The ice of the Corban Ice Arena was a pristine, sacred white. It was closed to the public, the silence broken only by the soft scrape of their skates. Reed and Laken moved together in the center of the rink, a slow, gentle waltz. It was their sanctuary, the place where their story had truly begun. Liza, now a poised eight-year-old, sat on the sidelines with Harold and Elena, her little skates dangling, the phoenix feather tucked safely in her pocket.

“Do you remember,” Laken ...