Madeleine was out there somewhere, terrified, and Hæra had been given the opportunity to make things right. She’d figure out the rest afterward.

She struck out toward the shore and immediately knew something was wrong. Here, in the sea, she ought to be at her strongest. But her arms and legs felt weak, and when she swam—at least this body knew how to swim—she struggled as she never had before. Waves slapped her face, and she gasped around their salty taste. It made her thirsty. The salt water got in her eyes. They stung, as did the wound on the side of her neck.

Her left arm ached, but not just because it was injured. Her heart was straining at twice its normal rate while she went half her normal speed. Her lungs strained for more oxygen. Was she going to drown? That wasn’t possible. Each-uisge didn’t drown.

Humans did.

“Depths!” she gasped, and then more salt water slopped into her mouth. She spat, her tongue thick and dry. No. She wasn’t. She couldn’t be.

But she was.

Her body wasn’t like before. It was fighting to survive in the waters she’d known all her life. Weak. Cold.

Human.

The witch. She’d said, You do not belong here. And instead of killing Hæra outright, she had done…this. Now Hæra hadn’t just lost everyone she loved. She’d lost herself too. How was she supposed to help Madeleine like this?

She’d have to figure it out. The witch had shown Hæra Madeleine’s terror and said, Do anything, and if this was how Hæra could save Madeleine, she’d do it.

The waves pushed her forward, closer to the shore. Closer now, she could see someone hurrying across the beach, from the seawall to the water. They carried a torch, and they were heading toward Jonathan’s and Asgall’s bodies.

Even freezing, probably drowning, and with salt-stung eyes, Hæra would know that human anywhere. It was Madeleine. And she looked perfectly safe, not pursued by anything.

The witch had lied. Hæra had nothing useful to do, no way to atone. She might as well stop fighting and go under the waves right now.

Madeleine reached Jonathan and Asgall. She stopped and looked around, waving the flashlight. Then she crouched next to the bodies.

She was looking at Hæra’s worst failure. And that would be the last thing Hæra ever saw.

If her human lungs were strong enough, she could have cried out, I’m sorry, loudly enough for Madeleine to hear. The same way she’d called, Sister Madeleine, help me, years ago. Full circle. But these lungs weren’t strong enough to yell. They were barely strong enough to breathe.

This was the end, then. It wasn’t how she’d ever imagined it. Ruined…wasted…a failure, useless, wasted…