Page 28 of The Demon's Little Girl
"I'd rather hear what you have to say about it."
The question catches me off guard. Not what happened, not who her father is, not why I left—what do I think? Like my opinion matters. Like my feelings about any of this carry weight instead of just being inconvenient complications to be managed.
"What I have to say? I think..." I start, then stop, because putting it into words makes it real in a way that terrifies me. "I think I don't belong here anymore. I think coming back wasselfish. I think Rovak is being kind because that's who he is, but eventually he's going to realize I'm not worth the trouble."
The words hang in the air between us like a confession, raw and ugly and more honest than anything I've said since walking through the gates. Avenor doesn't respond immediately, just watches me with those sharp eyes that seem to see straight through all my careful defenses.
"You're an idiot," he says finally, but there's no heat in it. "Complete and utter fool."
I flinch like he's slapped me, because hearing it said out loud hurts worse than I expected. "I know that. I know I?—"
"No." He leans forward, voice cutting through my attempt at agreement. "You're an idiot for thinking any of that's true. For thinking Rovak sees you as trouble instead of..." He stops, shakes his head. "Never mind. Not my story to tell."
Instead of what? The question burns in my throat, but something in his expression warns me away from pushing. Whatever he's not saying, it's information that belongs to someone else—probably Rovak—and Avenor's too loyal to share secrets that aren't his.
We sit in silence while I try to process what he's telling me without actually telling me. That Rovak's kindness isn't just default courtesy. That my return means something more than I've let myself believe. That maybe—maybe—I'm not the burden I've convinced myself I am.
But hope is dangerous. Hope is what got me into trouble before, making me think I could have something I was never meant to want. It's easier to expect rejection, to prepare for the inevitable moment when reality asserts itself and I'm reminded of my place in the world.
The silence stretches until Nalla shifts again, this time waking up enough to realize she's not in her usual sleeping position. She makes a small questioning sound and pushesherself up on tiny hands, blinking owlishly at Avenor like she's trying to remember where she's seen him before.
When she spots him, her face breaks into one of those brilliant smiles that never fails to make my heart squeeze. She babbles something that might be a greeting and starts making grabbing motions in his direction, clearly expecting him to come closer so she can investigate this new person properly.
Avenor's expression softens in a way I've rarely seen, all his sharp edges melting into something approaching tenderness. "Hello, little one. You're awake."
Nalla responds with more enthusiastic babbling, bouncing slightly in my lap with excitement. She's always been drawn to people, even when we were on the road staying in places where standing out could be dangerous. I've spent two years trying to teach her caution, but it's not in her nature. She approaches the world like it's full of friends she just hasn't met yet.
"She likes you," I tell Avenor, adjusting my grip as Nalla makes a more determined lunge toward him.
"Most people do, once they get past the intimidating exterior." He reaches out carefully, letting Nalla grab onto his fingers with her tiny hands. "Same could be said for someone else around here."
The comment hits closer to home than I'm comfortable with. Is that how I appear now? Intimidating in my distance, keeping people at arm's length because it's safer than risking the rejection I'm sure is coming? Maybe. Probably.
I watch Nalla charm Avenor with the same effortless grace she showed Rovak, completely unburdened by the complications that make everything difficult for me. She doesn't know she's the product of violence. Doesn't understand that her very existence is proof of my shame, my failure to protect myself when it mattered most. To her, the world is still full of possibilities and people who might love her if she just smiles bright enough.
The contrast between her innocence and my cynicism makes something crack inside my chest. Here I am, drowning in self-doubt and fear, while she approaches each day like it's a gift. Maybe she's the one who has it right. Maybe I'm the one who's lost perspective.
But even as the thought forms, I can't quite make myself believe it. The fear runs too deep, carved into my bones by two years of running and hiding and trying to convince myself that this is all I deserve. That safety is temporary, kindness is conditional, and eventually everyone realizes I'm not worth the effort.
"She's lucky to have you," Avenor says quietly, and something in his tone suggests he's talking about more than just daily care and feeding.
"I'm all she has." The words come out flat, matter-of-fact. "There's no one else."
"There could be."
He says it so simply, like it's an obvious truth I'm deliberately ignoring. Like the possibility of belonging somewhere, of having people who choose to care about us, is something I should consider instead of rejecting out of hand.
But I've thought about it. Spent two years thinking about it, actually, usually late at night when Nalla was sleeping and I had nothing to distract me from the ache of missing this place. Missinghim. The fantasy of coming home, of being welcomed back, of somehow finding a way to belong again despite everything that's changed.
Reality never measures up to fantasy. It's messier, more complicated, full of consequences and expectations I'm not sure I can meet. Better to keep my walls up, to expect nothing, to protect what little I have left rather than risk losing it by wanting more.
"I should let you rest," Avenor says, though he doesn't immediately move to leave. "But Liora... whatever you're afraid of, whatever you think you've done—none of it changes the fact that you're home now. That matters to people here. More than you know."
He stands, gently extricating his fingers from Nalla's determined grip with the patience of someone who's used to dealing with small, grabbing creatures. She protests the loss with a disappointed whimper that makes him smile.
"Sleep well, little one. You too."
The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with my daughter and the uncomfortable weight of everything he didn't quite say. That I matter. That my return is wanted, not just tolerated. That maybe—maybe—I'm not as alone as I've convinced myself I am.
