Kira, the werewolf, was bent down over a large, teak coffin. Her cheek rested over the wood, her curly blonde hair spilling over the side of the casket. Her body shuddered with sobs. Micah knelt next to her on the floor, his arms around her, trying to offer her comfort.

“My sister wasn’t ready to go,” she rasped. “She had too much left to live for!”

Her sister.

It was Kailyn who died.

My gaze traveled to Corrine, who sat perched on the edge of the treatment bed. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and her lips were pursed as she gazed with mournful eyes upon the grieving werewolf. I stayed for several moments longer before leaving the sorrowful scene.

Who would have killed Kailyn? Was this really not an accident? My father certainly didn’t seem to think so.

As I arrived back in the corridor, it was to see my father again, standing next to Aiden, my mother and sister. He leaned against the wall, looking down with a pained look on his face at my grandfather, whose face was still covered by his palms.

We all knew how much heartbreak my grandfather had suffered in the past due to his first love, Camilla Claremont—my grandmother. After she’d died, he’d struggled for years—almost two decades—to let another woman into his life again. For him to lose Kailyn, whom he’d appeared to have truly fallen in love with, was a cruel twist.

I gazed down at my shattered grandfather. I wasn’t sure how long it would take him to recover from this. Another two decades before he was willing to lay his heart on the line again for someone? What if he never recovered? He was a strong man, one of the strongest I knew, and he’d always been an inspiration for me, but behind his steely exterior was a broken man. When he’d met Kailyn and fallen for her, we’d all hoped that his heart was on its way to healing… but now I wondered if he would ever open up to anyone again.

I reached out a hand and moved it over his shoulder. I wished with all that I had that he could feel my touch—even just the smallest squeeze of reassurance, of empathy. My mother, father and sister, I wanted to hug them, too. I wanted them to see that I was alive, that I was home. I found myself starving to reconnect. To feel the ground beneath my feet. To stop feeling like I was a wisp of smoke, at risk of dissolving with the slightest gust of wind.

But hovering my hands over their arms and shoulders was the closest that I could come to contact without my translucent body sinking into theirs.

I stayed with them in the corridor, standing and suffering my frustration, until Corrine emerged from the treatment room and said in a husky voice, “People are starting to gather outside. We should begin the formalities.”

My father nodded grimly and exchanged glances with my mother. She stood up, leaving my grandfather sitting with Rose, and they both headed into the room where Kailyn’s coffin waited.

Glancing again at my sister and grandfather, I hovered a hand beside my sister’s face, motioning to brush my fingers against her cheek, before stepping away and heading for the Sanctuary’s exit. As I arrived back in the courtyard, a large crowd was gathering. Witches milled, conjuring up tables and black gazebos.

Now that I had learned the extent of the damage that had been done by those strange fires—or at least it seemed that I had, for I hadn’t heard mention of other casualties—I left the courtyard, now desperate to find River. I headed straight for the Vale and began wandering through the streets, trying to figure out which house she could possibly be staying in. I didn’t bother looking at houses that I knew were already occupied—which was most of them. I walked straight to the few houses that, at least to my knowledge, had been vacant. I arrived in the square, passed Anna and Kyle’s house, and took a turn down a narrower street. About halfway down this road, sitting on the doorstep of a three-bedroom townhouse, was River’s younger sister, Lalia.

She had a coloring book propped up on her lap, and next to her was a lantern, shining light through the darkness. Her round face was scrunched in concentration as she shaded in pictures with fat crayons. She had a glass of what looked like orange juice sitting near her bare feet, along with a half-finished bowl of cereal.

So they are still here. I felt relieved. Though I hadn’t thought that it was likely River would have returned to New York while still a half-blood, there had been a small doubt at the back of my mind.

I moved past Lalia through the open doorway. The scraping of a chair came from the kitchen at the back of the house. I headed toward it and entered. Dafne and Jamil sat together at the dining table, quietly munching on breakfast.

I passed through the rest of the rooms on the ground level before moving upstairs. It was there, on the landing, that I heard her voice. River’s voice. If I’d still had a body, goosebumps would have run along my skin. As it was, the sound of River filled me with emotion. I wanted to rush to her, pull her body flush against me, and press my lips to hers. While I couldn’t do the latter no matter how much I wished for it, I hurried into the room her voice was emanating from.

There she was, sitting next to a bed where her mother lay wrapped in blankets. River’s graceful form was covered with a bathrobe, tied at her waist. Her dark hair streamed down her shoulders and it was wet, as though she’d just stepped out of the shower. I moved closer, my eyes falling upon her mother. She didn’t look well. Her face appeared more drained than I’d ever seen it, and her neck rested stiffly on the pillows.

The girl I loved brushed a palm over her mother’s forehead and said, “Corrine said the pain should be gone after tomorrow. She said your spine will be healed. You need to take another dose of her potion now.”