Ayla’s POV
The brothers don’t rush me to finish up, and none of them tries to take the gifts from my hands or tell me what to do with them.
They don’t even offer to help carry anything; they just walk to the exit as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. I’m not used to that.
I carry the notebook in my left hand, the phone in my right, and the cloak folded over my arm. I don’t know what to do with any of it, so I just hold on.
“They’re not taking it back,” Tala says, her tone dry but certain. “And look at that, no tug-of-war at the crosswalk. Progress.”
I don’t answer, but something in my chest loosens—just a little.
We move through town. People pass us, bundled up against the cold, faces red with wind and laughter.
Some glance at us, some don’t, but I feel the shift—the way at
