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LEVI THREE WEEKS LATER I sit beside my uncle on the leather sofa in my office while my boys stand behind us with the stance of rookie soldiers. Or Bran does. Lan has been exuding the type of destructive energy that gets people killed. All four of us are staring at the person who’s sitting in the chair across from us. Despite having a plaster cast covering his right arm, he still looks nonchalantly presentable in dark trousers and a button-down. His hair is styled, his expression resembles a wise monk’s, and he has all the indications to pass as a respectable human. But I know better. I never thought there would be a day when I’d be talking to the guy who’s sleeping with my daughter. Scratch that, I’ve thought of it ever since Astrid and I learned we were expecting a baby girl, and the image always, without doubt, blurred my vision. Is it too late to ask some witch to take us back in time so my daughter can remain forever young? Because I’m having a hard time coming to terms with this.