Song of The Wisp

Chapter Eight: When the Forest Sleeps

I smiled. A real one this time, small and surprised at its own sincerity. "You cook with garlic and emotional blackmail. Dangerous combination."

"Damn right," she said, grinning. "Five minutes. I'll lock up."

Els's house smelled like a warm memory.
Garlic, rosemary, and something sweet tucked into the oven like a secret waiting to be discovered. She waved me in with a wooden spoon and a flour-dusted smile.

"Sit. Shoes off. Emotional baggage optional," she said.

I huffed a laugh and toed off my boots. "I didn't bring the whole set. Just the carry-on."

"Then you're already ahead of the game." She nudged me toward the kitchen, where warmth spilled from the oven and laughter echoed from the next room.

Mark appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel and smiling like I'd just walked into a family tradition. "You're just in time—Jules is threatening to stage a coup if dinner doesn't get served in five minutes."

"Dad!" a voice called from the dining room, full of mock offense. A blur of curly hair and mischief dashed past—Jules, maybe ten or eleven, carrying a stack of napkins like she was leading a charge.

Behind her came Tim, younger, trailing toy dinosaurs in one hand and a lightsaber in the other. "We made place cards," he declared proudly, holding up a crayon-scrawled name tag that read: Rory (Guest Queen)

I blinked. "I... have never felt so honored."

Els grinned. "They insisted. You should see what Jules named the chicken dish."

"Despair au Gratin," Jules said proudly from her seat at the table, earning a laugh from her mother and a groan from Mark.

"She's been hanging around you too much," he teased, ruffling her hair as he passed.

We gathered around the table, bowls steaming, hands reaching for bread and stories. Mark cracked a joke about the café's haunted espresso machine. Jules made dramatic gagging noises over brussels sprouts. Els threatened to assign dishes like chores. Tim, halfway through a very detailed story about a dinosaur war, leaned against my arm without a second thought.

And me?

I just sat there, letting it all wash over me—the warmth, the noise, the chaos that felt like home.
No expectations. No pressure of the outside world. Just this.
A soft place to land.

When I finally stood to leave, Mark handed me a container of leftovers and a quick, impulsive hug that caught me off-guard.

"You're not alone, Ror," Els said, pulling me into a deep hug. "I mean it. You ever need anything—just show up. Even if it's just for a damn cup of tea."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Thanks, Els."

Back home, the silence felt heavier. The apartment was dark, except for the glow of streetlights spilling in through the blinds. I didn't turn on the TV. Didn't touch my phone.

Instead, I let the shower steam the world away.

The warmth bled into my bones. For the first time in days, I didn't feel cold.

I stayed under the spray until the water started to lose its heat, then stepped out, wiping a patch of the mirror clear with my palm.

That's when I saw it.

Not written in ink. Not scratched into the glass.
But left in the condensation—soft, curling letters drawn by a finger that wasn't mine.

"return"

I froze.
Stared.
But the word was already beginning to fade, swallowed by heat and time. 

I curled up under my blanket, staring at the photo of Kate on my nightstand—her smile frozen, eyes full of the kind of love that never quite reached me.

And I thought of Els. Of warmth. Of laughter. Of the quiet kind of love that settles into the walls of a home.

I've wished for a family like that.
People to belong to.
A place that welcomes you back before you even knock.
A place to call home.

My hand drifted to the moonstone, tracing its surface without thinking—expecting warmth.

But all I felt was the cool weight of it resting in my palm.
Still. Silent.

The quiet stretched long, until it felt loud.

And I fell asleep waiting for something—someone—that never came.

And for the first time since the dreams began...
I wondered if I'd been left behind.

Again.