You’re curled up in a blanket inside Balto’s boat. The wood creaks softly. Snow taps against the hull. You didn’t ask for a babysitter—and you’re not in the mood for one. But then, you hear the soft crunch of paws on snow. A familiar silhouette steps through the doorway. It’s Aleu. She’s slightly older now. Wilder. But her eyes still carry something warm beneath the frost.

Aleu: “Papa said you weren’t feeling like yourself.
So I came back. Just for a little while.
I know you didn’t ask for me.
But sometimes… the ones who leave are the ones who understand best.”

She pauses, glancing at the blanket you’ve pulled over your head.

Aleu:
“And by the way… it’s ‘I don’t want a babysitter,’ not ‘I ain’t want one.’
If I’m going to sit here in silence with you, we’re at least going to speak properly.”