I caught it—the quiet retreat. My mother, Selene, Zyrella, and Daevan slipped out the back of the stage, cloaked in shadow, unseen by the crowd still buzzing over my declaration. Gone as if they’d never been there.

But I’d seen them. And I knew what that meant.

Fallout.

The word curled hot and sour in my stomach. I’d just stolen a move off my mother’s own chessboard, and she would make me pay for it. Not here, not now, but later—behind closed doors where no one could see the cracks.

The knowledge should have chilled me. Instead, I realized with a start that I didn’t feel the cold anymore. Not from the Winter winds, not from the ice beneath my boots. My body hummed too high, every nerve on fire. My hands twitched at my sides, stimming wild—nails scraping my palms, thumb rolling over the ridge of my knuckle, then back again.

I turned to Cassie. Her icy-blue eyes locked on mine, and for a moment the noise of the Revel dulled to a distant thrum. She saw me—too much, maybe. Saw right through to the messy, blazing, terrified part.

“I like you,” I blurted, heat roaring up my cheeks. My mouth went dry, words tumbling faster than I could catch them. “And… I think I might’ve just accidentally done more than make us girlfriends. I might’ve just… made us bound.”

Cassie blinked, breath catching. “Bound how?”

I gulped, mortified, my voice cracking. “Married.”

Her eyes widened—just for a heartbeat. She glanced at the crown, at the Small Folk still fading into snow, then back at me. I watched the realization flicker across her face, the holy shit of it, the calculation. Her jaw tightened, a breath in, out—processing.

Then she leaned closer, steadier than I deserved. “Whatever just happened, Firebrand,” she said softly, fiercely, “we’ll deal with it together.”

Something in me unknotted. I thought about the heroines in my romantasies—the ones who found strength in love they weren’t supposed to have—and for once, I let myself smile without shame. “Together, then,” I whispered.

Naomi’s voice cut through the moment. “Gods, the two of you are insufferable already.”

Kess barked a laugh, looping her arm through Naomi’s despite the glare it earned her. “Oh, hush. They’re adorable. Honestly, for a mortal, she’s not half bad.”

Cassie grinned, cheeks pink. “Not half bad?”

“High praise,” Naomi deadpanned.

Their banter pulled me back from the edge, grounding me in something almost normal. My stims were still firing—fingers tugging the hem of my sleeve, jaw clenching, unclenching—but Cassie stayed close, her thumb brushing over my hand whenever she caught me spiraling too hard.

Eventually, the veilribbons faded, the lanterns burned lower, and the Revel thinned to stragglers and drunks. Even crowned princesses—queens, apparently—weren’t immune to Dominveil’s curfews.

I turned to Cassie, nerves sparking all over again. “Well,” I said, blushing so hot I could’ve sworn steam hissed in the cold air, “since you’re my consort now, would you… do me the honor of staying the night? I mean—I’m going to have fallout when I get home, I know it. But it’ll be easier with you there. And—” my voice dropped to almost nothing—“I just want to spend as much time with you as possible.”

Cassie’s answering blush matched mine. “You’re impossible,” she said, but her smile was radiant as she pulled out her phone. She called her mom right there, telling her she was staying with me tonight so there’d be no surprise visits.

We said our goodbyes to Naomi and Kess—Kess winking, Naomi rolling her eyes but smirking all the same—and slipped into the waiting carriage.

For half a heartbeat, I considered telling the driver to take us to my dad’s instead. Safer, easier, warmer. But no. That would just make things worse later.

If I was going to play at big-girl politics, if I wanted the power I’d just seized tonight, I had to face the consequences head-on.

So I gave the order.

“To my mother’s estate.”

The horses surged forward, carrying me straight toward the firestorm I’d lit with my own hands.

Cassie slid closer on the bench, her shoulder pressed to mine. I hadn’t realized I was bouncing my knee until her hand settled there, steady, grounding, quieting the restless motion without forcing it. My breath hitched, then softened when she leaned her head against mine.

And then she shifted, fumbling with something in her coat pocket. To my shock, she pulled out the stuffed otter I’d won her earlier, hugging it against her chest before setting it between us like a tiny, smug chaperone. “Couldn’t leave him behind,” she whispered, and the sight of her holding it nearly undid me all over again.

But then she pressed something else into my hands—a small velvet-wrapped box. “I was going to wait until later,” she murmured, “but after… everything, it feels like now’s the right time.”

The ribbon shimmered like frostlit flame. My fingers shook as I untied it, the box creaking open to reveal a locket—Veilforged glass, inside it a tiny drop of firelight. My firelight. Bottled, protected, flickering faintly like a heartbeat.

A note was tucked beneath it, Cassie’s handwriting sharp and deliberate:

In case you ever forget how warm you make me feel. –C

My throat closed. My stims went wild—thumb worrying the chain, nails scraping at the ridges of the clasp—until Cassie gently took my hands, steadying them. “It’s yours,” she said simply.

I swallowed hard, sliding the chain over my head. The locket settled against my collarbone, pulsing faintly with my own spark, amplified by her care.

For a few stolen minutes, the world outside didn’t matter. Not my mother’s fury, not Daevan’s glare, not Zyrella’s venom. Just Cassie, warm against me, her scent a cool citrus-tinged balm threading through the smoke of my nerves.

I let myself lean back, let myself be held.

If the night was going to end in flames, then at least—for now—I wasn’t walking into the firestorm alone.

The Winter Court carriage rattled to a halt before the Emberhall gates, snow hissing into steam against the wards. My pulse thrummed in my ears. I glanced at Cassie and found her watching me, her icy eyes softer than they had any right to be. My chest tightened. Still here. Still mine.

“Together then,” I whispered again, a shaky echo of the vow I’d made in front of all Dominveil.

Her fingers slid into mine, warm and sure. The otter was still squished between us, ridiculous and perfect. For a moment, that was enough.

We stepped out onto the drive. From the street, Emberhall looked like any other estate blanketed in snow—cold marble, wrought-iron balconies laced in frost. But as soon as Cassie’s glamour shattered in the threshold, she gasped. I felt it ripple through her—the sudden warmth, the weightless air of midsummer. The estate hummed with life even under Winter’s bite, scents of honeysuckle and sunwarmed stone flooding the air. Cicadas whispered somewhere deep in the enchanted gardens. My skin prickled, heat rolling across me, familiar and suffocating all at once.

I caught myself cataloguing every detail—the golden light spilling through frosted glass, the tang of cedar smoke and resin in the air, the faintly sweet echo of my mother’s wards humming through the walls. Even the pressure of Cassie’s soft hand in mine, her scarf still knotted at my throat. A desperate thought sank claws into my chest: what if this was the last time I smelled summer air, or felt her like this? My mother was going to kill me. Maybe not with flame or blade, but with something worse—her silence, her schemes. Her disappointment.

My nails bit crescents into my palms. My thumb rolled hard over the ridge of my knuckle. Faster, sharper, until Cassie’s hand squeezed mine—grounding, steady. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.

“Time to put on our big girl panties,” I muttered, my voice cracking into something too thin to be brave. With a breath that burned all the way down, I shoved the great doors open.

Heat and gold rushed over us like a tide. The Emberhall foyer loomed ahead, soaring and sunlit despite the hour, its marble floors gleaming like liquid fire beneath glass orbs that pulsed with Summer magic.

And there they were. Waiting.

Mother stood at the center, straight-backed and cold-eyed, a silhouette of molten gold wrapped in authority. Selene lingered a half-step behind her, every inch composed, her amber gaze steady but unreadable.

And Zyrella.

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Of course she was here. Of course my cousin, thorn-blooded and venom-tongued, would be waiting for the spectacle. She stood poised near the balustrade, one hand tracing the cursed ivy twined at her throat, amber eyes glittering with anticipation.

I froze in the doorway, every nerve screaming. Three of them. Mother, Selene, Zyrella. Judges at my execution.

My stims went haywire. Jaw clenched, unclenched, fingers twitching against Cassie’s grip. My knee bounced so hard the sound echoed off marble. Cassie slid a step closer, her shoulder brushing mine, her thumb stroking once across the back of my hand. A quiet tether. A reminder not to unravel.

But gods, I already was.

The silence stretched, a taut string ready to snap. Mother didn’t move. Selene didn’t breathe. Both of them assessing, calculating. Which meant only one thing—

Zyrella would strike first.

She stepped forward, skirts whispering across the marble like snakes through grass. Her hand toyed with the cursed ivy at her throat, fingers brushing the flame-thorn as though the pain fed her. Her eyes—bright amber, sharp as glass—cut into me.

“Well.” The word curled like smoke. “If it isn’t our little Cinderborn.”

My stomach knotted. Heat flared in my cheeks, and I forced myself not to flinch, not to look away. My jaw clicked tight as my thumb rolled so hard over my knuckle it stung.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, cousin. Playing at politics, parading in a crown, pretending you’re one of us. But no matter how you paint it, half-blood, you are not Flameborn. You’re a cinder spark. Ash. A mistake smudged onto our line. And tonight you’ve proven exactly what you are—a womb to be bargained, not a player in the game.”

The words landed like daggers, sharp enough to draw blood if I let them.

My breath stuttered. My heart was a trapped bird against my ribs. And still—my magic throbbed under my skin, heat pressing against my palms like it wanted out.

Before I could snap, Cassie shifted. Half a step forward. A wall of honey-blonde hair and steel-blue eyes, a shield placed between me and Zyrella so subtle it might have been instinct.

“Funny,” Cassie said, her voice cool as citrus zest, her smile cutting. “Because from where I was standing, Mira just outmaneuvered half the Summer Court while you stood on the sidelines preening. If being ‘true Flameborn’ means being irrelevant, then maybe she’s better off as a Cinderborn.”

Her gaze swept Zyrella once, deliberate. “And if irrelevance is hereditary, at least it won’t be contagious.”

The air went still. Cassie’s scent hit sharper now—frosted citrus and white camellia, steadying me, layering against the sweet-burn of Zyrella’s jasmine.

I couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped from my throat. It was too sharp, too brittle, but it was mine.

“Careful, Zyrella,” I said, my voice low, carrying farther than I intended. “If I’m nothing but ash, what does it say that ash just outmaneuvered the rest of you?”

Her eyes narrowed. The cursed ivy at her throat pulsed faintly, leaves twitching like they wanted to strike.

I held her gaze anyway. My knee bounced, my thumb tore at my nail, and Cassie’s pinky hooked mine to still the tremor. Gods, she always noticed. Always steadied me.

And in that fragile, searing moment—I didn’t feel small. I didn’t feel like ash.

I felt like fire. Heat prickled up my arms, the faintest spark dancing along my fingertips before it guttered out. Even here. Even now.

The silence stretched like a blade. My heart thudded too loud in my ears, my knee bouncing again until Cassie’s hand pressed against it—quiet, grounding pressure that made the tremor stall.

Zyrella’s lips curved in a cruel smile, as if she thought she’d won. As if every venom-dripped word had sunk into my skin and stayed there.

But then Selene spoke.

“Enough.”

One word. Calm. Commanding. It cut through the air sharper than any shout.

She stepped forward, the light from the sconces catching in her hair like it was spun from sunlight itself. Her scent reached me first—warm honey and resin, grounding and steady—and for a moment, I almost sagged against it like I used to when I was small and she tucked me in after nightmares.

Selene’s gaze landed on Zyrella, unflinching, gold eyes lit with flecks of fire. “Cinderborn or not, my sister just outmaneuvered both courts. At seventeen. Without a war-council whispering in her ear.” She let the words hang, deliberate, weighty. “You don’t have to like her. But you will respect what she’s done. Because none of us—including you, Zyrella—have accomplished the same at her age.”

The floor seemed to tilt. My throat tightened, heat burning behind my eyes. Selene never—never—took my side in public.

Zyrella stiffened, ivy at her throat shivering faintly as if it shared her outrage. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Selene’s gaze pinned her in place like sunlight burning through ivy vines.

I wanted to look down, hide the flush rising in my cheeks, but I forced myself to meet Selene’s eyes instead. She gave the barest nod, almost imperceptible, before turning away as if the matter was closed.

And just like that, the game shifted.

The silence that followed wasn’t mine or Zyrella’s to fill. It belonged to Mother.

Her eyes had been on me the whole time. Measuring. Calculating. Waiting.

The warmth of cedar and clove sharpened in the air—Seara’s scent, moving closer.

The board was reset. And now it was her move.

The silence cracked like glass.

Mother finally moved.

Her gown whispered as she descended from the top stair, every step measured, deliberate, like a predator closing in. Her scent hit first—amber resin, clove, cedar—thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore. My chest locked tight. I forced my fingers to stop twisting the hem of my sleeve, only for them to start drumming against my thigh instead. Cassie’s hand brushed mine, grounding, but it didn’t slow my pulse.

“Reckless.” Her voice was a lash. “Impulsive. Shortsighted.”

Each word landed heavy, dragging heat into my cheeks. I couldn’t look away.

Her gaze fell on the necklace pulsing faintly against my throat—the bond that tied me to Cassie. She let her fingers ghost the locket, brushing the Veilforged glass as if testing the heat of a forge. Firelight caught in her eyes. For a heartbeat, I thought she might burn me where I stood.

Instead, her lips curved. Not in kindness. In something far sharper.

“And yet—effective.”

The air shifted.

Her steps carried her closer until I could feel her heat like a furnace. “Tell me, child—was this your plan? To throw away a court alliance? To spit in the face of the Autumn heir in front of half the realms?”

My throat worked. The words rasped out small. “I… I couldn’t let him—”

“You couldn’t let him what?” she snapped, eyes narrowing.

“Take me,” I whispered, my knee bouncing so hard Cassie’s hand slid down, pressing firmly to still it. My heart slammed so violently against my ribs I thought she must hear it.

“And so you gave yourself away to this?” Her gaze slashed toward Cassie like a blade before cutting back to me. “Is that the choice you made? In full view of every rival, every whispering tongue?”

My stomach knotted. “Yes.”

“Do you even understand what you’ve done?” Her scent flared hotter—clove and smoke until my lungs burned.

I tried to hold her stare. My nails dug crescents into my palms, my shoulders squaring against the heat. “I—I declared myself.”

“And in so doing,” she pressed, voice dropping like coals into silence, “you humiliated Daevan. You humiliated me. You placed a mortal in our halls as your consort. You shattered an alliance years in the weaving. Tell me, Mira—are you prepared to bear the enemies you’ve just made?”

The walls pressed closer. My mouth moved anyway. “Yes.”

Her eyes sharpened. She studied me for a long, searing moment, the weight of her scrutiny unbearable.

And then—so faint I almost doubted it—something burned behind her gaze. Not just rage. Pride.

“Then so be it,” she said at last, mask sliding back into place. Her voice carried the finality of judgment, of consequence. “You seized the board, girl. Now keep it.”

The words hung, heavy and irreversible.

Zyrella’s sharp inhale cut through the silence. I risked a glance and found her lips pressed thin, eyes molten with disbelief. She was seething—how dare Mother speak of me with anything resembling respect. Her hand twitched toward the cursed ivy coiled at her throat, fingers worrying the thorns as though she might draw blood to keep from lashing out.

Selene stood like a statue, unreadable in the gilded light. But when my eyes met hers, just for a flicker, I caught it—the barest softening at the corners of her mouth. Pride. Pride she’d never voice aloud in front of Mother or Zyrella, but there all the same, warm as sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Cassie’s hand was still firm over mine, steady, unyielding. Her citrus-cool scent pushed against the heat of the room, reminding me that, for the first time, I hadn’t faced this furnace alone.

Mother’s gaze didn’t soften. If anything, the pride I thought I glimpsed only sharpened her voice to a blade’s edge.

“Do you think this game ends with tonight?” she pressed. “The Autumn Court will howl for blood. Daevan will not forgive. His mother will not forgive. And you—” her finger lifted, poised like a dagger— “you are seventeen. You are not ready for the weight of this war you’ve declared.”

The words slammed into me, each one heavier than the last. My chest felt like it was caving in.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came. The weight of her fury pressed me silent.

Then—Cassie moved.

Half a step forward. Enough to put herself between me and the High Lady of the Summer Court. The gesture was reckless, stupid, suicidal—but gods, it was hers.

“Maybe she isn’t ready,” Cassie said, voice cool, deliberate. Her scent cut through the heat of the room—icy citrus and steel. “But she wasn’t wrong. She chose herself, and she chose me. You can call it reckless, you can call it shortsighted, but don’t pretend it wasn’t brave.”

The air stilled.

Cassie didn’t stop. “If she’s ash, then maybe ash burns hotter than you expected.”

My breath caught. Every muscle in me screamed to reach for her, to pull her back before Mother burned her alive. My fingers twitched at my side, frantic, desperate, but frozen.

Seara’s eyes narrowed, molten gold catching the firelight like liquid sun. For a heartbeat, I swore I saw flames dancing along her lashes.

And then—unexpectedly—she smiled. Not with warmth. With curiosity.

“Bold,” she murmured. The word wasn’t mockery, wasn’t praise. It was… an assessment. She tilted her head, studying Cassie as though cataloguing her. “This mortal has teeth.”

Cassie didn’t flinch. She only lifted her chin higher, shoulders squared, her hand brushing mine once more—light, steady, telling me without words: I’m not moving.

Mother’s eyes flicked between us, calculation sparking behind her amber glare. And though her expression smoothed back into unreadable calm, I knew one thing with chilling certainty.

Cassie Fairborn was no longer invisible to her. She was on the board now.

Mother let the silence stretch until it burned. Her gaze lingered on Cassie for one last heartbeat, then slid back to me. The weight of it nearly buckled my knees.

Finally, she exhaled—slow, measured, like smoke drifting from embers.

“Do not mistake this moment for victory,” she said. Her voice was softer now, but no less dangerous. “You think yourself clever, Mira. But cleverness can only carry you so far. Fire consumes as easily as it warms—and if you cannot master it, it will turn on you.”

The words scalded down my spine. My knee bounced, restless, jittering against the marble until Cassie’s hand found mine and pressed, steadying, her cool citrus cutting through the heat in the air.

Mother’s gaze didn’t miss it. Her mouth curved, not with amusement— with knowing. “You’ve stepped into the game, child. You may have won a move tonight. But the board is vast, and the players older and hungrier than you can imagine. Every choice you make from this night forward will ripple. Every misstep will bleed.”

Her skirts flared as she turned, her back a blaze of crimson silk and molten gold. “You will go upstairs. You will keep your mortal close and out of sight until I decide what is to be done with her. And you will remember this: respect is not given freely, even to daughters. It is earned—and clawed from the ash when the flames burn high.”

Dismissal. Final and absolute.

My throat closed. I wanted to speak, to spit something back, to demand she see me, but the words tangled sharp and useless in my chest. My nails dug crescents so deep into my palm I’d have marks for hours.

Cassie leaned closer, her shoulder brushing mine—an anchor.

I swallowed hard. The terror still coiled in me, but under it, a spark smoldered. Small, fragile, but real.

She hadn’t denied me. She hadn’t cast me aside.

She had named me a player.

And for the first time in my life, I thought maybe I believed it.

Mother’s eyes lingered a moment longer, unreadable, before she finally flicked her hand in dismissal.

“Upstairs,” she said. “Both of you. Emberhall will see you settled.”

The weight in the foyer eased—just slightly. I grabbed Cassie’s hand, gripping tighter than I meant to, and together we climbed the sweeping staircase under the watch of three pairs of eyes: Selene’s steady, Zyrella’s burning, Mother’s calculating.

Only when the landing curved and their gazes fell away did I let out the breath I’d been holding. My pulse still thudded in my throat, raw and ragged.

We reached my suite—and stopped.

Something was different.

The door, once a familiar boundary, hummed faintly beneath my palm. When I pushed it open, the change was immediate: walls stretched where they hadn’t before, space unfolding with quiet, deliberate grace. The en suite bathroom no longer ended in marble and mirrors—it bled into another chamber, a second suite woven seamlessly into the first.

Cassie’s eyes widened. “Uh… Mira?”

The air carried the scent of cedar and sun-warmed stone, as if the very bones of the house had been burned and reforged. Emberhall was alive to my mother’s will. To mine, too, when it allowed it. And this… this was no accident.

An adjoining room. A space for her.

A cage disguised as a gift. A gift disguised as a cage.

The message coiled sharp and clear: I cannot stop your choice, but it will happen on my terms. Under my roof. Within my rules.

My throat tightened. I traced the new doorway with my fingertips, the wood still warm, as if it had only just been shaped into being.

Cassie slipped her hand into mine, steady, grounding. “Guess I have a room now,” she said softly, half-wary, half-wondering.

I didn’t answer. I only stood there, staring at the threshold, knowing it was both a claim and a chain.

We hadn’t even had time to cross the threshold when her voice curled through the air, velvet and flame.

Mother.

She leaned against the doorframe, the golden light of Emberhall catching in her hair, her smile all edges and smoke.

“You may have played the game well tonight, daughter,” she said, amber eyes raking over the two of us, “but every move has its consequences.”

The air thickened, pressing against my skin. My knee jittered once before Cassie’s hand brushed mine, a steady anchor.

“You may have a consort now, and she has a room adjoining yours.” Mother’s grin sharpened. “But this is still my house. My kingdom. And in my Summer halls, the doors will remain open until Emberhall itself accepts her.”

Heat flared in the air—wards thrumming, settling like invisible chains across the thresholds. I felt them buzz in my teeth, alive and watchful.

“If you share a bed,” she added, voice low, rich, amused, “there will be no funny business under my roof.”

My stomach dropped. My face burned. Every instinct screamed to shrink, to fold inward, to vanish. I forced myself still, even as my nails dug crescents into my palm.

Cassie didn’t flinch. She only squeezed my hand, her icy-citrus scent cutting through the heavy heat like fresh air. Her chin tipped in that subtle way of hers—defiance, promise, rebellion all in one gesture.

Mother’s gaze lingered a moment longer, wicked and knowing, before she finally turned, the whisper of her gown trailing like smoke as she vanished down the hall.

The wards hummed once, final and absolute.

I exhaled shakily. Cassie’s thumb traced a soothing line across my knuckles, quiet as her eyes caught mine, and the promise there burned brighter than any flame.

The hall still thrummed with Mother’s decree long after she left, the wards humming low through the bones of Emberhall. I couldn’t block them out. Couldn’t block out anything.

My knee started bouncing so fast it rattled against the polished floor. Cassie’s hand slid over mine, thumb pressing across my knuckles in that steady way of hers. The sharp, clean brightness of her scent cut through the heavy air, citrus and steel pressing back against smoke and clove. “Breathe, Mira,” she murmured.

I did. Shaky. But I did.

Inside my suite, Emberhall had rearranged itself. The bathroom arch had grown into a second doorway—leading not to tiled walls, but to a small chamber beyond. Cassie’s chamber. Her space, conjured by my mother’s will.

Magic still shimmered faintly in the air—honey, resin, faint spice—and the locket at my throat pulsed warm against my palm, echoing it.

We were quiet as we undid the day. My fingers fumbled over the clasps of my gown until Cassie stepped behind me. Her touch was careful, barely brushing my shoulder as she worked them loose, but my whole body went hot with awareness. The silk slid free, sighing against my skin before pooling at my feet. I rushed into a nightdress, cheeks burning, pretending I hadn’t noticed the way her gaze lingered.

Emberhall had conjured clothes for her, too. She tugged on a simple shirt and shorts, unbothered, so effortlessly herself. Even here. Even under my mother’s rules.

And then—the choice.

Her bed beyond the new door. Mine only steps away.

Cassie stood, fingers hooked in her shirt hem. “Do you want me to…?” Her chin tipped toward her room, though her eyes never left mine.

“No.” The word scraped raw. I swallowed, then stumbled over it again. “I mean—stay. If you want. With me.”

Silence stretched. My knee jittered harder, sheets twisting between my hands.

Cassie crossed the room, touched my cheek—light, grounding. “Of course I want to.” And for one heartbeat, I saw it: her choosing me over the gilded cage Emberhall had built.

Her scent wrapped around me—citrus, frost, sharp and heady—and it was too much, too close, too good.

We climbed into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, Emberhall’s faint hum beneath it all. At first we lay apart, side by side, staring into the dark. I counted the tiny sounds: the rustle of fabric, the shift of blankets, the faint rhythm of Cassie’s breath. My chest rose too fast, too shallow. I thought I’d never stop shaking.

Until her hand slid across the space between us, finding mine. Fingers threading steady, warm, sure.

I turned toward her, just enough that her breath brushed soft against my temple. “Together,” she whispered.

The locket flared faintly against my chest, answering.

Slowly, my breathing matched hers. One beat, then another. The fear uncurled, just enough to let me feel the warmth seeping from her body into mine.

At some point, we shifted closer. My arm curved across her waist, hers slipping around me in turn. And between us—squashed and ridiculous but impossibly precious—the enchanted otter plush ended up clutched against Cassie’s chest, its ribbon glowing faintly in the dark. Its soft purr filled the quiet, a charm-thread heartbeat syncing to ours.

We fit like that—spooned together beneath Emberhall’s wards, her body a shield against the world, her heartbeat steady against my back, the otter’s warmth pressed between us like a secret we both refused to let go.

My eyes drifted shut, the scent of her citrus-threaded warmth pulling me down. For the first time all night, I let go.

And then, just as sleep dragged me under, Cassie’s lips brushed my hair, her voice a whisper only the locket—and maybe the otter—heard.

“Goodnight, firefly.”