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“Thank you,” he says.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” he says. “Because you saw her. You see us. And you didn’t let me walk away from it.”

I shift on my feet. “I wasn’t gonna let her be invisible.”

“And you didn’t.”

His eyes linger on me. “You should go get some sleep.”

I nod. But I don’t move.

Neither does he.

There’s something between us now. Something deeper than flirtation. A thread, woven tight.

When I finally turn to go, he doesn’t stop me.

But he watches until I’m gone.

CHAPTER 23

TORACK

There’s sawdust in the air and tension in my shoulders.

Old habits. Even after everything—after the panic, the search, the glade—I’m still moving. Still walking site to site, pretending like the creak of boots on gravel and the weight of a clipboard can stop my brain from spinning. As if counting fences and checking spell wards can drown out the memory of Lillian whispering, “Maybe if I were better, you’d smile more.”

That memory’s carved into my spine now,and I know I can’t keep going like this.

This camp was supposed to be a place of healing. A legacy for Lillian. A home for others like us: outcasts, half-bloods, kids with missing parents and bruised dreams. But I’ve been holding onto it with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Turning it into something it was never meant to be.

Controlled. Guarded. Safe, but suffocating.

Julie’s the one who’s made it bloom.

She’s the one who talks to the interns like they matter. Who rewrote the outreach programs so goblin kids and elf parents finally show up to the same events. Who makes my daughter laugh.

I know what I need to do.

By midday, I find Lillian under the platform deck, digging through what appears to be a suspiciously glittery trap made from twigs, moss, and one of my socks.

“What in the world are you doing?” I ask, arms crossed.

She jerks her head up. There’s a streak of mud across her forehead like war paint, and her eyes gleam with mischief.

“Building a trap.”

“For what?”

“A cloud frog,” she says, dead serious. “He goes ribbit but also floats. Like a frog balloon.”

“There’s no such thing.”

She gasps like I just told her cookies are illegal.

“Just because you’ve never seen one doesn’t mean it’s not real.”