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And to her credit, doesn’t throw the book at my head.

“Well, well,” she says, dragging the words out like taffy. “If it isn’t the girl who vanished mid-bonfire and never called again.”

“Hi, Mira,” I say. My voice sounds small. I hate that.

She closes the book. Doesn’t smile. “You here for a potion or an apology?”

“Neither,” I say. “I need information.”

She barks out a laugh. “Still charming as ever. What kind of information?”

I pull the coin from my pocket and toss it on the counter. It lands with a wet clink. Mira looks at it. Then at me.

She doesn’t pick it up.

“That come out of Wrecker’s Bay?” she asks, voice suddenly serious.

I nod.

“You touched it?”

I nod again.

She sighs. Loud and annoyed. “Of course you did.”

“I didn’t exactly have a manual.”

“Well, you’ve got me now,” she mutters, reaching for the coin with a pair of iron tongs. She drops it onto a ceramic plate like it’s radioactive.

I watch her as she rifles through drawers, pulls out a magnifying glass, a bottle of salt, and—of course—a deck of tarot cards.

“I’m not here for a reading.”

“It’s not for you,” she says. “It’s for the energy.”

“The energy.”

“Don’t make that face. Just let me work.”

She lights a candle, sprinkles salt around the plate, and hums under her breath. It’s a lullaby. One I remember. Her nana used to sing it during storms.

“Still doing your cryptid blog?” I ask, just to fill the silence.

She snorts. “It’s a magical artifact vlog now. And yes, still monetized. Thank you very much.”

I smile to myself.

She doesn’t smile back.

After a minute, she sits down and stares at me. “This coin’s old. Older than the wreck. Maybe fae-forged. The symbol’s alchemical. Relic magic. Binding stuff.”

“What’s it binding?”

She hesitates. “You, maybe. Him.”

“Him?”

“The ghost. You saw him, didn’t you?”