Eira's eyes widened as she stared at the glass of Soren's lantern, the ghost of an amber flash still etched into her mind.
Every textbook her father had ever written insisted that these frequencies were locked; the violet was a constant, as cold and unchangeable as the River itself.
Yet, for one heartbeat, the light had responded to him. It had turned the colour of a hearth fire.
"Soren, your light," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the ovens. "It changed. It wasn't purple. I've never seen a frequency shift like that without a prism."
Before he could even process her words, Pip suddenly launched himself from Soren's arms with a sudden, joyful yip. He landed squarely on the edge of a cooling rack, the metal groaning as it tipped.
"My eclairs!" Milla shrieked, lunging to catch the sliding tray before the delicate pastries met the floor.
Eira watched in soft amusement as Milla managed to steady the rack before Pip's bushy tail could sweep the pastries into the dirt. Pip sat back on his haunches, tilting his head with a wide, toothy fox-grin that made his oversized ears flop.
Milla's indignant scold died in her throat.
Her face softened, and with a huff of defeat, she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small, crispy scrap of leftover bacon. "You're lucky you have a cute face, you little thief," she muttered, tossing him the treat.
Then, she turned to Noa. He was still trembling slightly, looking like he expected to be sent to bed without dinner. Milla didn't say a word.
She simply stepped forward and wrapped him in a massive, floury hug, burying his muddy face against her shoulder.
"You're a good boy, Noa," she whispered, squeezing him tight. "A reckless, heart-stopping, muddy disaster of a boy that never tells me where he's going. But a good one." She pulled back just enough to shove a ginger cookie into his mouth.
"Eat that. You didn't have anything before you left. And go wash the river off your face before you track the whole dockside into my kitchen."
Noa blinked up at her, the tension in his shoulders fading as he melted into her touch. "I'm sorry," he murmured around the cookie still stuffed in his mouth.
Eira couldn't help it; a soft, genuine chuckle escaped her. The sound seemed to settle the dust in the cellar. She bent down to give Pip a pat on his head. "He's already figured out who the softest person in the house is," she said, her voice lighter.
"He has a way of doing that," Soren said, his eyes lingering on the way Eira's face transformed when she laughed. It made his chest ache, but for once, it wasn't a heavy ache.
She beckoned Soren toward the small wooden desk in the corner, where three thick, leather books lay open. These were her father's private journals, filled with sketches of light-waves and heart-beats.
Eira sat cross-legged on a burlap sack filled with grain, patting the space beside her. Soren looked down at the sketches of "Light-Flow" and "Heart-Sync," realizing for the first time how much Eira had been studying.
"Hold your lantern up like this," she instructed. "Don't think about the river, the Wardens or the debt. Just think about the way you felt when you realized Pip was safe."
Soren closed his eyes, but his brow furrowed. "It's hard."
"Open your eyes," Eira whispered. "Look at the pages. My father wrote that the light is also a memory. Find a memory that isn't laced with the purple light."
Soren focused on the yellowed ink of her father's handwriting. He tried to summon the feeling of the sun on the docks, or the smell of Milla's bread. He squeezed the glass, his knuckles turning white. For a second, the violet throbbed violently, turning a dark shade of indigo before fading back.
"I can't," he rasped, his voice full of frustration. "I'm stuck. I'm stuck."
Eira hesitated, her fingers hovering just inches away from his. She glanced at his hand on the cold glass, debating if the gesture would be appropriate. Finally, she let her hand drop, covering his. "You aren't stuck, Soren. We'll try again tomorrow. And the day after that."
Soren looked at her hand on his, then up at her face. The silence between them grew thick, but no longer awkward, and charged with a new kind of energy.
"We need to understand that flash of amber," Eira said. "If your light reacted once, it can do it again. Sit. We're going to see if we can bring…" she paused for a second "Your warmth back to the surface."