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“I’m actually volunteering at the Refuge as well. We’re on a rotational basis till the permanent staff is fully in place, so we all pitch in. Councilwoman Crowhart, most of the Crowhart family, too, Pru Fowler. Even the mayor, who has spoken highly of your cooking. Ever since she told me about your cod, I have been itching to get to the Tavern to try it.”

If Lark had been dumbfounded before, she was decidedly astonished now.

“I’m sorry… I… I don’t know what to say.”

The building seemed to close around her, not like a fist but like an embrace, and Lark forgot how to breathe.

This was where people came after being abused. This was where they sought help. This was where she’d have ended up if she’d ever⁠—

Lark’s brain refused to stop, thoughts unspooling, memories invading her vision one by one. All fear, all horror, all pain. All hers.

She gritted her teeth, probably loud enough for Sam to hear, but Sam said nothing, just waited a beat before pointing toward one of the hallways and leading the way. Lark followed despite her instincts screaming at her to get out of there. She could hear voices, female voices all around herself, coming from behind closed doors and cheery yellow walls. She had not expected the place to be cheerful. Or loud.

Truthfully, she’d expected a morgue. For herself. For her broken body and desiccated heart. Instead, the hallways opened before her, not like a gaping wound at all.

“Mayor Allende had a leading group of experts from both Europe and the US consult on the building. And the women—and some of the men—of Dragons were all involved. Everyone who needed a refuge.”

Sam spoke steadily, her voice carrying a note of authority and yet utter calmness. Lark gave her a sideways glance.

“You said you are a volunteer?”

Sam nodded.

“I’m a teacher at Dragons. The boarding school.” Sam motioned upward with her hand, and Lark nodded. You couldn’t live on the island and not know about the massive Gothic building that sprawled along the very top of the cliffs, which housed the Dragons School for Girls. Sam smiled at her, the gesture holding so much understanding, and went on speaking. “I teach math, though I have to say it has always been a toss-up between math and English for me, so I volunteer here mostly by giving classes. Some of our beneficiaries need help learning to read and write and their children, for those who are here accompanied, deserve to have learning opportunities. Most were enrolled in the town’s public school, but there are some who weren’t. And here at the Refuge I get the chance to help them with whatever literacy needs they might have.”

Lark felt every word as a blow to her sternum. Literacy. Schooling. Broken lives of children getting second chances.

“Councilwoman Crowhart said you have many skills. That you help her with office management and record-keeping? We could use that here since we have so much data to handle, schedules to maintain. I know that position would come with the need to take training on handling personally identifiable information but you’d breeze through it, I’m certain. Also, I assume you could help with the cooking classes? The beneficiaries can cook for themselves, as we have all the necessities for that here in the pantry. It’s the model adopted for the Refuge. And while the Tavern regularly delivers full meals—Victoria is very generous with her support— the beneficiaries still cook and take care of their families themselves. However, some of the women are very young, were married off early, as teenagers, and they have not yet developed the necessary skills…”

Sam visibly stumbled over what to say next, and Lark felt all the oxygen leave the spacious hallway. The cheery yellow of the walls turned into rust. The sounds and whispers became screams. Lark trembled. Sam’s hand on her forearm made her flinch. It disappeared as unobtrusively as it had come.

“I’m sorry. You’ve gone pale and quiet, I… I’m sorry.”

It was the distress on Sam’s face that snapped Lark out of her trance, of her memories.

“No, no. I’m the one who’s… I’m sorry. I’m just a little… I’m sorry. I’m new. On the island, in town. Everything is…” She trailed off, trying and realizing she was failing spectacularly to give Sam a semblance of a smile.

But Sam smiled back, that easy, open smile, and Lark was once again reminded that such people existed. People whose smile reached their eyes. People who put their heart into it. Like Sam. Like Seren.

She almost stumbled, her foot catching on the soft carpet, righting herself at the last moment. Sam reached for her but did not touch her this time, perhaps mindful of Lark’s earlier reaction.

“I’m okay, I’m all right, sorry.” Lark took a deep breath and rolled her eyes at herself. She needed to stop hearing her mother’s voice in her head telling her to get her act together or⁠—

Within these walls, her mother’s voice sounded dull and distant for some reason. A ray of sunshine reached down from the tall skylight, and she felt it tangle in her choppy bangs. In the distance, the ocean foamed and sparkled.

Seren.

Lark felt foolish all over. She really needed to get her head examined. And maybe stop thinking of Seren every time she looked at the ocean. All these daydreams about the quiet, good-natured Crowhart would not do. And in any case, she had things to do. Things that did not involve the Captain of the Fire Brigade.

The woman rattled her. Lark decided that was the correct verb to describe her feelings for the second-youngest Crowhart. And yet deep down, had it been rattling after all? The ever-present smirk. The sea-colored eyes. The tattoos that peeked from under flannel sleeves and made Lark want to touch them, to trace them.

Lark had no point of reference for what she was feeling or even thinking when it came to Seren. She pushed the thoughts, the feelings away and focused on the walls around her: bright, sunshine yellow somehow watchful without being oppressive. The color made her instantly comfortable again. No edge to it. No sharp and jagged ending. Just peace.

Sam was watching her with the curious expression of someone used to patience, used to seeing lost people find themselves. Lark had no idea why that thought even crossed her mind. Sam was tranquility personified. She’d met the woman ten minutes ago, and yet this tall, calm stranger, who should have been intimidating, had set her at ease with her mere presence.

“I swear I’m not usually so out of it,” Lark finally said by way of another apology.

Sam’s face remained just as patient, just as kind.