"We met her near the Cypress grove as well," Neal says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Lost… hurting…
and her daughter fading by the hour."
A heavy silence falls across the table, save for the soft clink of Isaiah's spoon against the ceramic bowl of half-finished stew.
Neal's gaze shifts toward Rhett.
Rhett pauses before looking up at him, his hand motionless beside the bowl of stew.
"By the Lord's grace, both the mother and child were helped before it was too late." Neal reaches calmly for the water jug.
"Husband." Evara frowns dissaprovingly at him.
"What?" Neal asks as he pours himself water. "I'm just speaking the truth."
Ace clears his throat and takes a long sip of water.
Heat burns across Neva's cheeks as she idly stirs her spoon through the stew, vegetables drifting through the broth while the warm scent of spice and garlic bread tempts her no longer.
It seems Neal still hasn't let go of the fact that Rhett wasn't there when she first arrived here with the twins, at the secluded home hidden within the Cypress grove.
Evara gives a faint shake of her head before glancing at Rhett.
"Would you like some more bread?"
"I'm alright," he says before resuming with his meal.
"Are your bruises healing well, child?" Neal asks gently.
Through the haze clouding her thoughts, Neva realizes he is speaking to her. "Yes."
Neal let's out a quiet sigh. "Whatever kind of man he was… such cruelty. It was almost as if she'd been mauled by a beast."
Neva brings the spoon to her lips, and all she tastes is blandness and cold steel.
"Well, sir," Ace says, leaning back in his chair. "How exactly did you have the antidote ready all the way out here?"
"That's a long story, son," Neal says knowingly.
Ace smiles faintly. "Well, I'm not going anywhere tonight."
Neal falls quiet for a moment, staring at the table before speaking. "I suppose you already know I am not from Miraeth." His eyes move between Rhett and Ace. "I only hope you won't turn us in to the soldiers."
"Never, sir," Ace replies immediately. "We are here after God's own heart."
Neal's expression turns contemplative. "I'm not proud of the man I was. I helped create the virus... and the antidote with it. All for a fortune beyond my wildest dreams."
Neal lowers his eyes. "Within days, thousands were dead. And millions suffering." Evara quietly covers his fist with her hand. "I thought leaking the antidote to Erriador's biodefense department might somehow make up for what I'd done."
"Then my colleague mutated the Ruhd." Neal's voice lowers. "I reported him to the police before escaping on my own, but that exposed me as well. And I became one of the elites' primary targets. So I fled."
"I'm sorry for what happened, sir." Ace's expression remains calm, an agent fishing for details while keeping his tone subtle, casual. "But did you bring the materials to make an antidote out here with you?"
Neal gives a soft laugh. "I lost everything in a shipwreck. I was washed up on the island with nothing but a virus sample hidden in my coat pocket." His eyes drift toward Evara as he lifts her hand gently to his lips. "And, here I am, with my great love beside me."
A small smile curls at Evara's lips.
"Strange how the Lord brings light into the darkest seasons of life," Neal says quietly.
"I know," Ace says with a small nod,
and takes a few pieces of dried fruit from the plate between them.
"I have a friend, a good Christian man. A merchant," Neal says. "He had connections to the outside world none of us possessed. He kept us supplied and informed."
A shadow passes through his gaze. "But we haven't heard from him in months now. And with the state of things here…" He exhales quietly. "We can only assume the worst."
"He truly was a kind soul," Evara murmurs with a wistful smile.
"Mumma," Isaiah says, rubbing at his eye with a fist. "I'm sleepy."
"Finished already?" Neva asks gently, removing the cloth tucked into his sweater, now streaked yellow with stew.
Isaiah gives a sleepy shake of his head. "I can't eat anymore."
Neva lifts her gaze toward Neal and Evara.
"If you'll excuse us, I should put him to bed."
Evara smiles warmly at Isaiah. "Certainly."
Neva scoops Isaiah into her arms and turns toward Evara. "I can help with the dishes later."
"Oh, no need to fret." Evara gives a small dismissive wave.
"You are our guest after all."
Neva smiles, catching her husband's gaze for a moment before making her way toward their room.
He has been unusually quiet all day.
Behind her, voices drift from the dining room, mostly Neal and Ace discussing how the cottage remained a sanctuary away from the villages, where believers are never safe.
Their voices fade behind the door as it closes beneath Neva's hand.
Neva walks toward the bed with Isaiah growing heavier against her shoulder as another yawn escapes him.
"Asleep already?" she whispers while laying him beside Inaya,
fast asleep beneath the blankets.
A drowsy grin curls at his lips as his eyes blink half-open.
Neva chuckles lightly and boops his nose.
"Mumma?" Isaiah says.
"Hmm?" She pulls the blanket over him.
"Why isn't Papa here yet?" he asks quietly. "Rhean's Dada is already here."
Neva forces herself to not react, as she rests her hand against Inaya's forehead, checking for fever.
Inaya had awakened the following day after she brought her here, but that first night had been among the most grueling trials Neva had ever endured as a mother.
"Mumma?" Isaiah murmurs.
"Sleep now," Neva says, then pauses. "And you forgot to pray."
Isaiah pouts, though a narrowed look from her has him kneeling on the bed within a moment.
"God, thank You for today. Sorry if I made You sad with the bad things I did.
"Please don't let the ghosts come, and make Naya okay again… and let Papa come back soon. In Jesus' name, amen."
The prayer tumbles out in a rush before Isaiah collapses back into the blankets and falls asleep almost immediately.
Neva tucks the blankets around them both before lowering herself onto the edge of the bed with a quiet sigh.
She brushes Inaya's curls away from her forehead, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing. The healing would take time, perhaps weeks, unlike some of the children in the camp.
But... it could have been so much worse.
A quiet creak pulls Neva's attention toward the door as Rhett steps inside.
"Are they both asleep?" he asks gently, shutting the door behind him before crossing toward the chair near the bed.
"Yes." She slides the small bucket with a bit of water farther beneath the bed, kept nearby in case Inaya needed to throw up.
"I'm sorry about what happened at dinner," she says softly.
A faint smile touches his lips, his chin resting against his fist as he quietly watches her.
Butterflies from the garden come fluttering alive inside her belly beneath the soft intensity of his gaze. How could he still have such an effect on her?
"He acts like a grudging father-in-law," he says, his voice low.
"Because he is." A small smile tugs at her lips as she stands and moves toward him.
As she reaches him, he pulls her onto his lap and wraps his arms tightly around her waist.
He presses his face into her chest,
a sigh slipping from him as her fingers drift soothingly through his hair.
"Aunt and Uncle haven't been entirely honest with me," she murmurs.
"What did you remember?" His voice comes muffled against her chest.
"My parents' accident," she says. "I don't think they even made it to my first birthday."
He raises his head slightly, searching her face. "And the nightmares?"
"They were probably just nightmares." She smooths his hair back gently. "And maybe they went along with it because it was easier for me to live that way."
"What about the amnesia?" he asks.
"A school bus accident," she whispers. "I suppose that's why they held on to me so tightly afterward... until I begged them to let me go away for college."
"So your grandfather took you to them?"
"Yes... and then he came back here again."
"Even if he could have chosen freedom and faith?"
"Yes," she whispers. Grandpa came back for Ishmael. "And I'm sure he held onto his faith until the very end."
"Do you want to return to college again?" He kisses her fingertips softly. "After all of this?"
"I wonder…" She curls her lips slightly, as if in deep thought. "Back to lectures and exams and projects… while managing three children and another in my swollen belly."
She had meant it as a joke, but a frown pulls at his brow.
"We can find help, and I'll support you however I can. You know I would never hold you back from your dreams."
"I know." She lets out a quiet huff. "But colleges are… tedious and tiring. Not nearly as good as I expected."
"Really?" His gaze narrows in suspicion.
She chuckles and leans closer, nuzzling her nose softly against his. "Don't worry. I've got better dreams now."
A playful smile curves his lips. "And what dreams are those?"
"A beautiful home," she murmurs. "Bigger than the one we had in Ziriri,
with a garden where you can plant all the fruit trees you want."
His smile lingers. "And?"
"Maybe I want to start a business," she murmurs.
"Like the floral farm we visited on our first dates… maybe even hold events there."
"And?" he asks, rubbing a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger.
"And maybe I want to be a poet." Her voice softens. "…To write about everything that leads to love, light, and truth."
He meets her gaze with earnest. "You are already the greatest poet I ever knew."
Something melts inside her, warmth flooding through her chest.
"You like my poems?" She has always loved poetry and stories, but she knows it is God who gave her this gift, refining it so she can share Scripture-woven poems with the believers and guide them through truth in simpler words, as she did in her sermons.
"I love them," he says, then frowns. "But you never wrote one for me."
"I did," she says. "Plenty..."
"Where?"
"In... my heart." He doesn't know she has been writing poems for him for as long as she can remember. But she rarely put them on paper,
and even more rarely showed them to him.
"Now enough about me," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. "What about your dreams?"
"Your dreams are my dreams."
"Oh, come on." She barely manages not to look at the grin on his lips and kiss him. "You like fishing and fixing cars and stuff."
"I think I'll quit my job," he says. "Expand my workshop, buy broken cars, and rebuild them into something new." Then he adds quietly, "I've had enough of bloodshed."
"I would love that for you," she says softly. She had asked about his mission, but he hadn't given her all the details,
something she is grateful for. And she, too, hasn't shared everything either: about Ishmael, the believers, or the vision.
"So about your parents," he says, keeping his tone light. "You're not born yet?"
"It seems so," she whispers, exhaling heavily. "Thankfully." They must have had her later, her mother looks younger, but her father must be already well into his forties.
"I don't think anything will ever top this surprise visit to your young parents," he says, smiling.
"No matter how long I live… and I plan to live a very long life with you."
"Me too," she says softly.
Yet, thinking of Evara and Neal's future, sorrow coils in her throat like strangling roots.
Their love is so deep, so miraculously beautiful, and it will end too soon,
too cruelly, only because their hearts stayed true to their faith…
"Do you want more time with them?" he asks, as though reading her thoughts.
She shakes her head. She wants it, she truly does. And even if they don't know her, she feels something more than blood binding her to them.
"We don't have time. The believers need me. And Rhean must be waiting for us."
"Did I tell you how proud I am of you?" He rests his hand over her abdomen, a thumb moving slowly over the fabric.
She inhales quietly.
"I've made things harder for you," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."
"We both wanted it," she says.
Yes... they had wanted to move on so badly.
There would have been time later… but beneath it all, there was still a grief neither of them had spoken aloud.
It almost feels wrong, to create life in the middle of so much brokenness, to place so much hope on a child meant to heal what separation had torn apart.
He gently moves her curls from her neck,
his warm fingers making goosebumps rise against her skin.
He kisses her neck softly, his breath brushing her skin as he murmurs, "We shouldn't… right?"
He asks it, but his lips trace another story against her shoulder.
She holds onto his powerful biceps for balance, eyes closing as the familiar warmth blooms deep inside her.
"I think... it'll be fine," she whispers.
It should be alright. The pain had long faded, and there was no bleeding.
His lips meet hers in a slow,
consuming kiss, her heart quickening as his hand moves along her leg.
A small gasp escapes her as his touch brushes near her knee.
"What's wrong?" A frown creases between his brows.
She bites her lower lip as he glances down at the purple bruises on her knee.
"I should've killed him when I had the chance," he says, voice low.
"The others are still too loyal to the agency… too loyal for their own good."
"Shh..." She cups his face and kisses him softly.
Then she stands and reaches for his hand. "Come with me."
He frowns but takes it anyway. "Where?"
"I know just the perfect place," she says, a teasing smile on her lips.
That brings a smile back to his face. "Can we be as loud as we we want?"
"As loud and lost as we want to be." Before she can move, he draws her back into him and kisses her deeply.