Page 30 of The Demon's Little Girl
"Morning," I say, keeping my voice low so I don't wake Nalla completely. The little girl is alert but drowsy, making soft babbling sounds while she toys with the edge of Liora's sleeve.
"Morning." Liora's smile is small, uncertain. "Is everything all right?"
The question hits me wrong, like she's expecting me to deliver some kind of ultimatum or demand she doesn't think she can meet. Like she's been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the moment she walked through my gates.
Maybe she has been. Maybe that's why she's been so careful, so distant. Maybe she thinks I'm going to send her away.
"Everything's fine." I move closer, settling into the chair near the bed—the same one Avenor probably used last night, based on the way Liora doesn't seem surprised by my presence. "I wanted to talk to you."
Her shoulders tense slightly, but she nods. "What about?"
"About this." I gesture between us, at the careful space we've been maintaining, the polite conversations that never go anywhere meaningful. "The way we've been dancing around each other like strangers."
Something flickers across her expression—relief, maybe, or recognition. Like she's been feeling the awkwardness too and didn't know how to address it.
"I don't want you to feel trapped here," I continue, watching her face for any sign of how she's taking this. "You were broughtback by force, not by choice. If you have somewhere else you need to be, someone waiting for you..."
I let the words trail off, nodding slightly toward Nalla. The implication is clear enough. A child doesn't just appear from nowhere. Someone fathered her, and for all I know, that someone might be wondering where Liora disappeared to. Might be missing them both.
The thought makes my jaw clench, but I keep my expression neutral. This isn't about what I want. It's about what's right for her.
Liora is quiet for a long moment, her amber eyes searching my face like she's trying to read between the lines of what I'm saying. When she speaks, her voice is carefully measured.
"There's no one else."
The words come out hesitant, like she's not sure she should admit it. Like she's testing how I'll react to the idea that she and Nalla are alone in the world, without attachments or obligations pulling them elsewhere.
"No one?" I keep my tone gentle, not pushing for details she might not want to give.
She shakes her head, then seems to struggle with something else she wants to say. Her mouth opens, closes, and I can see the internal debate playing out across her features. Part of her wants to explain, and part of her is holding back for reasons I can only guess at.
Before she can tie herself in knots over it, I reach out and touch her cheek with the backs of my fingers. Just a brief contact, gentle enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. Her skin is warm and soft, exactly like I remember, and the way her eyes flutter closed at the touch makes something fierce and protective surge through my chest.
"I don't need to know everything," I tell her quietly. "Just that you're safe. That you're here because you want to be, not because you feel like you have to be."
When she opens her eyes again, there's something vulnerable and grateful in her expression that makes my breath catch. Like I've just given her permission to stop carrying some invisible weight she's been struggling under.
"I want to be here," she says, and the certainty in her voice is enough to make the last of my careful restraint crumble.
"Good." I let my hand fall away from her face, even though what I really want is to cup her cheek and keep touching her until she stops looking like she expects me to disappear. "Because I don't want things to be awkward between us. We used to... we were friends, before. I'd like that again, if you're willing."
The smile that spreads across her face is small but genuine, the first real one I've seen since she came back. It transforms her entire expression, chasing away some of the careful guardedness and letting me see glimpses of the woman I used to know. The one who would tease me about my terrible jokes and listen to my complaints about trade negotiations with the kind of attention that made me feel like what I was saying actually mattered.
"I'd like that too," she says.
Nalla chooses that moment to make her presence known with a series of demanding babbles, clearly annoyed that the adults have been talking without including her in the conversation. She pushes herself up in Liora's arms and reaches toward me with grabbing hands, apparently having decided I'm interesting enough to investigate more thoroughly.
"Someone wants your attention," Liora says, and there's laughter in her voice. Real laughter, not the careful politeness she's been giving me for days.
I extend my hands toward Nalla, letting her tiny fingers wrap around my much larger ones. She grins at me like we've just made some kind of important agreement, then promptly tries to bring my hand to her mouth to see if it's edible.
"Curious little thing," I observe, gently redirecting her away from trying to gnaw on my knuckles.
"She's always been like that. Into everything, afraid of nothing." The affection in Liora's voice when she talks about her daughter is unmistakable. Whatever circumstances brought Nalla into the world, there's no question about how much she's loved.
"Have you eaten yet?" I ask, an idea forming. "Both of you?"
Liora shakes her head. "I was going to take her to the kitchen in a little while."
