The boy version of Wren had barely faded away before a knock came from the other side of the closed shrine door. Just three taps, perfectly measured and at a volume that was neither obtrusive nor uncertain.
Rowan caught his brother's eyes, and a fresh worry lodged in his stomach. Alaric's shoulders were still straight, but the tension carved into his brow told Rowan the illusion was beginning to grind away at his composure.
As much as Rowan wanted to help Wren in this moment, they needed to get out of there, not just for Mara, but for Alaric, too.
The knock came again, gentle yet persistent, as if the person doing the knocking had every expectation of someone opening the door.
Just as Rowan took a step toward Alaric to attempt to leave again, a soft sigh behind them drew both of their attention. Yet another version of Wren sat on the floor in the corner. His forehead rested on his bent knees the way it always did when he wanted to hide.
