I had no control over my bouncing knees. Or the itch in my blood. Or the way I walked by Hela's room twice every hour in hopes her status would shift. I changed the bandage over my stab wound more often than was needed, simply because it was something to do. Such compulsions kept me occupied.

The rest of the time, intrusive thoughts and images flashed in my mind like torture, no less fresh than when I saw and experienced the horrors firsthand. The cut on my side would eventually scar, someday it might even become a distant memory; the ghosts I left behind on the battlefield haunted me, making me curse the fact that I lived to fight again.

Yet even that thought—and the language of it—cut through me. Left behind. Left behind. Why did Modi say I left Narvi behind? I rubbed my temples and groaned, hopelessly trying to squeeze every harmful memory from my skull.

Mum lightly tapped on my bedroom doorway. "Vali?"

"What?" I snapped, unable to soften myself.

Thankfully, she didn't flinch at my response. "You haven't eaten today. Can I get you something?"

I shook my head and grumbled. I'd all but forgotten the difference between hunger and anger since both gave me the same nagging ache in my gut. Seemed even if I satiated one, the other would remain.

"Well, are you interested in getting out of the house? I know your father wants you to stay close by, but I see no reason why you can't at least stretch your legs. The doctors said movement would heal you, anyway."

The hope on her face was unearned, yet my answer would have to pay for it. It became my duty to supply fuel to her faith, as I'd done most of my life. Another responsibility that shaped my role and fate. If I wasn't trying to find answers for Hela, what good was I doing alone in my room?

"Sure, Mum." I poured control into my limbs as I stood, hiding my headache and the irritation I still felt from her interruption. "Any change with Hela today?"

Mum shrugged and held her arms close, dropping her eyes. "Björn says she's doing better here at home, but I don't know what that means. Nanny suggests I talk to her anyway."

I paused at her side before continuing to the hall. "You keep doing that. She hears you. I'm sure she does." I pecked her cheek and made my way down the stairs one gentle step at a time, acutely aware of every tug in my back that would threaten my healing.

The energy in our home had changed. Even the lights were different. Father thought some of the static electricity from Asgard's disrupted weather was affecting us, but I couldn't confirm or make logic of that claim. Either way, things flickered in a new way. An unpredictable way. The floors and walls buzzed just above the level of detection, which sometimes made me wonder if the noise was in my head. Had our family not built this house from the ground up with our own hands, I might've mused that we were haunted.

I got to the bottom of the stairs and glanced to my left at the kitchen through the alcove; just as my stomach's uneasiness killed my appetite, so did the lingering metallic taste...presumably from being stabbed with an iron dagger. Father once said it was an antique, but it was functional beyond an heirloom decoration. I was proud to add the weapon to my armor, but since the battle, I didn't want it near me. I didn't want any arms at all.

I longed for simple friendships and the vast future ahead; now, it hit me in the face. Prepared or not, Yggdrasil was mine to protect. To own. To nurture. I couldn't allow myself to be drawn into other directions.

Daydreaming on my feet solved nothing. I let out a heavy breath and marched through the front door, hoping for enough clarity of mind to see something that could bring Hela back to the real world.

I avoided the road and all the people on it who returned from the Bifrost site soaked in Asgardian rain. So, it hadn't stopped. Father was the only one of us who dared trek back and forth between our realms, and he'd mentioned something offhand about the persistent flooding. When this was over...if it would end at all...Asgard might need new foundations just as much as it needed new leadership.

A small blue flower caught my eye at the base of a tree. It quickly multiplied once I noticed it, and I was suddenly surrounded by at least a hundred friendly floral faces. I wasn't naïve enough to think I could concoct some potion to bring Hela back any better than Nanny, Uncle Freyr, or Björn, but like the changing of my dressings, collecting herbs and tinctures was something to do. I plucked a small bushel of the flowers and stuffed it in my pocket. The blossoms didn't need to be pretty to work their magic.

To my growing collection of spoils, I added flat mushrooms from the lower tree trunks, a smooth rubbing stone, unopened cocoons of flying insects, and a few spindly bird bones. I tried to channel my sister's sensibilities while choosing which items to pick up. Hela was a natural witch for exploiting the environment to her advantage, and if Modi poisoned her with natural compounds, chances were the antidotes were natural, too.

I ventured east, following my own cut path to the Dagheim portal. It wasn't the right time of day to be active, which I was somewhat glad for; in any other circumstance, I would've listened to the pull in my heart to go through it.

Instead, I stared at the clearing and clenched my jaw hard enough to make my headache worse. My chance to change things with Riggs felt spoiled. It would be downright stupid to want her near me now when I was so unstable, tearful, and unsure. She deserved better. She deserved everything. What could I offer but a pathetic young man laden with literal and figurative injuries? It wasn't her job to take care of me; I refused to burden her.

None of those truths made her absence any easier, though. We were so close. Would I ever get another shot?

Without realizing it, tears streamed down my cheeks that I brushed off aggressively. They came far too easily of late. I had to be strong, and that meant hiding weakness. The more I turned my attention away from the simple pleasure of Riggs's lush body in my arms, the better.

I returned home at moonrise and found Father in the kitchen with Mum, both of them silent and melancholy the same way I'd been all day. She cooked with her back turned to me while he mulled over some bit of parchment. Tiwaz danced around Father's legs, and his downright spry chirps didn't fit the affect of the rest of us.

"Think any of this is useful?" I asked, soiling the dining table with the contents of my pockets. "Not sure if Nanny or Uncle Freyr tried these yet..."

Father barely glanced up. "Something came for you, Vali." He eyed me above the rim of his spectacles and tapped the letter on the table. "Care to venture a guess who it's from?"

My heart jumped with hope, though I quickly shoved it down. "Does it tell us where Modi is?"

Father shook his head without breaking eye contact.

"Then I don't need to know." I went back to categorizing the items on the table, pretending not to care. "There are too many things at stake right now to be bothered with anything else."

Mum sighed. "Vali..."

"No, Gin. I'm proud of him." Father stood and patted my shoulder. "He's a good man. Knows where his priorities are. Some aren't so lucky and let distractions risk their lives."

"Appreciating a token from a friend is hardly a risk, Loki." Mum turned away from the stove and came closer. "Give him the letter. She's worried about him."

"And if he cares about her at all, he'll stay away until this is over. Better to keep his head on straight and any targets off of her, don't you think?"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here." I slammed my fist on the table, disrupting the parallel placement of the tiny bird bones. "All I can worry about right now is what's in front of me, what's under this roof, and what comes next with Modi. I appreciate you both wanting to protect me, but unless it has to do with those three things, keep it to yourselves."

The silence between them—aftermath of my sour scolding—aged me somewhat. The battle on Asgard made me harder than before. I needed no armor to be shielded in metal. I hardened on my own, much like the cocoons of the insects I'd collected; eventually, I'd break free and become something more glorious than before. Until then, I was vulnerable and half-formed. One wrong move and I'd be broken forever.

Leaving the kitchen and seeing my sister's pained lack of consciousness was the only surefire way to resist devouring Riggs's letter and losing myself in her kindness. "I'll be in Hela's room. Pray something real changes." I abandoned the day's bounty and retreated up the stairs, hoping for a miracle—and the metallic taste on the air to fade away.