"Mom, you're awake!" Evie yanked at the sleeve and didn't let go. "Laure?" The name came out rough, like gravel. Laure blinked against the light and found a small face inches away, blue eyes wet but bright. "Easy, love. Easy." She reached, clumsy, and the hand that closed around Evie's hair felt large and foreign. "Sit up. Sit up, Evie." "You're warm." Evie's voice was urgent. "You came back." Laure's mouth moved before her mind confirmed what her body told her. "I—I'm here." Her voice was lower than she'd expected. It carried weight, and when she pushed up from the pallet her knees complained loud enough to make Evie giggle. "You're not going to leave, right?" Evie pressed her forehead to Laure's wrist like she could pin that promise down. Laure swallowed. "I won't leave." The words felt like a stone placed on a river and she kept them flat, solid. "Not ever." Evie brightened. "Promise?" "Promise." Laure kept her hand on Evie's head until the child relaxed. She looked around the cramped room with an outsider's eye: patched quilts, a chipped basin, a small wardrobe scarred by damp. The window was thin but not broken. Two wooden spoons hung from a nail. "Are Tommy and Benny up?" Laure asked. "Tommy's out in the yard. Benny's got a scraped knee. Lacey said she'd bandage it." Evie hugged Laure's elbow. "Rosie made porridge