~~ETHAN WILDER~~Months had slipped by like water through fingers, slow and quiet in a way none of us had dared to hope for. The estate garden had become our little sanctuary not the cold fortress it used to feel like, but something warmer, lived-in. Jasmine climbed the old stone walls, and someone (probably Freckles) had strung fairy lights through the branches of the big oak tree. They glowed soft gold against the evening sky, turning the whole place into something out of a dream we didn’t deserve.A small group had gathered. Not a crowd, never a crowd. Just the ones who had bled with us. Damian sat in a cushioned chair near the fountain, looking more like himself than he had in years, still scarred, still watchful, but the circle under his eyes had faded. My father, Marcus, was beside him, clearer now. The new doctors and the quiet routines had brought pieces of him back. Not the whole man, but enough that he could laugh at one of Damian’s old stories and mean it.Freckles lean
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