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Julie moves before I do.

“Excuse me,” she mutters, brushing past me without a glance, like she’s on a mission.

The tent’s silent for a beat. Then Renault exhales dramatically.

“Well. That was certainly democratic.”

I don’t answer him. I pick up my agenda and flip to the next item, pretending I didn’t just watch my daughter’s heart crack in half.

The meeting drags on.

Talk of margins. Material delays. Fae contractors needing time off for lunar alignment. The usual.

I nod at the right moments. Push for safety over aesthetics. Defend Groth’s latest change order even though I know it’ll be another PR nightmare once the elf forums catch wind.

But my mind keeps drifting.

To Lillian’s face.

To the way she stood there—tiny and furious andright—and how I shut her down like a stranger.

I was trying to keep order. Trying to maintain professionalism. But hell if it doesn’t feel like I kicked a puppy in the chest.

By the time the last board member files out, I’m already halfway across the gravel path, headed toward the cabin she and Julie have been using to store art supplies and paperwork.

I hear them before I see them.

“I just wanted him to listen,” Lillian says, voice muffled, small.

“I know, sweet pea,” Julie replies. “And you were brave for trying.”

“I had a whole speech.”

I stop outside the door. My hand rests on the frame, but I don’t knock.

“Dad doesn’t like speeches,” Lillian mutters.

Julie lets out a soft sigh. “He’s got a lot on his plate.”

“Iamhis plate.”

The words hit like a punch. I swallow hard. Why can’t she understand?

Julie’s voice comes quiet, but steady. “That man loves you more than his own life. But sometimes adults forget how to show it. Doesn’t make the love less real.”

“She always listened,” Lillian whispers.

My heart turns to stone.

Julie doesn’t ask whosheis. Doesn’t need to. She just says, “I bet she would’ve loved that playground idea.”

Lillian sniffles. “I used the bendy sticks.”

“The bendy ones are the best.”

I step back. My chest feels too tight. Like something’s pressing from inside, trying to break free but not quite strong enough.

Later, I find Julie alone near the admin tent, sorting through sign-in forms and camp wristbands. Her hair’s down today, loose and curling at the ends from humidity. There’s mud on one knee of her pants. She’s humming. She stops when I approach.