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He had to figure it out. He would figure it out. He would save Orpheus and by extension protect the Empire. He would. He had to. “Red, I don’t care. I’m going—”

A light patter of footfalls and a duet of singing voices cut him off. “Uncle Fenrir!” Roland and Astrid barreled into the room ahead of Vera. His mother gave him an apologetic look before glancing at Red and jerking her chin.

Red huffed, snapping, “We’ll talk more later.”

“She’s right, you know,” Vera said softly after Red’s back disappeared behind the door.

Fenrir grit his teeth. “If you try to tell me—”

“—Whoa, is that your arm?” Roland interrupted, pressing his nose to the glass case. “Sick!”

Half hidden behind Vera, Astrid glanced to where Roland fogged up the glass with his breath. “Uncle Fenrir, are they gonna put it back on for you?”

“I don’t think so, Astrid.” He ignored the tingling in his stump, forcing a smile. “But I only need one arm to swing a sword, two is being greedy.”

Astrid blinked from behind Vera’s skirt. “Then are you going after Mr. Fifi now that you’re better?”

Red may no longer be there, but Fenrir caught himself listing sideways anyhow. He reached out with his arm—the missing one—and almost toppled over.

Vera sat him on the bed before he could fall.

“Astrid, why don’t we have a seat on those chairs?” she said without looking away from him.

“No, I want up.” Astrid climbed atop the bed without waiting for permission, then directly into his lap. Fenrir had to close his eyes when her small body tucked in close to the void where his arm should hang.

When he opened them again Vera’s lips were pursed.

“I’ll make you kids some cocoa,” she relented, turning away.

Astrid picked at a loose thread in his shirt while Vera began arranging cups atop a messy sideboard that was home to an electric kettle and a container of instant coffee packets—all long expired; Fenrir had already checked.

“Astrid, Roland, why don’t you tell Uncle Fenrir what happened at the fairgrounds?”

“Mum.” He didn’t have time for this. He needed to be preparing. Nightmare would need packed out with supplies before Red did something drastic like let him loose into the countryside or—hells forbid—lock Fenrir in the Labs overnight. “I don’t have—”

Vera held up a hand. “I think you’ll want to hear this, Fenrir.”

In his lap, Astrid cuddled close, big blue eyes staring up at his while she said, “We met a girl who could do magic, like Mr. Fifi says he used to.”

If the world had tilted sideways before, now it spun out of control.

“Astrid,” Fenrir breathed, glancing up at Vera but she had already turned away, heating water in the kettle. “What do you mean she could do magic?”

“She could make fireballs in her hands. Mr. Fifi seemed really excited about it. Or…maybe he was angry? She ran off but he chased after her, and we followed them until he disappeared into the woods.”

“You were with Orpheus?” Again, he looked at Vera, and their eyes met this time, her nod of encouragement compelling him to ask, “Did you see anyone else? Anyone with the girl?”

“Some men followed him. One wore a cloak and his skin looked painted—”

“—Blue,” Roland chimed in. “He had blue skin, and he wasn’t big, he was huge.”

“Scary,” Astrid added, pressed into Fenrir’s side. He stroked her hair with his remaining hand.

“Were they all blue?” Because that could make all the difference. Going up against Daedra had almost killed him—if the whole lot of them were the same…

“No, just the big guy. Another was all scarred up, and the other was old. Even older than nan.”

“Excuse you, young man,” Vera snapped. “Your nan is no granny.”