Anaya stood there in her pajamas—the star-covered ones that were her favorites—hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of disappointment.
"Late for what?"
"For SLEEP! It's sleep time and you promised we'd do the routine and you're here talking about boring adult things!" She marched over and grabbed his hand. "Come ON. We have exactly four more sleeps together and I'm not wasting one because you forgot!"
"I didn't forget—"
"You forgot. Grandma, Papa forgot sleep time."
Helena was trying not to laugh. "That's very serious. You better go with her."
"See? Grandma says." Anaya tugged insistently. "Let's GO."
Evan let himself be dragged away, Helena's soft laughter following them down the corridor.
Their room was small but comfortable. Anaya had decorated it with drawings—most of them featuring stick figures of Evan, Helena, and herself doing various activities. One showed them fighting a dragon. Another showed them eating cookies. Another was just hearts. Lots of hearts.
"Okay, routine time!" Anaya announced, climbing onto the bed. "First—teeth brushing!"
"You already brushed your teeth."
"Did I?" She checked her mouth with her tongue. "Oh yeah. Okay, skip that part. Second—terrible story time!"
Evan groaned as he settled onto the bed beside her. "Kid, I'm running out of terrible ideas."
"Then make it EXTRA terrible! The most terrible story ever!" She snuggled against his side, her stuffed bear tucked under one arm. "Please?"
Evan sighed dramatically. "Okay, okay. Once upon a time, there was a dragon named... Gerald."
"You already used Gerald! For the rabbit!"
"This is a different Gerald. Dragon Gerald. Totally unrelated to Rabbit Gerald."
"That's lazy storytelling, Papa."
"You want a story or not?"
Anaya made a show of zipping her lips.
"So Dragon Gerald," Evan continued, "had a problem. He was terrified of fire. Which is unfortunate when you're a dragon whose entire species is basically a flying flamethrower."
"How did he cook his food?"
"He didn't. He ate everything raw. His friends were concerned. 'Gerald,' they said, 'you can't keep eating raw chickens. It's weird.' But Gerald was too scared."
"Why was he scared?"
"Because when he was a baby dragon, he accidentally set his favorite teddy bear on fire. Traumatized him for life."
"That's actually sad."
"You want happy or terrible? Pick one."
"Both!"
"That's not how it works." Evan shifted, getting more comfortable. "Anyway, Gerald decided to overcome his fear by going to therapy. Dragon therapy. Which is like regular therapy but with more caves and treasure-hoarding discussions."
Anaya was giggling now. "There's no such thing as dragon therapy!"
"There absolutely is. Dr. Scalebottom, licensed dragon psychologist." Evan was making this up as he went, enjoying her laughter. "Dr. Scalebottom said, 'Gerald, you need to face your fear in small steps. Maybe start with a candle.' So Gerald lit a candle. And immediately panicked and ate it."
"He ATE the CANDLE?"
"He panicked! It's a natural dragon response!" Evan fought back his own laughter. "Dr. Scalebottom was very disappointed. Said Gerald had 'boundary issues with confronting trauma' and needed to 'workshop his relationship with fire.'"
"This is the worst story ever," Anaya wheezed.
"I WARNED you. But eventually, through many therapy sessions and several more eaten candles, Gerald learned that fire wasn't scary—it was just part of who he was. He started small. Lighting campfires for travelers. Helping people make s'mores. And one day, he roasted a chicken properly for the first time in his life."
"Did it taste good?"
"It was magnificent. Changed his whole life. He opened a restaurant. 'Gerald's Perfectly Roasted Everything.' Five-star reviews. The end."
"The end? That's it?"
"What? It's a complete story! Beginning, middle, end. Classic structure."
"It's terrible structure," Anaya said, but she was smiling. "But I like it anyway. Because you told it."
Evan's chest tightened. Three more days of this. Three more days of terrible stories and small bodies pressed against his side and unconditional love.
"Okay, next part of routine," Anaya announced, sitting up. "The taps!"
She presented her nose expectantly.
Evan reached out, tapping gently. Once. Twice. Three times.
"For good dreams, little light."
"For good dreams," she echoed, then immediately flopped back down, her head on his chest. Her small hand found its place over his heart. "Papa?"
"Yeah?"
"When you come back with your different face, will you still do the nose taps?"
"Every single night."
"Even if your fingers are different?"
"Even then. Might be weird fingers—long or short or maybe I'll have six fingers on each hand—"
"Papa, that's weird."
"But I'll still do the taps. Three times. Always."
She was quiet for a moment. "I'm going to miss you so much my heart might break."
Evan's arms tightened around her. "Your heart is stronger than you think. And you'll have your Mama. And —" He caught himself. "And whoever else is waiting for you on the other side. They'll take care of you until I get there."
"But they're not YOU."
"No. But they love you too. Different, but just as much."
Anaya's breathing was already slowing, exhaustion pulling her under. Against his chest, she mumbled: "I carry you with me, Papa. Always."
"I carry you with me, little light. Always."
Within minutes, she was asleep, her small body completely relaxed against his.
Evan stayed there for a long time, just holding her. Memorizing the weight of her. The sound of her breathing. The way she smelled like soap and cookies and something uniquely Anaya.
Then, carefully so as not to wake her, he reached for the small notebook on the bedside table.
And he started writing
———
Anaya declared at breakfast that they needed to "make all the memories."
"ALL the memories, Papa! Every single one!"
"Kid, that's a lot of memories. I don't think we have time—"
"We MAKE time!" She grabbed his hand. "First memory—making cookies with Grandma!"
Which is how Evan found himself in Haven's kitchen, covered in flour while Anaya and Helena attempted to teach him to bake.
"You're doing it wrong," Anaya informed him, watching him try to measure sugar.
"There's no wrong way to measure sugar."
"There is and you're doing it!" She climbed onto a stool to see better. "Look, you have to make it flat on top. Like this." She demonstrated with her tiny hands.
"When did you become a baking expert?"
"Mrs. Martha taught me! In Riverside! Remember?"
"Right. The nice lady who gave you cookies."
"SO many cookies." Anaya sighed happily at the memory, then refocused. "Okay, now we mix! Grandma, can I crack the eggs?"
Helena handed her an egg. "Gently, sweetheart."
Anaya cracked it with the force of someone declaring war. Egg went everywhere—in the bowl, on the counter, in her hair.
"Oops."
"How did you get it in your HAIR?" Evan asked, bewildered.
"I'm talented!"
They made a mess. An absolute disaster of flour and sugar and egg shells. But eventually, cookies went into the oven, and Anaya declared it "the best memory ever."
While they waited for the cookies to bake, she pulled out a piece of paper.
Anaya said like a teacher. "Now—words. Elf words. Important ones."
She spent the next hour teaching him phrases in her language. Most of them he already knew from Kael's journal, but he let her teach him anyway, committing her pronunciation to memory.
"Mellonen—my friend."
"Mellonen," Evan repeated.
"Gi melin—I love you. But that's the formal way. Between family, we say nin mel. It's shorter but means more."
"Nin mel."
"Good! Now—alathra. We learned that one before. Remember?"
"Hope."
"Yes!" Anaya beamed. "And this one is new—dúath meleth. It means 'night-shadow love.' The kind of love that exists even in darkness. Even when everything is scary."
"Dúath meleth," Evan said quietly.
"That's what you have, Papa. For me. I can see it. Dúath meleth." She touched his chest. "It's very strong. Very bright."
Evan had to look away, his throat tight.
The cookies finished baking. They ate them warm, sitting together at the kitchen table—Evan, Anaya, and Helena. A family, stolen from impossible circumstances, pretending for just a little longer that this could last.
Yusuf appeared with his camera as they were finishing.
"Don't even think about it," Evan warned.
"Too late. Already thinking." Yusuf was filming. "This is perfect. Three generations, sharing cookies."Yusuf zoomed in on Anaya, who had chocolate on her face. "Anaya, tell me—what's the best thing about your Papa?"
Anaya considered this seriously. "He tries really hard. At everything. Even when he's bad at it."
"Thanks, kid. Really feeling the love."
"No, but that's GOOD!" Anaya insisted, looking at the camera. "Because even though Papa's terrible at baking and his stories make no sense and he's grumpy in the mornings—he tries anyway. Because he loves me. And trying when you're scared or bad at something? That's the bravest thing."
Yusuf lowered the camera, his eyes suspiciously shiny. "That's—yeah. That's good stuff."
"Are you crying, Uncle Yusuf?"
"No. Just allergies. Very dusty in here."
"It's not dusty at all—"
"VERY DUSTY. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "Who else wants to be on camera? Helena? Some maternal wisdom to share?"
Helena looked at Anaya, then at Evan, and something complex crossed her face. "Just—hold onto each other. No matter what comes. Family isn't about blood. It's about who you choose. Who chooses you back."
"Grandma's very wise," Anaya announced.
One Day Left:
They spent the morning in the library. She wanted Evan to read to her, so they curled up on the couch with a stack of picture books.
"This one," Anaya said, handing him a story about a girl who got lost in the forest. "But you have to do the voices."
"I don't do voices."
"You do NOW. The bear has to sound like this—" She demonstrated a growly voice.
Evan sighed but complied, making ridiculous voices for each character. The bear. The wise owl. The rabbit who gave directions. Anaya giggled at each one, but there was something sad underneath it.
"Papa?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"What if I forget? Not forget-forget, but like—what if the memories get fuzzy? What if I can't remember exactly what your voice sounds like or how you smile or—" Her voice cracked. "What if you become less real?"
Evan set the book aside, pulling her into his lap. "Then you look inside. Remember? You can see inside people. And my inside isn't going to change. When I come to you, when whoever I look like shows up—you'll know. Because the inside is always real."
"But I want to remember the outside too. I want to remember everything exactly."
"Then we'll make sure you have things to help." Evan thought for a moment. "Uncle Yusuf's been filming us, right? You can watch those videos. Hear my voice, see my face."
"Really?"
"Really."
Anaya was quiet for a moment, processing. Then: "Will you remember me? Exactly?"
"Every detail. I couldn't forget you if I tried."
"Even after your face changes?"
Evan's chest ached. "Even then. You're written on my heart, little light. That doesn't fade."
She hugged him fiercely.