Harrison was exhausted. His mother was missing, and he was exhausted from searching for her alone. Especially since, in reality, he knew where she was. That was why his father wouldn’t help him. Why the stubborn old man was locking himself indoors, taking care of his plants. Because Hadley knew where his wife was.

  Hadley managed the garden. He knew why there were guards on it, and he saw everyone who came and went. And he saw what state they were in. No missing victim of the Quiet would be squirreled away in Hadley’s garden without him seeing it. All he had left were his plants, years old and gifted by a mage, if he was to be believed.

  Harrison spent days believing he’d find his mother. If he didn’t give up, he was certain she would turn up somewhere. He wasn’t certain when he accepted the truth. That his mother was dead, and the Quiet was real. It was impossible to pinpoint the moment he stopped looking for his mother—and started looking for the source of the Quiet. Perhaps that was because it didn’t matter. The results were the same either way. No one had seen his mother. Most people he spoke to didn’t want to talk about it, if they cared at all. The Quiet was exactly the same. At some point, asking about one became the first step to asking about the other. Either way, he returned home every day with no new answers.

  He did notice—when his neighbors stopped leaving their homes so often. He’d tried knocking on a few doors, but was either ignored or dismissed. He decided they were either all dead, or had lost the energy to care about visitors. It was frustrating. He just wanted help. He wanted someone else who cared. Anyone would do. But no one did, and he was alone. He understood. It felt hopeless. And spending what may be the last days of your life struggling in vain can sound daunting. He understood. But he hated being alone. He knew other people must have been doing the same thing he was. They must have been. In one way or another. He just couldn’t find them. He wasn’t cut out to do this alone. Truthfully, he wasn’t cut out to do it at all. He wanted to follow his father’s lead and shut himself up in his home to enjoy his final days. But he couldn’t excuse that. Not without a reason. And not alone. Not with his relationship with his father so strained, and no one else to call family. He was too alone to rest.

  At least, until a knock rang out on his door in the middle of the night. He didn’t know what he expected when he opened the door. The way the full moon stood behind the woman on the other side caught him off guard. It was so much larger and more brilliantly lit than it should have been, and it framed her like a backlight, obscuring her face. For a moment, Harrison thought she was Luna herself, there to tell him his time had come. Or at least an envoy of Luna. An angel, perhaps. But—when his eyes adjusted to the unusual lighting—he realized it was just a woman. One he’d never met, but a regular woman nonetheless. One of her hands was held by Junia, the girl who lived a few doors down. Her other held Millie, the younger sister. The stranger looked like canvas, left to the elements and molded before she could ever wear paint.

  Mars was a tired woman. That was the best word he could think of to describe her. Tired. That day, especially. She’d clearly been working on… something for far too long without sleep. But it was deeper than that. There was an almost unique air about a woman who could always be described as tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, but pushing forward anyway. Like being in the presence of a massive dam and failing to grasp how much pressure it is holding back, but all in the body of a wiry blonde woman.

  The girls needed a place to stay. Their mother had been taken by the quiet. Just like his, except they hadn’t needed to wonder. They had been trapped with her. Stuck with the shell of the woman who raised them, sitting in their home and chaining them down. For the first time in days, Harrison actually understood his father. Hadley had known what had happened. He had seen it, and it must have felt like a hot spoon, dull but still cutting huge chunks of his heart out. Harrison had wanted to find her, whether it meant her body or otherwise. But when he entered Junia’s home to collect her clothes and toys, he understood that wasn’t true. He faced the Quiet in person, and he shuddered. He didn’t envy the girls. He didn’t envy their certainty. He couldn’t have faced his mother. Not looking like that.

  He was a grown man, and he knew in his heart that going through what those children had been through would break him. Just that knowledge threatened to do the same, as they slept. All three of them had been exhausted. All three had needed sleep, and he insisted they have it. The woman, Mars, had been the last to fall asleep. Junia hugged her tight, and Millie slept on her chest. Harrison had offered them his bed, and they’d taken it gratefully. Anywhere to sleep where the girl’s mother wasn’t still haunting them. He didn’t know Mars’ story. The girls’ story was almost too terrible to believe. But as he sat up at his table, leaving his room to the trio of hurting people, he was glad they came to him.

  Mars had vaguely explained that Hadley had sent her to him, but he lacked the cruelty to cajole more information out of her in the state he was in. He fell asleep at his table, wondering what she would have to say when she woke up.

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  The following day was perhaps one of the kindest Harrison had lived in years. Even as the world collapsed around him. Mars had taken the girls to bathe before he even woke up. When he did, it was to the sounds of giggling and laughter from three people so broken, he wouldn’t have guessed they were capable of it. He thought he mostly heard the laughter of the infant, followed by her older sister’s laughs in response. He couldn’t tell if Mars was one of them. But she was with two laughing children, and he could hear splashing water, and he knew that would be as healing as laughing herself.

  When they emerged, they weren’t healed, but they were taking steps. Junia seemed both amazed and relieved at every movement she made. She also seemed afraid she wouldn’t be able to make another, keeping herself in constant motion around his living room. She doted on her baby sister. She made sure Millie had plenty of food, clean clothes, and was never alone long enough to cry. Mars did little at all. She sat at the table across from Harrison and watched. She followed the girls with wide eyes, the color of corn fields. She had a nervous energy about her, like there was somewhere she needed to be, but she needed to be safe in Harrison’s home just as badly. Maybe more. She wouldn’t talk about what she was recovering from, but she had a layer of hurt running under her skin like blood.

  Still. Harrison wasn’t alone. He realized what he was looking for wasn’t a cure for the Quiet. He understood. Just like he understood he wouldn’t find his mother, he understood he wouldn’t end the Quiet. But now, he was offering a home to people who needed it. He felt strangely connected to all three of them. He identified with the girls, and there was something about Mars. When she looked at him, it was like she was looking at one of her oldest and only friends. And that made him feel like she was almost one of his, even if she’d only just met him.

  For some reason, the one topic she would actually talk about at length was her older sister. A woman she hadn’t seen in a decade, and who reportedly gave Hadley the plants he loved so much. When Harrison wanted to talk, Mars would happily go on and on about childhood pranks, heroic acts of kindness, and witty jokes her sister was responsible for. When talking about Camilla, Mars almost looked as young as she apparently was. Almost.

  Harrison started to feel like he was there for the stories. Like he always had been. When he closed his eyes, blue sparks flashed across the darkness, and he could see the scenes described. Mars trying to restore a pie she’d knocked from her neighbor's windowsill, only for her time magic to fail and for Camilla to bake a new one. Of bullies, and suitors, and nights on the roof counting the stars. He felt like he’d been there for all of them. The memories were so vivid in her words, and they almost felt like they were being told in real time. Talking to Mars felt like growing up with her, and knowing she couldn’t find her sister felt just like knowing he couldn’t find his mom. It almost felt like his own sister had gone missing a decade before.

  In fact, after only a day, it felt a bit like Mars was his sister, although he was an only child. The connection formed as if it had been building for so long. And as it built, he felt melancholy on her behalf. He felt a longing for something undefinable, and he wanted her to find it.

  They talked. Harrison spoke about his mother, and Mars about her sister. They played games with the girls. They danced the dances Mars once had with Camilla. They even let Junia put her feet on theirs in turn, each helping her in dances she didn’t know. Harrison realized he shouldn’t have known them either. He wasn’t entirely certain how he did, except they went exactly as he had pictured them when Mars talked about her past.

  The day passed in that manner. With hell outside the house but kindness inside. And night fell. All three of them climbed onto the roof to watch the night, just as Mars had once done with her sister. There was something terrifying in the air. Foreboding like the headsman’s axe. But they were alright. Because they weren’t alone.

  “If I died today,” Mars asked as the sun finished sinking over the horizon, “would you visit my grave?” The answer was easy at first thought, but there was a weight to the question. Like it had been asked and answered for years, and the answer had always been ‘no’. A quick yes without thought would feel no different than a no. He could see that in her eyes. In the way they glistened, like she wanted to cry but didn’t think she deserved the release. At least not when asking that question. So, even as Junia assured her she obviously would, Harrison thought about it.

  He had just met her that day. He felt close to her, but it was surreal how quickly they had made that connection. In that moment, she felt like a long-lost sibling. Or even a sister he had grown up with. But emotions that came quickly fled quickly. He could say he’d visit her grave, and it would be true. But the question was deeper than that. She wanted to know if he would keep visiting. Or if he would forget her, and her headstone would fade. Could he really promise, after a single kind day, that he would remember to keep her grave company?

  “I…” he paused, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I would—a few times—I am certain. But more than that? Well. Maybe after a few more days, you can ask me again?” She smiled at him like spring smiles at autumn.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “A few more days.”