gives an enthusiastic nod. Fierce and loud, two things she understands.

“One day at the Royal University Festival,” Lena goes on, “Princess Amber spotted a jester named Mike. He was trying to juggle enchanted goblets—” She makes a ridiculous flailing motion with her hands. “—but they went flying everywhere. Splash!”

Rosie giggles. Lena grins.

“But did Princess Amber get mad?” Lena shakes her head. “Nope. She laughed because she knew anybody willing to look silly for a stranger probably had a heart as big as a dragon’s hoard.”

Rosie’s mouth is an O of wonder as she looks up ather, drinking in every word.

Jesus. Are they starting to look alike? Big eyes, long lashes, those same dark curls.

“So, Princess Amber showed the jester how to chug a magic elixir straight from the tin chalice—”

“Beer,” I hear myself rumble. I’m still in the hallway, but the word works its way out on a chuckle. “It was cheap beer.”

Lena’s head snaps up. Busted.

She gives me a half smile so gentle it about caves my chest in. “Hello there, sunshine. How’s the plague?”

“Still kicking my ass,” I admit, stepping fully into the doorway. Rosie spots me, but she doesn’t scramble over like usual. She stays glued to Lena’s thigh, eyes darting between us, stuck between loyalty and excitement.

“It’s okay,” Lena murmurs, brushing Rosie’s hair back. “Uncle Wes is just listening.”

I ease down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, my back against the jamb with my arms draped over my knees. It’s close enough to see them, not close enough to interrupt.

“Don’t let me stop the story.” I nod toward Rosie. “She’s waiting.”

Lena’s gaze flicks over me in quick triage.

Fever?

Breathing?

Going to topple over?

Satisfied, she returns to her audience of one.

“The princess and the jester became best friends. They fixed each other’s sorrows. They built a castle full of laughter with songs so loud the moon had to dance.”

My vision blurs, just for a second.