In Scotland, Present Day

  The sheep needed shearing.

  Anne stood at the fence, watching them mill about in the morning mist, and tried to remember if she'd ever done this before. Before Scotland. Before Scott. Before Hope and Garett.

  Before she'd become someone else entirely.

  "Mum!" Hope's voice carried across the field. "Garett's eating the chicken feed again!"

  Anne turned. Her six-year-old daughter stood on the cottage porch, hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of Anne's own exasperated stance. Behind her, Garett's guilty face appeared in the doorway, cheeks bulging.

  "Garett, spit it out." Anne crossed the yard, boots squelching in the mud. "That's for the chickens, not for little boys."

  Garett spat a mouthful of feed into his hand, looking sheepish. "But it smells good."

  "It smells like chicken food." Anne ruffled his hair. "Go wash your hands. Both of you."

  The twins thundered inside. Anne followed more slowly, pausing in the doorway to look back at the fields. Ten years. Ten years since she'd fled England with nothing but the clothes on her back and a heart full of grief. Ten years since she'd held Charlotte.

  Her first daughter would be ten now. Four years older than the twins.

  Anne's chest tightened. She pressed a hand to her sternum, breathing through the ache. It never really went away, that grief. Time had dulled it, made it bearable, but it was always there. A constant weight.

  "Anne?" Scott appeared in the kitchen, flour dusting his dark beard. "You all right, love?"

  "Fine." She managed a smile. "Just thinking about the shearing. We'll need to hire help this year."

  "Aye, I'll ask around in town." He kissed her forehead. "Breakfast is almost ready. I made your favorite—pancakes with honey."

  Anne followed him inside, where Hope and Garett were already fighting over who got to set the table. The cottage was small but warm, filled with the smell of baking bread and the sound of her children's laughter.

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  This was her life now. Simple. Safe. Far from magic and prophecies and dark sorcerers who wanted her daughter dead.

  She'd built this life deliberately, brick by brick. Married Scott three years after arriving in Scotland—a good man, a kind man, who asked no questions about her past. Had the twins. Raised chickens and sheep. Learned to bake bread and mend fences and live without magic.

  She never used magic anymore. Not even the small spells she'd been capable of. It was too dangerous. Magic left traces, signatures that could be tracked. So she'd buried that part of herself deep and became someone new.

  Someone ordinary.

  Someone safe.

  "Mum, Garett's kicking me under the table!"

  "Am not!"

  "Are too!"

  Anne settled the argument with practiced ease, then sat down to breakfast with her family. Scott told a story about a customer at his carpentry shop. Hope chattered about the new lambs. Garett ate three pancakes and asked for more.

  It was a good life. A peaceful life.

  But as Anne watched her children, she couldn't help but wonder: Was Charlotte eating breakfast right now? Did she have friends? Was she happy?

  Did she ever think about the mother who'd given her away?

  Anne would never know. That was the price of keeping Charlotte safe—never knowing if the sacrifice had been worth it.

  She could only hope. And pray. And try not to let the grief consume her.

  After breakfast, Anne sent the twins outside to collect eggs while she washed dishes. Through the window, she watched them chase each other around the chicken coop, their laughter carrying on the wind.

  "You're thinking about her again." Scott's voice was quiet behind her.

  Anne's hands stilled in the soapy water. She'd never told Scott about Charlotte. Never told him about Liant, or Garka, or the magical world she'd left behind. It was safer that way. For all of them.

  But Scott wasn't stupid. He'd noticed the way Anne sometimes stared into space, the way she flinched at loud noises, the way she never talked about her life before Scotland.

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "Anne." He turned her gently to face him. "I've never pushed you to talk about your past. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. But love, you carry so much pain. It's eating you alive."

  Tears pricked Anne's eyes. "I can't talk about it. It's not safe."

  "Not safe? Anne, what—"

  "Please." She gripped his arms. "Please don't ask. Just trust me. There are things in my past that could hurt you, hurt the twins, if anyone knew. The less you know, the safer you are."

  Scott studied her face for a long moment. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. "All right. I won't ask. But Anne—whatever it is, whatever you're running from—you're not alone anymore. You understand? You have me. You have the twins. We're your family now."

  Anne buried her face in his shoulder and let herself cry. For Liant. For Charlotte. For the life she'd lost and the life she'd built and the constant, gnawing fear that it could all be taken away.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  "I love you too."

  They stood there for a long moment, holding each other while the twins' laughter drifted through the window. Then Anne pulled back, wiped her eyes, and returned to the dishes.

  This was her life now. And she would protect it with everything she had.

  Even if it meant never seeing Charlotte again.