Prologue
The scissors made their soft snipping rhythm, each silver bite whispering through the strands of Fionn’s unruly chestnut hair. Shiv brushed a lock from his temple, her belly grazing the back of the wooden chair where he sat.
“You’re growing a mane like a seal pup,” she teased, her voice low and lilting. “What would Imogen say if you showed up to school like this?”
Fionn wrinkled his nose, then smiled—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“She’d say I’m turning wild,” he murmured, fingers fiddling with the hem of his pyjama top. “But I’d tell her I like it that way.”
The fire crackled behind them, the hearth a cradle of warmth in the gathering dark. Outside, the sea sighed against the cliffs, patient and endless.
Shiv stilled for a moment, looking at him—really looking. Nearly seven now, but already so sharp, so solemn at times. His features were Ronan’s, but his silences belonged to no one she could name. Not even herself.
“Are you alright, a stór?” she asked gently. “You’ve been quiet all day.”
Fionn tilted his head. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
His fingers went still. “About how things can look like people. But not be people.”
Shiv set the scissors down. “Fionn...”
He glanced up at her, eyes wide, ancient. “It’s nothing! Just dreams.”
She didn’t press—not yet. She kissed the crown of his freshly trimmed head, inhaling the scent of baby powder and warmth on him.
“Go on now, time for bed. Da’s waiting for your pick of a name in the morning,” she said softly. “And don’t pick another ‘Cormac’. He’s still sore I vetoed it.”
Fionn slid off the chair and padded toward the stairs. At the landing, he paused.
“It’s wearing someone’s smile,” he said, not quite turning around. “But it’s not smiling inside.”
Then he was gone, feet light on the stairs.
Shiv stood frozen, fingers resting on her belly, where the baby shifted gently.
A log popped in the hearth. Outside, the wind dragged something along the windowpane. A pause. Then silence.
~
Upstairs, Ronan lay propped against the pillows, a notebook open across his lap and reading glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose.
“Is he in bed?” he asked as Shiv climbed in beside him.
“Brushed teeth, tucked in, warded with salt,” she replied, wrapping herself around him.
“And?”
She hesitated. “He’s... seeing things again.”
Ronan exhaled slowly. “Could just be the nerves. New school soon. New sibling.”
“Could be,” she murmured, though her voice said otherwise.
He shifted, cupping her face with one hand. “You alright?”
“I will be.”
He nodded, then flipped open the notebook. “Alright then. Names. I’ll fight you on Cormac again.”
She smiled, eyes soft. “We’ve been through this honey, she’s a girl. Cormac is a boys’ name.”
As the fire burned low and the sea gnawed at the cliffs below, Shiv leaned against Ronan’s shoulder, and the names they spoke filled the dark with gentle hope.
But far beyond the garden wall, in the salted mist near the gorse, something watched.
Wearing a smile.
Waiting.
