Today had been exhausting to say the least. Miss Peregrine had been in constant motion all afternoon, making sure the house was immaculate, ensuring everyone was accounted for, and—most importantly—not letting herself appear too overzealous about Jake’s arrival.

You had done your part—perhaps more than your part. First, you’d helped Emma, Olive, Millard, and Jake by hauling the horse carriage yourself, having shifted into your horse form to do so. Then, you’d gone on to assist Enoch in securing more hearts for his dolls, and—of course—you’d still had your own chores to finish. By the time Emma came rushing back into the house, Miss Advocet cradled in her arms in her bird form, wings clearly injured, you had been barely able to keep your eyes open.

The others had gone to bed by the time you padded softly down the stairs in your pajamas. The living room glowed faintly in the lamplight. Miss Peregrine sat on the couch, pipe in one hand, a book in the other, her posture as sharp and composed as always despite the long day. Across from her, Miss Advocet was bundled in a quilt, resting in a pillow-made nest on the armchair.

Without a word, you approached and flopped onto the couch, head pillowed in Miss Peregrine’s lap.

“What are you doing?” she murmured, glancing down at you briefly before returning her gaze to the page.

“Recharging,” you mumbled into the soft fabric of her skirt, eyes already drifting shut.

Her only response was a faint hum. She set the book down, her hand sliding gently into your hair, combing through it with slow, steady strokes.

“How is she?” you whispered after a moment, referring to Miss Advocet.

“She’s injured,” Miss Peregrine replied softly, “but she will recover.”

Silence settled between you for a few minutes, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire.

“How are you?” you asked then, your voice nearly lost in the quiet. Her hand paused in your hair.

“I know you dislike unpleasant topics,” you continued, “but I saw your face during Horace’s dream earlier. Are you… worried about what’s coming?”

A soft sigh escaped her before she answered. “Slightly, yes. But I will not let that happen. I promise you.” Her fingers resumed their slow movement through your hair, grounding you in their warmth.

“I don’t want you in a cage,” you whispered, “especially not by Barron.”

She was quiet for a moment, inhaling from her pipe before speaking again. “It won’t happen. And even if it does… I will get back to you. Don’t worry.”

Your voice came out softer this time, almost hesitant. “Where… where are Miss Advocet’s children? She came here alone.”

Miss Peregrine’s hand stilled in your hair. She stayed silent long enough that you almost thought she wouldn’t answer at all. Finally, her voice came, low and measured.

“I don’t know.”