Chpter 143
Elara's POV
"Yes."
The word came out steady, but my heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. I stood there in front of Kiki's house, mud-caked and exhausted, staring at the woman who held the answer to everything.
Martha's eyes narrowed. She looked me over again, slowly this time. Her gaze lingered on my face, then dropped to the scrap of plaid fabric still clutched in my hand.
"What's your full name?" she asked.
"Elara Grey." I swallowed. "My family—my parents Marcus and Emily, my brother Ethan—we've been looking for her. For weeks. Please, if she's inside, I need to see her."
Martha's expression shifted. Not quite softening, but something in her posture changed. She glanced down at Kiki, who was still holding onto my arm like he was afraid I'd disappear.
"Mama," Kiki said quietly. "Her eyes. They're the same color. That weird amber color, just like the girl."
Martha looked back at me. Really looked this time. And I saw the exact moment she made her decision.
"Come inside," she said.
---
The house was small. One main room with a cooking area, a table, and a few chairs. Everything was worn but clean. Martha led me through a narrow doorway into what must have been a back room.
The smell hit me first. Antiseptic and herbs, sharp and medicinal. Then I saw the bed.
A wooden frame with a thin mattress. A small table beside it covered in jars and strips of cloth. And lying there, so pale she almost blended into the sheets—
Lynette.
I didn't remember moving. One second I was in the doorway, the next I was kneeling beside the bed, grabbing her hand.
Her skin was cold. Too cold. Her breathing was shallow, barely there.
"Lynette." My voice cracked. "It's me. It's Elara. I came for you."
Nothing. Not even a flicker behind her closed eyelids.
I looked down at her hand in mine. So small. So fragile. This was supposed to be my body. The one I'd been born in. The one that should have been mine.
But all I could think was: She's alive. She's still alive.
"How bad is it?" I asked without looking up.
Martha moved closer. "Bad. The old doctor did what he could, but..." She paused. "She has maybe a dozen wounds. Lost a lot of blood. He said it's a miracle she's alive at all."
I forced myself to look at the bandages. Chest, shoulder, side, leg. Too many. Way too many for someone who'd never fought before.
"Can she be moved?"
"No." Martha's voice was firm. "Not for weeks. Maybe longer. The doctor said any travel right now would kill her."
I nodded slowly. My throat felt tight.
"Then I'm staying."
Martha blinked. "What?"
"Then I'm staying here until she's well enough to travel." I looked up at her. "I'll help however I can. Work, chores, whatever you need. But I'm not leaving without her."
Cole. The thought hit me suddenly. I didn't know if he'd made it out of the river. Didn't know if he was alive or dead or still searching for me. But I couldn't think about that now. Lynette was here. She was alive. That had to be enough.
For a long moment, Martha just stared at me. Then she sighed.
"You can sleep in here. There's a mat in the corner. Kiki will bring you blankets."
"Thank you."
She turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. "Your sister... she only woke up once. Just for a few seconds. Didn't say anything. Just looked around and passed out again."
The door closed behind her.
I turned back to Lynette. Brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. Her skin was clammy under my fingers.
"I'm here now," I whispered. "You're going to be okay. I promise."
---
Dinner was simple. Stew and bread. I sat at the table with Martha, her husband Armo, and Kiki. The food was good, but I could barely taste it.
"How did you find her?" I asked.
Armo looked up from his bowl. He was a big man, weathered and quiet. "I was fishing. Downstream, where the current slows. Saw something caught in the rocks."
He paused, took a drink of water.
"Thought it was a body at first. Was about to leave it—we get those sometimes, people who fall in upstream. But then I saw her hand move. Just a little."
"He carried her all the way back," Martha added. "Got the doctor right away."
"The doctor said she shouldn't be alive," Armo continued. "All those wounds, the blood loss, the cold water. He did what he could. Cleaned the wounds, stitched what needed stitching. But after that..." He shrugged. "It's up to her now."
I set down my spoon. "When Kiki said you found someone in plaid, I thought—" My voice caught. "I thought she was dead. That I was too late."
"The fabric was soaked in blood," Martha said quietly. "It looked red and black. We didn't realize it was a yellow shirt until we washed it."
Kiki piped up from beside me. "That's why Mama thought it matched your cloth! But it was just the blood."
I pulled the scrap from my pocket. Looked at it. Yellow and black plaid, faded but unmistakable.
"She was wearing this when she disappeared," I said. "Our mother made it for her."
Martha's expression softened slightly. "You can keep it by her bed. Maybe she'll recognize it when she wakes up."
When. Not if.
I held onto that word.