The front door blew open. Donella evanesced and Sidra, startled, whirled to see none other than Torin enter the cottage, windblown and ruddy. His tunic was damp from dew, his boots coated in sand, and his gaze found her instantly, as if he knew exactly where she would be—by the fire, stirring his daughter’s breakfast.

“Who were you talking to, Sid?” he asked, frowning as his eyes swept the room.

“No one,” she said, flustered. Torin had no idea she could see and speak with Donella, and Sidra didn’t think she would ever be brave enough to tell him. “You’re home. Why?”

Torin hesitated. She had never questioned why he was visiting. Of course, if he was here, he was hungry after working all night. He wanted his dinner and to hold his daughter.

“I thought I’d sup with you and Maisie,” he said, his voice lowering. “And I have a visitor with me.”

“A visitor?” Sidra dropped her spoon, intrigued. If she had been listening to the wind that morning, she might have heard the gossip it bore over the fells. But she had been preoccupied with the ghost of Torin’s first love.

She walked around the table, the draft stirring her unbound hair, and only stopped when a young man entered the cottage, his shoulders hunched in apparent discomfort. He held something in his arms; it looked like an instrument hiding in an oilskin sleeve, and Sidra’s heart leapt in joy until she noticed how disheveled he was. He had Torin’s plaid draped across his shoulders, but his garments beneath were plain and hung from him like an ill-fated fortune. He cast a long shadow, one made of worry and resentment.

But these were the moments Sidra lived for. To aid and heal and unravel mysteries.

“I know you,” she breathed with a smile. “You’re Mirin’s son.”

The stranger blinked and straightened, astonished she had recognized him.

“Jack Tamerlaine,” Sidra continued, recalling his name. “I’m not certain if you remember me, but years ago, you and your mum visited my family’s croft in the Vale of Stonehaven, to purchase wool. My cat had gotten herself stuck in the old elm tree in our kail yard, and you were kind enough to climb up after her and bring her safely down to me.”

Jack still appeared bewildered, but then the lines marring his face eased and a hint of a smile played on his lips. “I do remember. Your cat nearly scratched my eyes out.”

Sidra laughed, and the room instantly brightened. “Aye, she was a cranky old tabby. But I did care for your scratches afterward, and it seems I did a fair job at it.”