The morning of the dream brought honey-gold light and the smell of burning.
Charlotte woke herself up, wrapped around Elias in blankets that had obviously lost the fight of the night. His chest rose and fell against her back in a slow, earthy rhythm.
Outside their window, the world sang: birds, wind through the eaves of wood, the distant chaos of Finn attempting to cook.
And from the other room: a crack.
Charlotte sat up straight away. "Did he just—"
"Yes," Elias grunted without lifting his lids. "And that was the last teacup."
She smacked at his chest and tied on her dressing gown, gliding into the sunlit kitchen like a queen surveying her small, charred kingdom.
Finn stood in the midst of a war zone of eggshells, flour, and smoke, a blackened pan clutched in one hand and the blind girl's tiny hand clutched in the other.
"I made. toast?" he ventured.
"You burned water," Charlotte replied, soft-voiced.
The girl—no longer quite a stranger in Charlotte's view—turned her face toward her voice and smiled, a smile that somehow caused the entire room to seem to be holding its breath.
Finn spotted. "She prefers you best," he growled, ears flushing.
Charlotte arched a brow. "It's my charm personality."
Behind her, Elias's sleepy, teasing voice: "Debatable."
She threw a biscuit at him. He caught it in his mouth without glancing away.
The girl laughed—soft and unexpected. A sound like the chimes in spring. And in that instant, Charlotte caught the ripple. The weight of the world had shifted slightly once more. All the ordinary things were imbued now with meaning. The kitchen table was merely a table, of course—but also a stage. A recollection. A vow.
And Charlotte, herself dead twice, gazed around her small home and experienced something very near. peace.
She mixed the tea, reaching over to pour a cup for Elias without looking.
"Thanks," he said, knocking her fingers with his as he accepted it. "Even after the dream?"
She glared at him.
"I was awake," he said quietly. "You were calling her name."
Charlotte faltered. "It was her. Mira. She sold her eyesight so that she might be born again into my world.
Elias's jaw flexed, then eased as he gazed at the girl who was now chomping on Finn's half-charred toast. "She always had a flair for the dramatic."
Charlotte's eyes softened. "She said she'll come find me. That her loyalty was to me. Not kingdoms. Not crowns."
Elias nodded, and then leaned in close, voice stroking her ear like velvet and stormlight. "And mine has always been to you.
Heat flashed over her cheeks. "You're becoming very forward."
He smiled. "I've been dead a few times. It puts things into perspective."
Fingers intertwined over the tea cups, unspoken things igniting in the stillness between breaths.
And just on the periphery of them, Finn wiped flour off on his sister's sleeve and the girl laughed back.
The morning continued—tender, everyday, holy.
Something was shifting.
Something had already started.