That night, after the terrible story (about a princess who tamed dragons by teaching them to knit) and the nose taps, Anaya couldn't sleep.
She kept talking, rapid-fire, trying to fit everything into these last hours.
"Remember when I taught you to make flower crowns? We have to do that when you come back. And remember the hand-clapping game? And the song about moonlight? You have to remember ALL of it."
"I'll remember."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Can't sleep."
Anaya turned her face toward him. "Mama used to hum," she said. "But I don't remember how."
Something in his chest tightened.
He hesitated, then said, almost to himself, "My mom used to sing too."
Anaya's eyes widened a little. "You never sing."
"I don't," he admitted. "Haven't. Ever."
"Why?"
He swallowed. The answer lived somewhere old and bruised. "Because my voice is too bad."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she shifted closer, tiny fingers brushing his sleeve.
"Can you sing it… just a little?" she asked.
He looked at her—at the way her eyes trusted him completely, like the world couldn't touch her as long as he was there.
And somehow, that made him brave.
"…Okay," he said quietly.
He cleared his throat once. Then again.
The first note came out rough. Unsteady. Like it hadn't been used in years.
But then it settled.
Low. Warm. Almost a whisper.
She finally fell asleep near mid-line, exhausted from emotion. But even in sleep, her hand stayed fisted in his shirt. Holding on.
Evan lay awake long after, watching her sleep. Memorizing every detail. The curve of her pointed ear. The flutter of her eyelashes. The way she smiled slightly in her dreams.
Tomorrow she'd cross the barrier. Tomorrow he'd let her go.
Tomorrow he'd become the man who was willing to break his own heart so she could be whole.
He pulled out his notebook. To write what he couldn't say.
Evan couldn't sleep.
He'd tried. Laid there beside Anaya for over an hour, listening to her soft breathing, feeling the weight of her small body against his side. But his mind wouldn't quiet.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd cross the barrier and he'd let her go.
Tomorrow everything would change.
He carefully extracted himself from the bed, moving slowly so he wouldn't wake her. Anaya mumbled something in her sleep—probably about cookies—but didn't stir. He tucked the blanket around her more securely, his hand lingering on her golden hair for just a moment.
Then he slipped out into the hallway.
Haven at night was different. Quieter. The bioluminescent moss cast everything in a soft green-blue glow, making the stone corridors feel almost dreamlike. Most residents were asleep, though Evan could hear the distant murmur of the night watch making their rounds.
He walked without destination, just needing to move. To think. To prepare himself for—
A sound stopped him.
Soft. Almost imperceptible. Like someone crying.
No—not crying. Whispering. No, not even that. It was something else. A voice that wasn't quite a voice, more like a sensation pressing against the inside of his skull.
Please. Please help. Mama—
Evan's hand went instinctively to where his weapon should be—except he didn't carry one anymore. Hadn't in weeks. He moved toward the sound anyway, every hunter instinct he'd ever had suddenly alert.
The voice led him to one of the small meditation rooms near the eastern corridor. The door was ajar, soft light spilling through the crack.
He pushed it open slowly.
Mirael sat on the floor, her back against the wall, head in her hands. Her whole body was shaking.
The voice—that strange not-voice—cut off abruptly.
"Mirael?" Evan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "What are you doing here?"
She looked up sharply, her face pale and tear-streaked. For a moment she just stared at him, like a cornered animal trying to decide whether to run or fight.
"I—" Her voice was hoarse. "I was checking papers. For tomorrow. The crossing. There are other elves going too, not just Anaya, and I needed to make sure all the documentation was—"
"That's bullshit."
Mirael flinched.
Evan moved closer, his eyes narrowing. "The crossing papers are with Helena. In her office. Not here. And it's three in the morning. So try again—what are you really doing?"
"I told you—"
"You're lying." He crouched down to her level, studying her face the way he used to study targets. Reading the micro-expressions, the tells. "Your hands are shaking. You're sweating. Your pupils are dilated. You look terrified. So either you're having a panic attack or—"
"Stop." Her voice cracked. "Please, just stop."
"Then tell me the truth."
For a long moment, she just looked at him. Then something inside her seemed to break.
"It was me," she whispered.
Evan went very still. "What?"
"Kael. Five years ago. The ambush on the transport." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "It was me. I told them. I told Captain Hayes exactly where and when."
The words hit like a physical blow.
Evan's hands clenched into fists. "You—"
"I never wanted to! I swear I never wanted to betray anyone! But Hayes—he had my children. My babies. He captured them two months before I came here and he said—he promised—if I gave him information, if I helped him, he'd let them go. He'd let them be free."
"So you sold out Kael."
"I thought it would be one time! One elf, and then my children would be safe and I'd never have to do it again!" Mirael was crying harder now, her words coming in gasps. "But after Hayes took Kael, he didn't let them go. He kept them. Said he needed more information. But I couldn't—I wouldn't—I stopped answering his calls, stopped cooperating. I thought if I just stayed here, if I helped Helena save people instead of betraying them, maybe I could make up for what I'd done—"
"You can't make up for that," Evan said coldly. "Kael has a daughter. Anaya. She's been without her father her whole life because of you."
Mirael made a sound like a wounded animal. "I know. God, I know. But I thought it was over. Five years, Evan. Five years and Hayes never contacted me again. I thought maybe my children had died, or maybe he'd forgotten about me, or maybe—"
"But he didn't."
She shook her head, fresh tears falling. "Tonight. Just now. I felt them. My children. In my mind. They can reach me sometimes, when Hayes allows it, when he wants to send a message. They were crying, begging me to help them. And Hayes's voice—his voice came through them, using them like puppets—"
Her whole body shuddered with revulsion.
"He wanted Haven's location. Said if I gave it to him, if I told him exactly where we were and how many people were here, he'd finally let my babies go. He promised. Just like he promised five years ago. But if I didn't tell him he'll kill them."
Evan's blood ran cold. "You didn't."
Mirael's silence was answer enough.
"You DIDN'T," Evan repeated, grabbing her shoulders. "Tell me you didn't give Hayes this location. Tell me—"
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. They're my children. They're twelve and fourteen years old now and they've been in that facility for five years being experimented on and tortured and I just wanted them back. I just wanted my babies—"
Evan shoved her away, standing abruptly. His mind was racing. "How long ago? When did you tell him?"
"Two hours. Maybe three. I don't—I don't know exactly."
"Three HOURS?" Evan spun toward the door. "Hayes could be mobilizing right now. He could be twenty minutes away or he could already be surrounding us and you waited THREE HOURS to—"
"I didn't know what to do! I thought maybe if I just pretended it didn't happen, if I didn't tell anyone, maybe he wouldn't actually come, maybe it was all a trick—"
"It wasn't a trick," a new voice said from the doorway.
Helena stood there, her face carved from stone.
How long had she been listening?
From her expression—all of it.
"Mom—" Evan started.
"Don't." Helena's voice was absolutely flat. "Not right now."
She walked into the room slowly, her eyes fixed on Mirael. The elf woman seemed to shrink under that gaze, pressing herself back against the wall.
"You killed him," Helena said quietly. "Kael. The man I thought of as a son. The father who just wanted to see his daughter grow up in peace. You killed him as surely as if you'd pulled the trigger yourself."
"Helena, please—"
"And I took care of you," Helena continued, her voice starting to crack now. "After Kael was taken, after the network was compromised, you came to me crying about your trauma, your losses, and I believed you. I trusted you. I gave you a place in my home, let you help save people, let you become part of this family—"
"I was trying to make up for it! I swear I was trying—"
"By betraying us again?" Helena's hands were shaking now, her careful control fracturing. "By leading Hayes straight to us? To all these people who trusted me to keep them safe?"
"I didn't have a choice!"
"You ALWAYS have a choice!" Helena's voice rose, echoing off the stone walls. "You could have told me. Told Evan. Told anyone. We could have planned, prepared, maybe even rescued your children. But instead you made a deal with a monster and now—"
The lights flickered.
Everyone froze.
Then—distant but getting closer—the sound of vehicles. Multiple vehicles. Moving fast.
"They're here," Evan said, his voice deadly calm. "How long until they breach Haven?"
Helena was already moving, her grief and rage pushed aside by years of operational training. "Ten minutes if they know the exact entrance. Five if they're willing to blast through. Yusuf!" She was running now, down the corridor toward the main living areas. "YUSUF! ROBERT! EMERGENCY PROTOCOL NOW!"