Ty’s smile fades just a little. “What happened now? Is everyone okay?” He looks over his shoulder toward the house, as if he can see through the door. His hands are curling into fists at his sides. He’s not breathing heavy, but it could get there. So, so easily.

But maybe it won’t. I have to remind myself that he’s not as fragile as he once was. Neither of us are. We are stronger than most people ever gave us credit for. Sure, we shattered sometimes, but we always found ways to put ourselves back together. I have to trust him to be okay, because he’s shown he can stand on his own. There’d been late-night phone calls—though they’d been rare—while he’d been gone. When he needed to hear my voice. Or Otter’s voice. Or to just talk something through. But his panic attacks, while not cured because they probably wouldn’t ever be, are sparse things now. He takes care of himself. He knows how to breathe.

“It’s okay,” I say, because in the end, I hope it will be. These are nothing but the bumps in the road. “Everyone here in Seafare is just fine. No one is hurt or sick or anything like that.”

He nods tightly. “But then why do you—” He shakes his head, laughing a little bitterly. “It’s still something, though. Because it always is.”

“Some of these things can be good,” Otter tells him. “Though it might take some time to figure out how to see them that way.”

He looks at Otter for a long moment before he turns back to me. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s done something again. Is Izzie—oh god, please tell me Izzie’s okay. She’s just a little girl, Bear. Please tell me she’s—”

“She’s fine,” I say, overriding him. “Izzie is fine.”

He narrows his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because she’s here.”

He makes a hurt sound, and there’s actual fear on his face. “Is—Mom… is she here—”

“No,” I say from the bottom of the stairs. “She’s not here. And she won’t be. She won’t ever be. She can’t touch you or me or Izzie ever again.”

He nods. His face crumples just a little. He takes a stuttering breath. And then he says, “Is she dead?”