In the Shadow of What If's

Between the Lines and Graying Skies

She let the boy make his mistake—because sometimes, we all needed to.

Outside, Harrison felt the moment shift.

He hadn't meant to get drawn into a quiet conversation with Isadora. It had started with her offering observations about Morrigan's new feathers—how they shimmered most when Thomas was calm and seemed to disappear entirely when he was distressed.

But somewhere between feathers and theory, they had wandered into quieter waters.

"I never expected to be assigned here," Isadora admitted. "Most of my posts are drier. Basilisk sightings in the Balkans. Wyrm-track migrations. But this? This feels..."

"Closer to something that matters," Harrison finished for her.

She looked at him.

Really looked at him.

"You're not like most men your age."

He didn't deflect.

Instead, he met her eyes and said, "I've seen more than most men my age."

And Isadora—smart, composed, measured Isadora—simply nodded. "I believe you."

A beat.

Then a soft laugh from her. "You know your son and Euphemia are watching us, yes?"

"I assume they always are."

Another pause. Lighter now.

Then Harrison added, voice lower, "He asked me once if I ever thought about... what comes after. About someone else joining our little family."

Isadora turned toward the glass, gaze flicking briefly to Thomas.

"And what did you tell him?"

Harrison looked back at her, one brow raised.

"I told him he'd know before I did."

And for just a moment—just a breath—Isadora looked away, her cheeks flushing faintly.

Then she stepped back, nodding. "I'll give my reports later this afternoon. Shall we plan to go over them together after supper?"

"Of course," Harrison said.

She turned, heels silent on the stone path.

He watched her go.

And didn't look away until she was gone.

The morning began with a chill that clung to the air like fog off the moor, but Evermoor's hearths glowed warmly against it, soft flames crackling behind carved grates in every room. Thomas was up early, Morrigan already coiled around his shoulders, her head nestled beneath his chin like a feathered clasp. The second feather was fully visible now—longer, more defined, iridescent in the light of the library where Thomas curled up with his spell primer and a quill chewed half to ruin.

It was observation day five—one more tomorrow, then the hearing.

Everyone in the manor knew it. Even Morrigan seemed more still than usual, her scales cool and tense as she lay over her bonded like armor.

In the breakfast room, Euphemia gently stirred cream into her tea while eyeing the clock.

"Isadora's precisely punctual," she noted. "I expect she'll descend any moment."

"Of course she will," Harrison said dryly, not looking up from the list of classified familiar cases he'd spread out on the table. "She doesn't strike me as someone who oversleeps or forgets her tea."