Raze laughs anyway. “You’re in good company,” he says, before the grin slips from his face again. “It’s just...she raised me. You know? It’s different. I don’t see Aunt Leira as a motherly figure or anything, but... I hardly remember my parents at all. Just her.”

I’m suddenly very aware of the spot where the glass vial should sit at my throat. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Raze, and his messed-up family that tried to kill us. My voice stalls in the back of my throat before words form. “I’m so sorry, Raze. That...that must be very difficult.”

It isn’t enough, but I don’t have anything else.

“So...what happens to those memories now?” Raze asks, after a pause.

My eyes flick to the broken glass, the snapped cord. There’s nothing to salvage there. My throat tightens, and it takes me a long time to manage a reply. “I have no idea.”

Leira and Isolde and Olani are long gone, but it’s still too soon to follow. I don’t think Leira expects us to rot here, but I don’t know how long we’re supposed to wait before leaving.

How long until the egg hatches? Until Leira releases her prisoners and forgets about all of us?

He studies me for a second, eyes soft and unreadable. “Listen. Your sister and Olani are two of the most capable people I’ve ever met. They can take care of themselves until we find a way back. You’re going to see your sister again, I promise.”

“That isn’t something you can promise.” My arms circle around my drawn-up knees, and a yawn fights its way up my throat.

“You’re impossible.”

I try to breathe slowly and fully, to slow down my racing mind. He’s right, Isolde and Olani can take care of themselves. That awful fight we had can’t be the last time I ever see my sister. It won’t be. “I know,” I say, through another yawn. “Sorry, I—”

“No, it’s fine.” His voice sounds weirdly flat, but I don’t have the energy to investigate that further. “We should both get some sleep. We’ll figure out the plan in the morning, okay?”

I should argue with him. I should insist that we make a plan now, and execute it as soon as possible.

But I’m already half-asleep, and all the crying took what little fight I still had left in me. I nod, curling up on the hard ground again. I can feel him settling down just a few feet away.

I toss and turn and fantasize about bread. And roasted mushrooms, and big bowls of steaming rice, and coffee, and honeyed cake, and apple cider, anything and everything. I’m almost certain that I’m not awake, that I’m only dreaming. Dreaming of food in my belly, the dry warmth of a fire or even just a blanket, the familiar sound of Isolde breathing nearby.

My eyes drift shut, and I feel like I’m sinking. Then the familiarity of the feeling strikes me, and I’m alert again, fighting my own tired body as I try not to give in to the dreams that Gossamer has haunted for weeks now. I reach out in my mind, trying to envision it as a big room, checking every dark corner for the faerie. For anything that feels foreign.