What she forgot to remember.

✦ Chapter 3: The Quiet Between Them.

The sky in Velmora is a pale gold today, the kind that makes the dust look soft instead of sad. The air isn’t heavy with grief like it used to be. It’s just… still. Like everything is holding its breath.

Zira sits on the porch steps, arms wrapped around her knees, watching from a distance. The yard is alive — sticks clashing, laughter echoing, someone yelling “That doesn’t count!” for the third time in five minutes.

Micah and Silas are sparring again.

It’s always them lately. Ever since Silas and Rowan started spending more holidays nearby, their visits have become a routine. A rhythm.

Zira’s been watching them from afar. Every time they show up, something shifts. Micah laughs more. Liora hums when she cooks. And Rowan… Rowan has this way of blending in and standing out all at once. Like a shadow that remembers sunlight.

She stands, brushing her dress off with small, determined hands, and walks toward them.

Micah’s gripping a long wooden staff, Silas dancing around him like he’s choreographing a fight scene. They’re loud. Confident. Full of themselves.

“Hey,” Zira says, stepping into the yard. “Can I train with you guys?”

Micah barely looks over. “This stuff’s kinda advanced, Zi.”

“Yeah,” Silas says, twirling the stick with one hand. “You sure you can keep up, Shortcake?”

Zira blinks. “Don’t call me that.”

Micah chuckles. “We’re not playing tag, you know.”

Zira folds her arms, jaw tightening. “I’m not here to play.”

Silas smirks. “That’s cute.”

She turns, about to leave—her pride bruised—but Rowan’s voice cuts in, steady and quiet.

“Hey,” he says, walking toward them. “She asked to train. Why are we turning her down?”

Micah shrugs. “She’s just—”

“She’s trying,” Rowan says firmly. “That counts.”

The others fall silent.

Zira glances up, surprised. Rowan’s holding out his staff toward her.

“You can use mine,” he says.

She hesitates, then takes it, her fingers brushing his for a split second. It’s nothing. But it makes her heart beat a little faster.

“Thanks,” she mutters.

Rowan steps back and nods. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Silas whistles low. “Wow. Shade’s got a soft spot.”

“Shut up,” Rowan says, rolling his eyes.

Zira grips the staff awkwardly. Her stance is off, but she’s focused. Determined.

She swings once, misses the angle, adjusts.

“Loosen your shoulders,” Rowan says gently. “You’re not fighting the stick.”

She nods.

Across the yard, a shadow moves — and then Liora steps out from the doorway. She’s wearing an old headscarf and wiping flour from her hands. She watches for a moment, unreadable, then walks over.

“Alright,” she says, voice light but firm. “If you’re going to turn my backyard into a battlefield, at least do it properly.”

Silas grins. “Oh no. Mama mode activated.”

“I taught your parents, kid,” Liora replies, snatching a staff from the side. “Don’t test me.”

Rowan raises a brow. “You trained the founders?”

“Among others,” Liora says, tightening her grip. “Now. Let’s work.”

And just like that, the lesson changes.

Liora moves like a memory — graceful, fast, precise. She corrects Silas’s wild swings, adjusts Micah’s footwork, teaches Rowan to shift his weight better. When it’s Zira’s turn, she doesn’t go easy.

“You’ve got power,” Liora says. “But you don’t trust yourself yet.”

Zira tries again. Her footing slips.

“You’re thinking too much,” her mother adds. “Just feel it.”

She does.

The next strike lands solid, and Rowan lets out a quiet, impressed hum.

Silas, not to be outdone, lunges dramatically. “Shade, cover me!”

“You’re not in a movie,” Micah mutters.

“I could be,” Silas shrugs.

Zira laughs for the first time that day. And it sounds like it belongs.

Later, they all collapse under the mango tree — dirt-streaked, breathless, and full of sun.

Micah flicks a leaf at Silas. “We still need a team name.”

“No, we don’t,” Rowan says flatly.

“Yes, we do,” Silas argues. “We’ve got Thunder, Shade, and Princess Punch.”

Zira throws a pebble at his arm. “Call me that again, and I’ll punch harder.”

Micah smirks. “Only Zira gets to name people anyway.”

Zira leans back, content. “Only me. And only we — me, Micah, and Mama — get to use those names.”

“Shade and Thunder,” Silas repeats, pretending to test the sound. “Kinda like comic book heroes.”

“Kinda like us,” Zira says softly.

Rowan glances at her, then back at the tree leaves.

The sky’s turning soft blue again. Distant thunder rumbles somewhere beyond the hills, but no one notices.

Because here, in this stolen afternoon, everything feels strangely right.

Not perfect.

But safe.

And sometimes, that’s enough.