“Selkies aren’t violent,” Resha argues, staring at Isla, who has her thick black brows furrowed. “He’s a magician, he could totally handle her.”

Fadwa’s eyes flick to my arms, still crossed against my chest, and I fight the urge to roll down the sleeves of my shirt so she can’t see the criss-cross of scars on my forearms. I know what her pursed lips and pinched brows mean: Historically speaking, my poor efforts at magic weren’t at all helpful in holding my own against a selkie.

“We can be violent if we want,” Isla says, grinning, and Resha grins back. My stomach churns.

“Naw, it’s not in your nature,” Resha retorts, and Isla lifts one shoulder in a good-natured shrug, as if conceding the argument. I don’t like anything about the wee bond that’s starting to form here.

“Looks like you finally learned something,” I say with a tight smile that I’m trying and failing to make look natural, before meeting Fadwa’s eyes. “Go. Really. I’ll be fine.”

Fadwa looks more likely to plant one of her small white Keds against my throat than to leave me alone right now, but she doesn’t argue.

“Fine,” she snaps, collecting her handbag. “I left you food on the counter. Ring me, aye?” She leans in to kiss my cheek, but it’s perfunctory as usual, her lips kissing at the air near my face, and then she swats at her little sisters.

“I’ll call.”

“Have fun in America,” Rimi says, giving a lazy wave.

“Aye, don’t get shot,” Resha adds, shooting me a wicked smile and finger guns as Fadwa ushers them out the door. She gives me one last simmering glare before the door closes behind her.

The moment they’re gone, Isla relaxes.

“They’re a colourful lot,” she says, unfolding her arms and leaning back against my counter. “She your girlfriend?”

“Friend,” I correct stiffly. I think Fadwa would vomit at the mere insinuation. “I tutor her sisters.”

“You’re a teacher?” Isla asks, cocking her head. “I didn’t know. Kit said you travelled.”

Icy dread trickles down my spine at the idea of Kit saying anything about me, and it quickly burns through to anger. I’ve tried extremely hard to believe that Kit stopped existing when I left Mab four years ago. The idea that he and time kept moving without me makes me feel unbalanced and queasy, like I’m seasick.

It also confirms that he and Owen still talk about me; Kit could only know I’ve been travelling if someone had told him, and I know it didn’t come from Cormac. Our yearly Christmas phone calls were brief and devoid of any substance. I never even told him where I was because I didn’t want Kit to know.