Steam fogged the narrow laundry windows, curling against the glass as Ella worked a stubborn stain out of a wool tunic. The rhythm was calming—water, soap, twist, rinse—until a shadow fell across the table.
Sophie stood there, palms cupped as if holding something fragile.
“I had it repaired," she said.
Ella straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. “Had *what* repaired?"
Sophie slowly opened her fingers. The wolf-tooth necklace lay across her skin, the cord new and supple, the tooth polished until it gleamed.
Ella's jaw tightened. “Why would you—"
“Liam says you're his," Sophie cut in softly. “Always."
The words landed like grit in an old wound. Ella looked at the necklace, then back at Sophie. “I belong to my choices," she said evenly.
Sophie tilted her head, almost smiling. “T
