“Thomas!” Fadwa starts, but I wave her off. I don’t want anything to do with it, but I also don’t want a screaming match in my hallway. My neighbours already complain about the smells when I burn garlic. I can’t afford to get kicked out of another flat.

“Thank you,” Isla says, nodding at me and slipping under Fadwa’s arm and into the flat. Her rucksack knocks me in the side, and I can feel a heavy, thick weight in it.

“I cannot believe you’re letting her in,” Fadwa hisses, her dark eyes narrowed. “After everything that boy did to you.”

“I was warned she was coming,” I mutter. “Just a few minutes ago, a vision told me to trust ‘her.’ I’d bet they meant Isla.”

Fadwa is so suspicious her eyes are nearly slits, but she doesn’t respond; for a moment her overprotectiveness has been overcome by her curiosity. I capitalise on the hesitation and push past her to the main room. Rimi and Resha are still at the table playing with the smoke bee, and they look up with matching expressions of interest.

My flat feels extremely small with five people in it, and Isla shifts from side to side, glancing around the room and taking it in. Out of the shadows of the hallway she looks younger; all her features are rounded, and her face is covered in freckles, like someone took a brush and splattered her with dark paint. Her large, almond-shaped eyes are easier to see as well — a dark, bottomless brown with golden flecks that I immediately recognise. They’re just like Kit’s.

“You’re a selkie.” I take a step back as I say it, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Fadwa does a double take, looking Isla up and down, but Isla merely juts her chin out and stares us down.

“Aye, so?” she asks, crossing her arms to mimic me and planting her feet.

“So nothing, I’m just stating a fact,” I say. I’m too tired to fight. I’m just going to hear her story and try to shoo her out of my flat, preferably without anymore nightmare creatures popping up to say hello.

“You never told us you knew a selkie,” Rimi says, her tone accusatory, and I close my eyes. I don’t want the twins privy to this conversation. Whatever it is Isla has to say, it’s about Kit, and I don’t want the girls knowing anything about him or my past.

“I don’t,” I answer, turning to Fadwa. “Take the girls home. I’ve got this.”

“No, I don’t think—” she starts to argue, but I shake my head.

“I don’t want them involved,” I say quietly. Then, more forcefully, “Go. I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise. I’ll be alright.”