POV: Evelyn

Silas bought Sophie eight pairs of shoes before admitting he did not know her size.

The boxes formed a bright wall across the safe-house living room—boots, sneakers, sandals, glittering flats, and one alarming pair with wheels hidden in the heels.

Sophie sat cross-legged in front of them wearing her single red shoe.

"These are for giant children," she announced.

Ronan lifted the smallest box. "This says size eleven."

Maeve looked at him. "That's not her size."

"I know that now."

Silas stood behind the sofa with his arms folded. "The website asked for a number."

"So you chose several," I said.

"I chose all available outcomes."

"He panic-bought footwear," Ronan translated.

Silas gave him a look that could have stopped traffic.

Sophie opened the wheeled shoes. "These can kill me."

"Those are going back," Silas said immediately.

"I like them."

"They're still going back."

"Mommy?"

I examined the tiny wheels. "Going back."

Sophie sighed with the burden of being raised by cowards.

The nearest children's store opened at ten. Miriam had arranged a protected debit card linked to my new individual account, but it contained only the thirty-eight dollars from my purse until the bank released my wages. Maeve offered to take us.

Silas offered too quickly.

Then he corrected himself. "If you want me there."

I did.

The answer warmed and frightened me in equal measure.

We went in an old pickup instead of motorcycles. Sophie sat between Maeve and me in the back. Silas drove. Ronan followed in another vehicle, claiming he needed to inspect the shopping center's coffee quality for security reasons.

"He follows you everywhere?" I asked.

"Only when I ask him not to."

The store smelled of rubber soles and new fabric. Rows of miniature shoes covered the walls. Sophie forgot to be frightened for nearly thirty seconds.

She darted from one display to the next, touching every shoe with one careful finger as if the shelves belonged to a museum. Silas followed two paces behind her, pretending to inspect the ceiling cameras. Every time she crouched, he crouched. Every time she changed direction, the president of the Blackwood Reapers changed direction with her.

Ronan came through the doors carrying four coffees and watched this for a moment.

"You look like a bodyguard assigned to a very short celebrity."

"Check the west exit."

"The west exit is a poster of a cartoon giraffe."

"Then report any suspicious giraffe activity."

Sophie giggled. Silas's mouth almost moved.

Then a security guard walked past in a dark uniform.

She froze.

Silas noticed before I did. He moved into her line of sight without approaching her.

"Red or purple?" he asked.

Sophie looked at him.

"Purple goes faster."

"Scientifically established."

The guard continued walking.

Sophie breathed again.

A clerk with silver-framed glasses knelt to measure her foot. "What a brave girl. One foot is slightly swollen, so we'll fit the uninjured side and leave room."

She looked up at me. "Mrs. Quinn, does she need school shoes as well?"

Silas's jaw tightened.

It was almost invisible. I had learned to see it.

"Not yet," I said.

The clerk brought six options. Sophie chose red sneakers because they matched the shoe she had worn on the mountain.

"Now I have two," she said.

The words struck deeper than they should have.

One red shoe had crossed a road alone, carrying blood that was not hers. Two red shoes belonged to a child who expected to walk somewhere next.

Silas crouched in front of her.

"May I tie them?"

Sophie nodded.

His hands looked enormous against the laces. Scarred knuckles, silver star sticker, careful loops. He tied both shoes, checked the space above her toes, and watched her run to the mirror.

She came back and threw her arms around his neck.

Silas stopped breathing.

Then he looked at me.

Permission even now.

I nodded.

His arms closed gently around her.

"Thank you," Sophie whispered.

His wolf rose so warmly through the bond that my eyes burned.

At the register, I handed over the protected debit card.

DECLINED.

The red letters appeared on the screen.

The clerk tried again.

DECLINED.

Heat climbed my neck. "There should be thirty-eight dollars."

"The total is forty-two sixty."

I opened my purse. Three dollars and eleven cents remained in cash.

Grant had left me four dollars and forty-nine cents short of buying our daughter shoes.