The room went very still.
Thoren swallowed once.
“Yes,” he said.
The word landed like stone.
Jonas blinked.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
His lower lip trembled—but he didn’t cry. Gods. He was trying not to.
“Is it my fault?” he asked.
And that— That was the moment I nearly broke.
“No,” I said immediately, crossing the space and kneeling beside him. “No, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not even a little.”
He searched my face like he was looking for a crack.
There wasn’t one.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Thoren added firmly. “You are not being punished.”
Jonas looked at his mother.
For reassurance.
For denial.
For something.
Bethany’s mask finally fractured.
Just a hair.
“You will not take him from me,” she said, voice low and dangerous.
Thoren stood.
