Frozen Fire

Chapter Twelve: Threads That Unravel

xXx

Sam recovered from her surprise quickly. She returned Elle's glare with a bored expression of her own.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, the ghost girl beelined for the basket of fresh rolls that Tsuel had just pulled from the oven. She glanced at Sam again, her electric green eyes cold and disinterested, and snatched two rolls from the basket, stuffing a third into her mouth.

"Good afternoon, sweet cub," Tsuel greeted Elle. The female yeti was in the middle of returning the small kit of blades that she'd just cut Sam's hair with to a drawer on the far side of the kitchen, her long tail flicking as she rustled through a cabinet. "There is fresh jam if you would like."

Elle grinned. "You know me so well."

"Sam, would you mind?" Tsuel asked, her head still buried in the cabinet.

"No problem," Sam said uncomfortably. She ignored Elle's blazing glare on her as she rooted through a lower shelf in the kitchen island, jars clinking as she looked for the fresh batch they'd made this morning.

The ghost girl was one of the few Far Frozenites she knew of who truly, openly hated her. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps it came from the same place that her own innate hatred of ghosts originated from. It went both ways, however, as Sam didn't particularly care for her, either.

Sam slid the jar she'd found onto the marble counter.

Elle nodded once in silent acknowledgement of Sam's efforts. She opened the jar and dumped an immeasurable amount of the stuff onto rolls that she chaotically tore in half with her hands. So much so, that globs of it fell to the floor at her feet. The foxen were quick to clean it, almost too prepared. Perhaps they were used to it.

"Ellie, my dear little disaster, how you do not get that all over yourself is beyond me." Tsuel chuckled as she joined Elle and Sam at the island.

Elle shrugged. And between mouthfuls, she said, "Iffss called talent."

Tsuel rolled her golden eyes. "And where are you off to this afternoon?"

"Sword training with Icefang," Elle sighed, while Sam stiffened at the male yeti's name. "Not that I need it. But father requires that I stay in top form, or whatever. Danny's the one who needs to refreshers, not me."

Sam eyed the ghost girl from her peripheral. It always amazed her how similar she and Phantom looked. Sure, they were twins, but Phantom and Elle were basically gender swapped carbon copies of each other, though Elle lacked his height. She was perhaps an inch or two taller than Sam. The cerulean jewel that clasped the cloak at her throat gleamed in the kitchen's sconced torchlight.

Tsuel nodded, chuckling. "You should be the one training Danny."

Elle's grin became wicked, her eyes brightening as the ectoplasm in them swirled. "He wouldn't stand a chance."

"Why do I get the impression that I'm being talked about in here?"

Sam froze and then screamed internally as Phantom strode into the room. He, too, dug into the basket of rolls and smothered them with jam. He didn't so much as glance at Sam as he entered, which she was fine with. Grateful for, even.

While Elle's presence was grating, Phantom's literally drove her insane. She frowned down at her hands, fidgeting with a tuft of grey fur that spouted from the sleeve of her coat.

"Because you are being talked about," Elle stated brightly. "About how I can kick your butt in a swordfight." Then she poked his shoulder. "Rusty."

Phantom rolled his eyes. "Swords are archaic and unnecessary everywhere else but here. I haven't needed to keep up on the training."

"Tell that to Icefang," Elle said, smirking.

"Well, I can't anyway," Phantom sighed.

Elle's face fell. "Why not?"

"I need to head out for the day," he said evasively. "I'll be back before nightfall."

"Oh, to Stoneheim?" Tsuel blurted. "Frostbreath mentioned you would be heading there soon."

Phantom and Elle gaped at her, then their gazes flicked to Sam.

"Uh, yeah," Phantom said. His eyes narrowed on Sam, now that he had finally looked at her. "Why do you look different?"

Before she could answer, Tsuel, as helpful as ever, said, "Sam let me cut her fur today. She looks darling, does she not?"

Sam's heart lurched as Phantom studied her for a moment. He chewed the roll slowly, his eyes critical as he seemed to scan her from head to toe. Like a predator assessing his goddamn lunch. Even separated by the massive, marbled island, she still felt like he was too close. Like they were too close. Because Elle was looking at her now, too.

The ghost girl looked her up and down as well, unimpressed. "Still looks like a human," she said dryly, rolling her eyes. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and turned her back on Sam with a flourish of her cloak.

"What's a Stoneheim?" Sam asked. She knew from Frostbite's lectures that there were several other villages peppered about the Far Frozen's vast landscapes, particularly surrounding the coasts. What was curious to her, however, was their uneasiness around Tsuel's mention of this one in particular.

Phantom's green eyes were like a cat's as he stared at her, unblinking. His mouth quirked at a corner when he said, "It's a ghost town. Abandoned a long time ago."

Sam's brows pinched and she crossed her arms. "And you need to go there for the day, because . . .?"

"It has particularly high levels of spectral energy." He seemed to be fighting a grin entirely now.

"Nice." She frowned at him. "I thought cryptic non-answers were Frostbite's area of expertise?"

At this, even Elle snorted. "Try being raised by him."

Phantom gave his sister a wry look. "Remember when you asked him what the cave spiders eat?"

"And he gave me a long spiel about the intricacies of ecological succession over the Far Frozen's long history?" Elle sighed. She glanced at Sam. "Plot twist. They eat ice. If you were wondering."

"They eat . . . ice . . .?" Sam said slowly.

"They eat the microorganisms in the ice," Tsuel corrected with a chuckle, ruffling Elle's long hair.

Elle shrugged. "They still eat the ice with them, though. And that's an afternoon of my existence I'll never get back." Her head tilted at Phantom. "Remember when you asked him about the stars?"

"That one became a lot more philosophical than I expected," Phantom laughed. "At least he actually answered you."

"In the most roundabout way ever," Elle grumbled.

Sam narrowed her eyes at Phantom. "Well, that's ironic, considering you still haven't answered my question."

He gave her a snarky grin. "Still not going to."

"Why not?" Sam crossed her arms.

"Why do you want to know so bad?"

She shrugged. "Maybe because you're being weird about it?"

"Awe, gonna miss me, Sammy?"

Sam blinked at him for a moment, caught off guard. Then something in her snapped and her face scrunched with anger. "Don't call me that." She stalked to the kitchen table, glaring at the color-shifting roses still perched in their elegant vase. "Whatever. I give up. Have fun."

She'd just snatched her chair from the table, when she felt Phantom's presence close in behind her. She whirled to face him, but didn't retreat an inch. Even though he stopped several feet from her, she still had to crane her neck to meet his eye.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to tease you," he said. "I have a sister so it's kind of second nature."

"I resent that!" Elle called from behind him.

Sam shrugged. "I'm used to not getting straight answers at this point."

Her brows rose when he seemed to wince at that. "Stoneheim has a lot of history here. And I'm sure my father will fill you in on it all when he thinks you're ready."

She caught his meaning immediately. "You're not allowed to tell me anything, are you?"

He smiled ruefully. "No. I'm not. That was top of the list of things we're not supposed to talk about around the human." He shot a narrowed look at Tsuel, though there seemed to be no true malice behind it.

Tsuel arched her brow at him from where she still stood next to Elle at the kitchen island, her tail flicking irritably. "I admit no wrongdoings. Your father knows I disagree with his ambiguity on such topics."

Phantom shook his head at her, fondly, then looked back at Sam. "I have some business there I need to handle. And then I'll be back."

Sam studied the roses. Blue, now, from where she stood. "Congratulations."

The silence between them tensed and became weird, and Sam wasn't sure what she was supposed to do about it. They'd barely spoken more than a few words in weeks. Having his full attention again made her stomach crawl. She shifted her feet, pulling strands of hair behind her ear, and risked glancing up at him.

Adopted or not, Phantom bore the same calculative stare that she so often saw on Frostbite. He looked at her as if there was something he was trying to piece together, or that she herself was an enigma that he had yet to solve. It was equal parts wise and disconcerting, and enough to make her very, very uncomfortable.

But just as quickly as it had started to bother her, he blinked, and the look was gone. His eyes flicked away from hers, his hand at the back of his neck, as if embarrassed. "Well, I should get going. See you around, human."

Sam stared after him as he snatched Elle, who was grinning wolfishly at him, by the hood of her cloak and tugged her out of the room with him, but not before she'd lurched and grabbed another roll from the basket.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Sam heard Elle mutter to him, before the sounds of their retreat disappeared altogether.

Sam peered around the corner. "That was fast."

Tsuel heaved an exasperated sigh. "They have probably gone intangible and phased out of the castle entirely."

"Oh, right," Sam deadpanned. "Ghost powers."

"Indeed," Tsuel said. "It is how those two have gotten into so much trouble over the years. There is simply no containing them."

After a beat of silence, Sam said, "I won't say anything."

"About what, cub?"

"About Stoneheim," Sam said. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

Tsuel barked a laugh at that. "If Frostbite truly had qualms with you knowing things, he would not have you with me every day." Her eyes twinkled as she peered at Sam, her furred hand scratching the chin of a foxen. "He works in mysterious ways. Do not think for a second that he is unaware. His cunning is truly remarkable."

Sam stewed on that while she toyed with her sleeve. "So, he does want me asking you questions?"

"He does not."

"That literally makes no sense."

"Receiving an answer to a question you have asked is different than when you glean a truth for yourself, dear cub." Tsuel said. "He does not want you to ask. He wants you to learn."

"Well then what happens if I go about everything the wrong way," Sam said, scowling now. "What if I misinterpret everything and I'm wrong?"

"That is part of your journey." Tsuel ambled over to where Sam still stood by the kitchen table, and with a gentle claw, she raked it across the petals of one of the roses. The now yellow rose shimmered as a result, waves of violet shimmying from the point at which her claw met the petal. "Frostbite will discuss your opinions and findings with you, but he first wants you to discover this world on your own."

Sam watched the rose, transfixed on the way color and light itself seemed to ripple around its edges. She couldn't help but reach for one, plucking it from the glass vase. The rose shifted through a wide spectrum of color as she turned it in her hand, and when she touched a petal, she realized the colors that eddied forth from the point of contact were complementary to the rose itself. Blue rippled with orange, red with green, and so on.

And then her eyes drifted above the rose, to meet Tsuel's golden ones. The yeti was beaming at her, eyes glassy. Sam was taken aback and frowned at her. "What?"

Tsuel shook her head. "Only ones chosen by the fates themselves may fully handle a pandora rose, dear cub," she said. "They are highly dangerous to touch." At the horror blooming on Sam's face, she laughed and added, "Do not fret. The thorns do not seem inclined to prick you. You are safe."

Sam's hand trembled as she glanced back at the rose, noted the black spiney thorns that jutted down the length of its stem. And Tsuel was right—they didn't prick her. She hadn't even noticed they were there in the first place. In fact, a pleasant warmth seemed to emanate from the rose, as if it was happy.

"Gah," Sam gasped as she quickly shoved it back into its glass housing. She glowered at Tsuel. "Thanks for the heads up on that, by the way."

"I did not know you would grab it so recklessly. Their stems are incased for a reason, dear cub," Tsuel said. "I did not think to warn you."

Sam shook her head with a sigh. "I was overdue for a near death experience, anyway," she deadpanned. "Note to self, not all plants I see are friends."

Tsuel's ears pricked as she tilted her head, mystified by Sam's humor. "Dear cub, are you alright?"

"Peachy."

Tsuel stared at her blankly.

Sam snorted. "I'm alright. Just . . . warn me next time when there's something around that might kill me, 'kay?"

Tsuel still seemed a bit perplexed, but she nodded anyway. "As you wish."

xXx

Tucker's thoughts were troubled as he walked briskly through an intersection of hallways adjacent to the compound's cafeteria.

"Yo, Foley! Hold up!"

Tucker spun on his heel and paused, lunch tray in hand, frowning as Dash Baxter jogged over to him. The burly blonde appeared to be holding something in his fist, if how he was waving it around manically was any indication.

Dash reached him, then frowned at the tray of food in his hands. "Umm, you know the cafeteria is behind you, right?"

Tucker shrugged. He was too tired for sarcasm. And he didn't feel like telling Dash that in the weeks that followed Sam's death, he hadn't been able to eat in the cafeteria since. Not with the way her usual seat at one of the long tables remained vacant, a glaring empty spot in a sea of scattered grey. He couldn't stomach so much as looking at it. Knowing that she would never again sit across from him.

"I have too much work to do," Tucker lied.

"Damn, they make you work while you eat now?" Dash said, his blue eyes wide. "That's crazy, man. The Fentons are wild."

Tucker sighed. "Did you need something, Dash?"

"Oh right." Dash extended his bear paw of a fist and dropped a small, firm object into Tucker's hands, bundled within strips of an old cotton tee shirt. "Barbarra found this when he serviced a drone this morning. Said to bring it to you or the Fentons and no one else."

Tucker's brows furrowed at the parcel. "Why? What is it?"

"Beats me." Dash shrugged.

"Well thanks," Tucker said, balancing the tray precariously in one hand as he stuffed the little bundle into his pocket. He turned away from Dash, when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Sam," Dash said sadly. "She was a cool chick. Saved all our asses that day, too. We all miss her."

Unable to look at him, Tucker stared hard at his sneakers. "Yeah, she was."

"You kicked ass that day, too, man," Dash said. "I don't think any of us would have gotten out alive without you."

Tucker swallowed hard. He nodded, unable to speak.

"If you ever wanna come back to communications, I'm sure Barbarra would—"

"Stopping you right there, dude," Tucker said. "I don't have time to work in the communications sector anymore. Not with all the new tech we're working on now that the power is back on."

It was a lie, but a convincing enough one, he supposed.

Truth was, he wanted nothing to do with communications anymore now that Sam was gone. He was her Guy in the Chair—and he'd failed her. He was supposed to keep her alive. He couldn't bear the thought of being in that room again. Not when he'd watched her die there.

Dash nodded. "I get it. Just thought I'd give it a try. Mikey's doing alright for us, anyway."

Tucker's answering smile didn't reach his eyes. "Glad to hear it. See ya around, man."

"Likewise, nerd," Dash said fondly, thumping Tucker on the shoulder as he passed and disappeared around a bend.

Tucker finished the remaining leg of his trek to Fentonworks unbothered. He sighed with relief as he reached those familiar dented saloon style doors and nudged one of them open with the toe of his sneaker.

He deposited the coffees he carried onto one of the stainless tables as well as the stack of breakfast sandwiches he'd brought for them all.

"Brought the goods," he announced as he grabbed one for himself.

Egg and cheese on a hard roll. Just under two months later, and the compound's food was already leaps and bounds better than what it had been the last few years. It didn't matter, though. Every bite still tasted like ash to him.

A bleary-eyed Jack Fenton grinned at him. "Thanks, my boy." He brought one of the steaming coffees to Maddie, where she slumped at the giant supercomputer with her face buried in her hands. Her slender shoulders rose and fell, her copper hair dull and wispy under the lights.

She stirred at Jack's approach and took the offered cup. A weary smile and a nod of thanks greeted Tucker then.

Tucker glanced around the room. "Where's Jazz today?"

"She's working with a client," Maddie said, waving her hand as she sipped her drink. "With . . . oh what's her name . . . the blind one?"

"Paulina?" Tucker asked. He sipped his own coffee and winced at the bitter taste. The coffee still sucked as it always did.

Maddie nodded. "And then she was going to stop in and check on Pamela."

Tucker stiffened at the mention of Sam's mom. Jazz had told him after the funeral that she'd intended to start working with the elder Manson, now that Sam wasn't around to take care of her.

"She didn't get very far with her the last time she tried," Tucker muttered.

Maddie smiled ruefully. "Jazz is particularly invested this time around. Now that . . . " Maddie trailed off, her lips pursing. Jack's hand was on her shoulder, and Maddie leaned into his touch.

Tucker knew what she hadn't been able to say. "Well . . . if anyone can get through to Mrs. Manson, it's Jazz. Sam would've . . ." He trailed off and shook his head. "Sam would've wanted that."

The silence in the lab had been deafening after that.

Tucker turned his gaze to the colorful spread of ectoweaponry lining every surface and sighed at the overwhelming multitude of it all. Now that the compound's reserve of power had been filled, it had become expected of them to increase their production tenfold.

He fidgeted with the nearest quarter inch drive impact that he plucked from a table, his fingers tightening on the tool's trigger until it whirred to life.

With a defeated sigh, he eyed the mess that was dispersed and overlapping on the tables, and muttered to himself, "To hell with that." He slumped at the table that he'd nabbed the impact from, fiddling with a half-dead ballpoint pen instead.

It was sometime later when Tucker frowned as he flicked his pen back and forth across the stainless-steel tabletop. The chilled air of the Fentonworks lab seeped through the rolled sleeves of his jumpsuit, but he made no move to roll them back down from his elbows. He continued to watch his pen in its leisurely arc across the table.

"It just doesn't make any sense," Maddie exclaimed in frustration.

"They're ghosts, Madds," Jack said. Tucker heard the rumbling sound of chair wheels squeaking across a tiled floor and knew that Jack had rolled to join his wife at her supercomputer. "Ghosts don't make sense."

"Jack, honey, this is science. Everything has an answer. We just need to find it." Tucker heard her chair creak, as if she leaned back into it. "Why, after all these years, did these two ghosts in particular show up on our scanners? We haven't seen a ghost with a corporeal form here in years?"

The rolling pen stilled on the table as Tucker listened to them speak. It had been such a shock to the Resistance when the ectosignatures of both Phantom and a large ghost dog had appeared on their scanners. The last time they'd seen either of them was when Phantom obliterated the GIW facility years ago.

But why here? Why then, all of a sudden?

And then they'd disappeared without a trace. No one had so much as seen them in person. They'd been far away from the battle at the reactor, and not even the large, armored tank had passed them on its route from the compound.

Tucker's thoughts strayed to his bizarre encounter with Dash earlier, or the parcel he'd handed him . . .

"Oh shit," Tucker gasped, reaching into his pocket. "Dash gave me this earlier."

Both Fentons peered at him from the supercomputer.

"Gave you what, son?" Jack asked.

Tucker shook his head, fumbling with the cotton. "I dunno. He said he got it from Barbarra." Something small, green and white plinked onto the metal tabletop, and Tucker stared at it in confusion. "A data chip?"

He continued to unwind the larger item from its cotton binding, his heartrate beginning to quicken the closer he got to whatever was inside. And when he fully unfurled it, he gasped, and the thing fell to the table next to the data chip.

There, gleaming like an emerald jewel under the bright florescent lights, was Sam's knife.

xXx

Sam was quiet where she sat on the bottom steps of the mountain castle's long shining staircase.

Ec'Nelis was a bustling tide of activity. Dogs trotted between market booths. Children—or cubs, was the correct term—scurried at the heels of several yeti, dodging long sweeping tails with expert precision. The steaming breath of a horse wafted near the icy stage at the market's center, and from the wooden cart hitched to its harness, she could see an older yeti passing out expertly decorated pastries to anyone who passed him by. Music chimed through the air, a festiveness and liveliness that she'd felt long removed from—or at least, since Amity's fall.

She could remember a time when music caressed her own city. On the winds and through the winding, dilapidated buildings. She could remember what it had been like as a child, kicking a ball against the green swirling ghost shield that had once enveloped Amity Park. Tucker had sucked at kicking it back to her after it ricochet to him . . . but they'd had so much fun together. Had been so carefree.

What would Tucker think of this world? So unscathed from the ravages of war.

But that wasn't true, was it?

Sam knew that the Far Frozen faced frequent attacks. Those rumblings that she so often awoken to were testament of that. She'd seen the aftermath, even, in the relatively mild damages that scathed the village's buildings. But they'd always been so quick to rebuild—erasing any trace of whatever battles plagued their realm.

"You look troubled, human girl."

Sam started, and her eyes flicked from where she'd been staring absently at the horse to meet Frostbreath's amber gaze. "Just thinking," she told him honestly.

Frostbreath grinned softly, nodding his great head. He lumbered over to her and sank next to her on the stairs. His tail twitched at her feet. "If you would like to talk, I am here."

Sam shook her head. "Just wondering what my best friend would think of this place."

Frostbreath hummed in response. She watched his eyes land on Tsuel and their cub across the market. Tsuel was bouncing the tiny creature at her chest as she wandered between the stalls, pointing out colorful and shiny things that the cub blinked at.

"What will you do when you see your friend again?" Frostbreath asked.

She squinted at him. "What do you mean?"

"What will you want him to know about this world?"

"That it's beautiful," she said. "But he'd probably say it's too cold."

"Cold!" Frostbreath erupted with a boisterous laugh. "These are the warmer months, human girl. You should see it in winter if you think this is cold."

Sam snorted. "Well, it's a good thing I should be home by then, right?"

Silence settled like a heavy weight between them. Sam wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. But that was the goal, wasn't it? Return home . . . and then what? She realized then that she wasn't sure what she was even supposed to do with all the information that they'd been giving her. Of what relevance it even had to their cause.

"You should talk to him more," Frostbreath said then.

"Frostbite?" She rolled her eyes. "All he does is talk."

A knowing look that she didn't at all like settled in the amber of Frostbreath's gaze. "Not my brother."

Sam gaped at him. She wondered if Frostbreath had lost his damn mind. "Why?"

"Because there is much for you both to learn from each other."

She wrinkled her nose. "It's not like he ever talks to me."

Frostbreath sighed. "He has become rather reclusive over the years. And Frostbite and I have both encouraged him to interact with you more, but as you are, he is stubborn and does not fully believe in the Writings."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do the Writings have to do with this?"

"Everything, human girl," Frostbreath said. "They have everything to do with this. Whether you believe them or not, your fates have been woven together since the forging of the Writings."

"That's somehow creepy and cryptically annoying," Sam muttered. "He's a ghost, and I'm a human. What could we possibly have to learn from each other?"

But then, those familiar words—words that she'd tried and failed to ignore—whispered to her, in that secretive, conspirative voice, "Maybe we're wrong about a lot of things."

Sam didn't know how she felt about anything, anymore. Her world and all that she had known and believed her entire life was in disarray. The threads of truth were a knotted mess, unwound from their spools and jumbled together, and she had yet to begin unraveling them, too afraid to follow where even a single loose thread might lead her.

The giant yeti paused, then abruptly beamed at her. "Tsuel and I have been waiting nearly two moons now for you two to speak, and I must say I have grown most impatient, so please take this as the kind and proverbial shove that it is."

Sam was suddenly wary as she studied him. "Why do I get the feeling you're up to something?"

But she had her answer, when that curling dread overcame her, and that familiar cracking of thunder cleaved the musical merriment of the market circle. She didn't need to look to see who'd returned to Ec'Nelis, because she knew.

"Don't you dare," Sam hissed at Frostbreath.

But the yeti ignored her. He raised his arm, sunlight glinting along planes of ice and bone. "Danny! Welcome home!" he shouted merrily. "The human girl and I are most pleased to see you have returned!"

Wincing and with her teeth gritted, Sam risked a glance where she knew Phantom had just landed. A small crowd had already formed around him, multiple yeti shouting to him their welcome. A small cub snagged the edge of his cloak and was bouncing excitedly.

"Is that so," Phantom said dryly as he parted the crowd and stopped several feet before the stairs where Sam and Frostbreath still sat together.

"Indeed!" Frostbreath said merrily. He launched to his feet, snagging Sam by the scruff of her jacket so she stood with him. He ignored the glare she gave him. "The human girl has been most concerned for your absence."

Sam rolled her eyes harder than she'd ever rolled them before. "Yep, he's right," she drawled. "This is my super concerned face."

"See! I am right!" Frostbreath was absolutely jubilant, missing her sarcasm completely.

Phantom's mouth twitched as he glanced between them. "I can see that."

Frostbreath smiled as if he'd just uncovered some great mystery and now teemed with smugness. He patted Sam on her head. "I believe I shall spend the remainder of my day with my cub and mate, human girl."

Phantom gave her a dry, commiserating look but turned to watch him lumber away. When he had joined a wide-eyed Tsuel where she still stood with their cub at a booth of tinkling crystal windchimes, did Phantom finally turn and look at her again. He brought his hand to his mouth and mock whispered, "Quick, run before he turns around."

Sam furrowed her brows. "What?"

"The yeti torture their victims in strange, horrible ways. Forced social interaction is definitely one of them."

Her stomach churned in his presence. She hated the way her nerves trembled, her body poising of its own accord to run and escape the threat looming before her. It was completely involuntary. She swallowed, stifling the urge as much as she could manage.

Phantom, having probably sensed her turmoil, sighed then, "I'll see ya around, Sam," he said. He turned, his cloak billowing in the wind and tossing a flurry of snowflakes into the air.

"What did Frostbreath mean when he said our fates are woven together?" Sam blurted.

Phantom whirled, his acid green eyes widened with surprise. "He told you that?"

"Is it true?" Sam asked. She ignored every screaming instinct and took a step toward him. Anger simmered within her. Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed the crowd around them, intently watching their very public conversation.

Phantom's eyes darted around them, noting their onlookers, and then he sighed. "Depends on your interpretation of true."

She took another step, fuming now. "Why can't anyone just give me a straight answer on anything?"

Phantom reached for her elbow, but hesitated, and then his hand fell back to his side. "Come on, let's get out of the market circle, and we'll talk, alright?"

Ignoring her better judgement, she said, "Fine." And fell into step beside him, but not before she sent a withering glare in Frostbreath's general direction.

Frostbreath merely waved. Though Tsuel, bless her, watched after them in a combination of surprise and worry.

They didn't get far, before a portly male yeti jumped into their path, grinning manically. "Great one! I am so glad that you have returned!" He handed Phantom a strand of gleaming jewels. "Here, please take this as a token of my gratitude for such a prompt return!"

Sam blinked at the awe on the yeti's face. She was even more surprised when Phantom, his expression schooled with practiced neutrality, said, "Thank you, kind citizen," and accepted the gift.

The yeti bowed his head and grinned after them as they passed.

It happened a lot. Between the attempted gifts, the shouts, the pleas of excitement. The yeti absolutely swarmed him. He was calm and gracious through most of it, and when they dipped into a shadowed alley just outside the market circle did he finally seem to relax, rolling his shoulders. He offered her the band of gemstones. "Here."

She wrinkled her nose at them. "Why would I want those?"

"Because my only other option is to give them to my sister, and she has enough of these already."

Sam rolled her eyes and took the offered bracelet. The gemstones were kind of neat. Sapphires and emeralds and black obsidian gleamed, even under the watery grey light of a clouded sky. She stuffed it into her coat pocket.

"Why do they call you Great One, anyway?" Sam wondered.

"Elle and I won a big battle here a few years ago," he said, shrugging.

"But they don't call her Great One?" Sam frowned at him.

"Elle and I have different skillsets," Phantom said. His lips pursed, and she noted that he seemed uncomfortable with the topic. "Mine are . . . more explosive."

Sam's mind flashed with images of Phantom's grainy form hovering before the smoking remains of the GIW base, bright light emanating from his palms, and she frowned at him, her wariness heightened. "You don't say."

He gave her another dry look, aware of her shift in mood. "You really don't need to go along with Frostbreath's goading, you know."

"Oh, I know," she said. "But I want answers."

He grimaced. "Answers. Right."

She halted in a pathway, her arms crossed. "So?" she drawled.

"So," he echoed, mirroring her stance. She was surprised when he seemed to shift uncomfortably under her stare. Such a powerful creature he was, and here he was intimidated by her. It was almost comical.

"What's the deal with you and me and the writings," she snapped.

Phantom's eyes went skyward. "Many of the yeti believe that you and I are the ones in their weird prophecy," he said dryly. "I'm not convinced."

"And what's the prophecy, exactly?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

She glowered at him but decided to change tactics. "Why don't you believe them?"

He was quiet for a moment, his head tilting as he studied her. "Because I'd like to think that I'm meant to find my own path. Not walk something that was decided by destiny, or whatever."

She blinked at that, and her anger banked. "Oh, that's fair," she said. She raked her hand through her silky hair, blowing out a breath as her eyes flicked to one of the spiraled tops of a nearby building.

"Tsuel did a nice job on your hair, by the way," Phantom murmured then.

Sam sputtered and gaped at him.

"You look a lot different than when you first got here," he added. He was studying her with that keen acid gaze of his that always managed to unnerve the shit out of her.

"Uh, thanks?" Sam said. "I think?"

"I'm making you uncomfortable again," he observed.

She wanted to argue, but knew it was irrefutable when he could literally sense her emotions. So she said instead, "It's like you said once"—she gestured between them—"this is weird."

His mouth twitched with a small grin. "I concur."

She eyed him then, even though it felt like there was a bird fluttering against her ribcage, as every muscle fiber twitched for her to retreat, but she held her ground. She knew she could leave. Could walk away and tell him not to follow and that he would listen. He'd done as much already. Had avoided her as much as possible and had given her an out as quickly as he'd been able to earlier when Frostbreath had all but forced them to conversate.

"What happened at the Guys in White facility four years ago?" she asked him. It wasn't exactly four years ago—but it was close enough. It had happened in the months following Amity's fall, another fuckery cast into the shitstorm of their first year underground.

He stiffened, his calm demeanor ebbing away. "What do you mean?"

"You destroyed it," she said. "Why?"

A prickly silence befell them, and Sam watched Phantom's hands curl into fists at his sides. His eyes seemed to brighten, a dangerous, terrible energy now charging the air. It was like electricity, zapping every one of her nerve endings.

She took a step back.

Phantom had already looked away from her. "Not all ghosts are bad, Sam, despite what you've been led to believe. But that place?" He laughed without humor. "Those humans were bad. They deserved what happened to them."

Sam stared at him, resisting every instinct that said to run. "I'm not saying I agree with them. I don't even know what they were studying there," she said. "But the only records we have of you are what you did . . ." She swallowed. "What happened there."

His eyes flashed with venom, and that feral snarl was one she recognized from a distant memory. She had been delirious during their first encounter back in Amity, but even then, she'd recognized him for the apex predator that he was. Vicious. Terrifying. Unhuman.

"They experimented on ghosts," he said in near growl. "Ripped them apart. Piece by piece. I had friends there."

The rattling in Sam's chest was nearly unbearable. A powerful, harrowing feeling enveloped her, as if his very aura flared. Was she imagining the small jolts of white electricity she saw flicking around his hands? She took another step back, her eyes wide.

And then, just like that, the feeling dimmed. He blinked, and the angry glow of his eyes lessened considerably. "I'm scaring you," he murmured shamefully.

She feigned composure. "I'm not scared." But her voice cracked. And she knew that he was aware of exactly what she was feeling.

He watched her for a moment, quietly noting the distance she'd put between them in the narrow alley. He heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at this."

"Good at what?" she said breathlessly.

"Would you believe talking to pretty girls?"

She glared at him, and he barked out a soft laugh.

"I'm not good at . . . " He sighed again, then gestured to her. "This."

She crossed her arms. "Did you just seriously gesture to all of me?"

"Humans," Phantom said. "I'm not good at being around humans. Talking to humans. Or talking to anyone in general, really." He shifted, his cloak flowing around his broad form. "Elle does most of the talking. I do most of the—"

"Fighting?" she finished for him, arching a brow. She refused to appear as intimidated as she felt.

"I was going to say brooding. But yeah, sure, that too." He didn't seem pleased to admit it, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Though my sister is no pushover. Her talents are just . . . different than mine."

Sam studied him, as if seeing him for the first time. She hadn't noticed it before, but now that she could see it, she realized it had been there the entire time. In the quiet pauses, in the way he withdrew from those around him—even his family. She could see it in his tensed shoulders. In that blank way in which he composed himself. Phantom was teeming with self-loathing.

"There are bad ghosts, too," he said.

Sam snorted at that. "Oh, I'm aware."

He shook his head. "Most of the ghosts in your realm are different," he said. "Unnatural. But true ghosts, the ones like Elle and me, can be bad, too."

Sam was baffled by what he'd just told her. "Unnatural?"

Phantom nodded. "Your realm is poisoned. Many the ghosts that plague it are not natural entities."

She shook her head. "And there's more ghosts like you?"

His mouth pursed. "Kind of."

"Where are they?"

"Around. Many went into hiding when the war broke out."

"Against their own king?"

Phantom glowered, but it wasn't directed at her. His eyes blazed again. "Pariah Dark is no friend of the ghosts," he muttered.

"What does he want?"

"Infinite domination," he said darkly.

Sam shuddered at that, wrapping her arms around herself. She opened her mouth to ask him more, when his eyes flicked past hers and to some unseen spot from behind her.

She turned, just in time to see three juvenile yeti gaping at them from where they'd just rounded into the alley. Two male and one female from the looks of it. They were short with spindly limbs, the horns of the males short and budding from the puff of the soft white fur on their heads. They were young, but not like Tsuel and Frostbreath's tiny infant, and Sam wondered if perhaps they were something akin to human tweens.

"It's Danny Phantom!" the smaller male on the left hissed excitedly to the other two, who glared in return, as if to say, "yeah we know, dumbass."

The tallest one in the middle, the other male, smiled widely. "You are so cool!"

Phantom gave them a forced smile in return. He was clearly uncomfortable. Whether it was the attention or the adoration with which they gazed at him, she wasn't sure, though she suspected it was probably both. "Thanks."

The yeti cubs glanced at her next. Sam winced, expecting the worst. But they simply stared at her, eyes wide with open curiosity.

"My father says you're a monster," the taller one said. It wasn't an accusation, but a statement of fact.

Sam shrugged. "At least that makes me sound cooler than I am."

She was surprised when all three of them snickered at that.

"Well, my mom says you're going to save us all," the smallest one, the female, said softly in a voice that reminded her of windchimes. "I think you're cool, too."

Sam swallowed at that, taken aback. Phantom stepped up to her side, close enough that his cloak brushed against her. She watched in amazement as a blue undulating sphere of polar energy formed in his palm. "Well, your mother is on the right track, Freyja," he said, "because my friend here certainly isn't a monster."

The blue sphere seemed to solidify into a diamond of pure, clear ice that he handed her. She grinned bashfully as she took it from him.

"What! She gets some of your ice! No way!" The smaller of the two males groaned.

"That is so not fair!" the taller male agreed. He stared longingly at the shimmering icy jewel in Freyja's claws.

Phantom grinned at them in amusement and made each of the two males their own little diamonds that they took excitedly. All three yeti cubs beamed at each other, as if they couldn't believe their luck.

"When are you and Elle going to teach us how to make swords and stuff," the taller male asked.

"When you're older, Finn," Phantom said, bemused. "And when you have Icefang's approval."

"But he's so mean," the smaller male whined. "You guys weren't much older than us when you closed the rift and beat the Fright Night."

Sam started at that, her head whipping to Phantom.

"Just remember what I always tell you guys," Phantom said, straightening to his full height with a serious expression on his face. If he noticed the shocked look that she gawked at him with, he didn't acknowledge it.

The three cubs mirrored his pose, standing to attention. "Try very hard not to be overconfident, because when you get overconfident, that's when something snaps up and bites you," they said in unison.

"Correct," he approved with a nod. "How about you guys just work on those ice powers first, and then we'll talk, alright?"

The taller male sulked at that. "Mine haven't come in yet," he said. "None of ours have."

Phantom ruffled the tuft of hair sprouting between the little knobs that were the small yeti's horns. "You'll get there," he said. "But until then, save the battling for the adults, 'kay?" Then he gestured to Sam. "And you guys are being rude. You haven't even introduced yourselves to my friend."

"I'm Freyja," the female said, waving shyly at her.

"Finn," the tall one said with a nod.

"Dagfinnr," the smaller male said, and actually stepped up to her and extended a clawed hand. "It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, m'lady."

"Uh, I'm Sam," she replied lamely, taking the offered hand. Though the young yeti was roughly her height, his hand still swallowed hers.

Dagfinnr grinned and shook her hand with gusto.

"Sam," Dagfinnr repeated, "A beautiful name for a beautiful female."

Sam blushed in embarrassment, just as Finn snorted from behind his friend. "Don't mind him, he'll flirt with anyone."

But it was the tiny Freyja who leapt forward and dragged her friend back by his scruff. "Knock it off, Dag, you're embarrassing us in front of Danny."

Phantom was smirking wildly at the interaction, at the flush on Sam's cheeks. "Alright, you delinquents. Time to scram before your parents catch you breaking the rules."

Finn's yellow eyes widened. "You won't tell, will you?"

"Ghost's honor," Phantom said with mock seriousness.

They grinned at him, then cast wordless glances at each other, before spinning on their heels and scurrying into the direction they'd come from initially. But not before Dagfinnr had turned and given Sam a final parting wink.

Sam stared after them. "Wow."

"I know right," Phantom deadpanned.

"That was . . ."

"Weird yet wholesome?" He snorted. "Tell me about it. But they mean well."

Sam crossed her arms when his cloak brushed against her again in the wind. This was the closest he'd stood near her in weeks, and she struggled with the urge to step away from him. "What did they mean about you and the Fright Night?"

Phantom stiffened. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze still lingering at the narrow crook between buildings where the three young yeti disappeared through. "There was a really bad attack here a few years ago," he murmured. "I stopped it. Sent that waste of ectoplasm back through the hellhole he crawled out of."

She shuddered at the quiet danger in his voice and was grateful that it wasn't directed at her this time. Lowly, she said, "He annihilated the city I grew up in." She shook her head, her voice breaking as she added, "And killed a lot of people."

"I know." There was a rustling of fabric and snow as he shifted beside her, his searing green eyes boring into her. "And I'm sorry."

Something brittle and poorly healed in her seemed to shatter at that, at the genuine empathy that laced his words. "Why do you even care?"

He was studying her again. From her peripheral, she recognized that pensive tilt of his head that he so often used when he was trying to figure something out. "Who did you lose?" His voice was soft, as if that fragile thing inside her was a delicate piece of glass.

Her spine went rigid, and her head whipped sideways to glare at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Understanding shone in that simmering green of his. And she hated it. Hated that the very emotions she hid from the world were on such display for him. She couldn't retreat and hide it from him like she did everyone else in her life.

He seemed to read that in her. From whatever he gleaned from her stupid human emotions. Because he nodded, as if she'd spoken. "I won't pry."

Anger. Rage. Grief. The emotions were poison, seeping through her veins. Her fingers, numb from the chilled air, curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Her innate fear forgotten, she seethed at Phantom, and in that moment, she hated him. "How about you just stay out of my fucking head."

She stormed away. Where she was going, she didn't know. Didn't fucking care, either. She just wanted to be alone—and as far away from him as she could get. So, she just walked.

Snow crunched beneath her boots. The normally blue skies of the Far Frozen was a sheet of grey overhead, shrouded by clouds and the billowy snowflakes that swirled around her. The narrow spaces between buildings in this part of Ec'Nelis felt like a wind tunnel, and she gritted her teeth against the chilled wind that clawed at her like icy fingers.

She recoiled when Phantom suddenly materialized out of thin air in front of her.

His face was neutral, that crafted mask of blankness that he saved for the public. But his eyes were green fire. He pointed in the direction behind her. "The castle is that way."

Her lip curled. "So?"

"So," he drawled. "This way leads out of town. To the wilds."

She arched a brow at him, hands on her hips. "I thought I wasn't a prisoner here."

"You aren't."

"But let me guess," she said sarcastically, "this way is off limits."

"As of now, yes."

"What are you going to do. Stop me?"

His eyes narrowed. "Temperatures plummet once the sun goes down, and I have no desire to explain to my father, or Tsuel, why I let the human freeze to death."

Sam paused at that, but for only a moment. Her anger spiking, she stormed up to him, closing the gap so they were separated by a mere breath. His brows rose at the proximity, but he didn't back down or recede an inch. Her insides twisted as their eyes met in a battle of wills, that acid green searing deep into her soul where her primal fear dwelled—and she ignored it. Shoved it somewhere far and deep because she was beyond sick of being afraid of him.

"I can't help it, you know."

He'd said it so softly that she almost didn't hear him.

"What?" she demanded.

He heaved a long, resigned breath and looked away from her, his face unreadable. "Telling a ghost to get out of your head is like telling someone to stop seeing colors."

She blinked at him, her anger banking.

He continued. "Trust me. I would love to not know everything that you're feeling all the time. Humans are . . ." He grimaced. "Expressive. Vivid. When you feel something, it's like you're always screaming it." He finally backed away from her, as if he was the who needed the space this time. "I can usually tune it out. But . . ."

"But what?" she asked, her voice small.

He seemed to be struggling for words, clearly uncomfortable. "You in particular, Sam, you feel a lot. Your anger and your . . . hate is very potent."

Sam deflated completely at that. She raked her hand through her hair. "I don't know if I hate you or not," she told him honestly, crossing her arms protectively around herself while her shoulders hiked to her ears. "I just . . . I'm just so . . . angry. At everything. I miss the Fen—my friends, back home. I miss Tucker. I—"

"Tucker?" Phantom asked, head tilting. "You've never spoken of your kin."

"I know," she murmured.

"Is Tucker your mate?"

Sam sputtered and gaped at him, utterly horrified. "No!" she gasped. "He's my friend. My best friend. He was connected to my headset when those ghosts at the reactor got me." She shook her head. "He definitely thinks I'm dead . . . and that kills me."

Something akin to a somber empathy danced in his acid green eyes. It was a startling shift from the anger and malice that had been simmering there only moments ago. "You don't mention missing your parents." It wasn't a question.

Sam bit her lip, stifling the kneejerk reaction to bristle and snap at him. "I don't want to talk about them," she all but whispered.

Phantom nodded. "Alright."

They stood in an uncomfortable silence with each other. Phantom studied the banister arching off the nearest building, while Sam stared at her snow dusted boots. It was an awkward silence, but not a hostile one.

Finally, Phantom said, "It's getting late. We should probably get you back to the castle." He glanced at the sky, as if he could somehow see the sun setting behind the wall of grey clouds and snowfall.

She nodded back silently.

Curious stares and whispers trailed after them as they strode together through the bustling market, and Sam was surprised when not a single yeti bothered to approach Phantom this time around. If anything, the crowds seemed to part in their path.

At least, until they reached the base of the stairs, and Tsuel appeared. "Dear cubs!" she exclaimed, glancing between them anxiously.

Phantom nodded to her, his face still blank though there was warmth in his voice when he said, "Tsuel."

She stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Sam, her brows so high they nearly touched the ears atop her head. "I am just about to head up to the castle for the evening if you would like to join me, dear cub."

"I would love to," Sam said, a little too fast.

Sam didn't wait a moment longer before she scurried up the steps ahead of Tsuel, intent on putting as much distance between herself and the ghost as possible. She didn't stop or slow until she reached those beautiful twin doors, and then waited patiently for the female yeti to open them for her, striding inside without so much as a single glance behind her.

Tsuel was quiet, thoughtful even, for a long time as they walked together. Which Sam was fine with. Her nerves were rattled and a weariness like no other loomed behind her eyes. She didn't know where they were going. She didn't care.

They walked through that enchanting throne room and up the sparkling stairs, before Tsuel spoke. "I am sorry for my mate."

Sam stuffed her hands into the fur lined pockets of her coat. "Don't worry about it."

"I did not know he would force you two to communicate so haphazardly."

"It's not like Phantom did anything bad," Sam said.

"Of course not. He is our protector," Tsuel said, her voice firm. "But your relationship with each other is tenuous." Sam noted the questioning lilt to her voice as the female glanced sideways at her. "I had wanted you two to speak on terms that were your own."

"Or not at all," Sam grumbled.

Tsuel sighed. "Cub, may I give you some advice?"

"Is it optional?" Sam asked.

"It is not. My request was merely a formality."

Sam frowned at her as the yeti brought them to a halt in a vacant winding passageway. Crystalized stalactites glimmered overhead. She scuffed her shoe on the shiny floor, her shoulders tensed.

"My mate is not a patient male," Tsuel said, her voice resigned. "But his hearts are large and full. When he sees you and Danny, he thinks only of his love for you both."

"I'm not going to hold a grudge against Frostbreath if that's what you're getting at," Sam said.

"That is not what I am . . ." Tsuel frowned, her large jaw tensing as she seemed to fumble with the words. "Getting at. What I am saying is that while you and Danny may come from two different worlds, you both harbor much of the same turmoil. While I do believe some more tact should have been employed, this was a conversation I have intended to have with you myself soon anyway."

Sam felt her stomach drop, hating the authority she so rarely heard from Tsuel so blatant in her tone. The female was usually a source of warmth and comfort for Sam, but right now she just felt . . . scolded? Like a mother expressing disappointment in a child's actions. It made her ears hot, her defensiveness bristling.

"Why does it matter if I talk to him or not, anyway?" Sam snapped, crossing her arms petulantly. "Just a few more months and I'm out of here. And I'll never have to see or talk to him again."

The hard look that Tsuel was giving her, however, belied that sentiment.

"I am going home, right?" Sam asked, slowly, her voice quavering.

"Yes," Tsuel said simply. "But to what end, cub?"

"What do you mean?"

"You return to the Mortal Realm, and then what?"

Sam shrugged. "Go back to trying not to die, I guess?"

Her thoughts became a churning sea of grey walls and starchy jumpsuits. Shitty food and ice-cold showers. Poisoned skies and a city comprised of rubble and defeat. The thought of returning to that world, to the normalcy of what she'd left behind, did something to her then. It awakened a part of her that she had long thought dormant.

She'd once been so righteous. So adamant that a better world could be had through grit and compassion alone. In her younger years, her resolve had been unfaltering—an unmovable object in the face of so many unstoppable forces. She'd believed, not only in the betterment of the world, but in herself, too—had prided herself on that.

Until the Fright Night fractured that part of her, ripping her heart out right along with the shrapnel of all that she was.

The Fright Night . . . who'd been defeated by Phantom. Allegedly.

Sam swallowed hard. Tsuel hadn't spoken, letting Sam guide herself through her own thoughts. The female's golden eyes blazed as she studied her.

"You want me to figure out how to live," Sam said, quietly.

Tsuel's wide muzzle split into a warm, toothy grin. "Yes, dear cub. You and Danny both."

Confusion knitted her brows together. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

"You both bare scars of the past," she said, guiding Sam to continue walking with her through the icy passageway. "Neither of you may reach your full potential until you have confronted them."

Sam's thoughts strayed to the paintings she'd seen at an old yeti's booth in the market circle. At the war-torn Ec'Nelis and the renderings of both Phantoms depicted in battle. Of Phantom, thrumming with power and rage, illuminated by his own unearthly glow and amplified further by the celestial moons at his back.

Was there a connection? She shook her head to herself as she pondered every possibility. "I don't promise anything, but I'll try," she said, nearly grumbling it.

"I am glad to hear it," Tsuel said. "And though I have already had this very conversation with Danny time and time again, I will be sure to remind him myself when I see him next." She glanced at Sam wearily. "Though he is just as stubborn as you are."

Sam couldn't help the snort of amusement at that. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

Tsuel sighed "He does not like being intensely disliked. He also does not believe in forcing you to interact with him. That cub is very . . . "Tsuel trailed off, her voice wavering as if a dark thought struck her. Finally, just as they reached the kitchen, she added, "He is very hard on himself."

Sam refrained from making any of the snarky remarks bubbling just below the surface. Instead, she froze in the entryway of the kitchen, gaping at the elaborate spread of food strewn out atop the marbled island. A small grey-furred foxen was hurriedly adding garnish—those dreaded fucking leaves from hell—to many of the platters.

"What's all this?" Sam asked.

"Frostbite is holding a court dinner tonight," Tsuel replied, bustling through the kitchen to aid the frantic garnish-wielding creature. "You may join if you like."

"Ah, yeah, thanks but no thanks," Sam said. "I'm good on those for a while. And by a while, I mean forever."

Court dinners had been rather infrequent events so far in the two months she'd been in the Far Frozen. She'd made sure to steadfastly avoid them all. She had no desire to be a part of that mortifying catastrophe again, especially after what happened last time.

Tsuel nodded. "Very well then. At least make a plate for yourself, and then I will bring you to your room for the night."

Sam nodded and began piling her plate with heaping amounts of food from the dishes. Her mouth watered at the sight of it all.

And then she felt it. That cold presence.

"I can take her, Tsuel," Phantom said. "To give you a break."

Tsuel and Sam both turned to face him where he stood in the kitchen's entryway. Sam gave him an incredulous look, while Tsuel seemed to gape at him in surprise.

"Only if Sam is agreeable, cub," Tsuel said. She glanced between them both, her brow high. "I do not mind taking her myself. She is never a bother."

Sam was frozen to the spot, her mountain of food clutched in white-knuckled hands, her heart thrumming.

He stood looming as he always did, his face blank, that dusky cloak a pit of darkness against the bright shining stones of the corridor behind him. He was studying her, like a cat to a mouse, a single brow arched like he expected her to immediately decline the offer. What he could want from her so soon after their rather awkward conversation, she didn't know.

But she was stubborn. And slightly curious.

Sam frowned. "Fine."

Tsuel didn't seem convinced, but she said, "Very well. Good night, my dear cub."

"G'night, Tsuel," Sam muttered. She followed the flourish of Phantom's cloak as he turned and walked. At least the walk wasn't a far one. The castle's kitchen and large dining chambers were near the part of the mountain where the natural warmth emanated, so she knew they would be to her room soon enough.

He'd slowed until she fell into step at his side.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because I wanted to show you something."

"Show me something? Like what."

He glanced at her over his shoulder, smirking lightly. "You'll see."

They walked in a silence that was both tense and awkward, until they reached her room.

"Well, this is me," Sam quipped, nudging open the only door in the whole castle that was small enough for her to do so with her hip. "Thanks for the silent escort, I guess."

She had hoped he would leave, but knew he still lurked at the entryway. She could feel him there, looming like a dark shadow, and her stomach twisted as she set her mountainous tray of food down on the little end table by her fireplace.

She immediately set to work on the fire, poking the flames with her iron rod until they burst into twisting spires of light and heat.

"Can I help you with something?" she snapped at him, annoyed by his silent hovering. "I am perfectly capable of making a fire without supervision."

His eyes flicked to hers from where he'd been glancing about the room with an unreadable expression.

"So . . .," he began in a conversational voice, "do you like the room?"

Sam blinked at him. Then turned back to poking at her fire.

"It's probably better than the medical sector was, right? Less icy, and stuff."

Silence.

"Did Tsuel tell you that this is the room that Elle and I grew up in?"

This . . . caused Sam to pause. She looked over her shoulder, watching Phantom's ethereal eyes as they traced unseen patterns along the masonry of her ceiling.

"She may have mentioned it," Sam responded, assuming nonchalance. She shrugged her shoulders. "Why?"

Phantom shook his head. He pointed high, toward the arched center of her ceiling. Sam's eyes followed the direction of his hand, and she frowned in confusion. Her room was stone, not ice, so it was lit with lanterns instead of those weird energy orbs. There was nothing that she could see where he was pointing.

"Sometime, if you're ever up to it," Phantom said, "warm the room with fire and then draw the fire skins. The absence of light may surprise you."

Sam's brows furrowed. "Fire skins?"

"The drapes that surround the fireplace and your lanterns. They are flame resistant so they won't burn and will still allow the fire to warm your room."

Sam glanced at that bunched blue-grey fabric that she'd noted as peculiar on her first night in this room. Without much to go on, she'd assumed they were merely decorative. "Why close them?"

His mouth turned up at a single corner. "You'll see."

She sighed. "Cryptic as always. Typical."

"This one isn't a secret, it's a surprise."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means it's a peace offering," he said, stepping back from her doorway, icy blue energy already an undulating sphere in his palm. "And . . . I hope it helps you feel better. It certainly helped me."

And then, he was gone, and her doorway was now a gleaming wall of ice.

Sam blew out an annoyed breath, rolling her eyes at the gaudy ice wall, and kicked off her boots. She sank to the floor with her tray of food, her numb toes wriggling before the wonderous heat radiating from the flames.

It was long after Phantom had left her and she had sufficiently warmed the room with fire, that she eyed the ceiling inquisitively. She was curious, like a cat to a closed door. As much as she wanted to ignore Phantom's suggestion, she found that the urge to know was quickly overcoming her petulance.

"Damn it," Sam muttered to herself. She lurched from her spot on the floor and reached for one of the soft drapes framing her fireplace. The fabric was velvety beneath her fingers as she deftly removed the silver cord binding it together. "If this thing catches on fire and burns me, I will destroy him."

She immediately followed suit on the second drape. And then the ones around her lanterns.

She wasn't too surprised when the skins remained intact. Of the things he had to lie about, that one seemed a bit dull. No, what was surprising was the change that overcame her room once the last remnants of light faded away and was overcome by sheer darkness.

They appeared, one by one, from her memory.

There were thousands of them. Sam couldn't believe it. When was the last time she had seen them? When she was a child? Must've been, because that was before the once-blue sky of her human world had been completely overcome by the ectoplasmic infiltration. Seeing them now in such a way was surreal. Her jaw dropped as she spun, her eyes never once leaving the vast sea of twinkling stars above her head.

There were constellations—the big dipper, the belt of Orion, Gemini, and more—along with the bigger, brighter spheres of light that must represent the solar system. It was amazing, and even though she knew that they weren't real, she couldn't help but recall the lazy nights she'd spent under those very stars when she was little. The memories came flooding from somewhere deep and long forgotten in her mind, and she fell to her knees, unable to stop the tears that streaked down her cheeks.

The nighttime sky of the Mortal Realm glimmered above her for the rest of the night.

A/N: God Damn. This chapter did not want to end haha. But I enjoyed writing it. I have this story loosely outlined with plot targets for each chapter, but they still manage to surprise me every time I write them. Fun fact, that quote that Danny makes the cubs recite is in fact a real quote if anyone recognizes it.

And I'm curious. This story is a writing experiment for me, and I like to play around with different ideas and writing elements. I think the POV shifts back to the Mortal Realm are necessary, but do you guys like when they shift more than that, like to Danny or Frostbite? Or do you like minimal POV shifts and prefer the extra mystery? I ask because I'm torn on whether to occasionally shift to Danny and get more of his perspective or not. Let me know! The story will still predominately follow Sam, whether I include his POV or not. Danny actually will have the main POV when I eventually write the sequel.

I'm not going to lie. I'm getting really irritated with this website. There are lot of artwork spam accounts messaging me constantly. It's super disappointing because I don't really get a lot of engagement here, and get so excited thinking someone's leaving a review or a message wanting to chat, and it's yet another spam message. I don't want to disable private messaging because I really enjoy communicating with people here. Just wanted to vent, I guess. Anyone know what's going on? I've been out of the loop for many years now, but when I used to write here, this never happened.

Anyway, rant over. Thanks to the real ones leaving genuine feedback here. I'm finishing this story regardless if I get feedback or not, but it definitely helps with my motivation. Y'all make my day every time and I ride that high the rest of the day haha.