Celeste didn’t text again, but that was okay. I could still feel the echo of her joy when Darren had surprised her. I could still see the way she glowed. And for once, I didn’t let fear edge it out.
“I think she’s okay,” I said aloud, more to myself than anyone.
Keegan nodded. “She’s strong. She’s got you in her.”
“And her dad,” I added. “He’s not magical, but he’s sneaky. She got that from him.”
Skye reached across the table and squeezed my hand once. “She’s a good one. She’ll make smart choices.”
I nodded, feeling it anchor in my chest.
The waitress cleared our plates, and dessert arrived, a pear tart with cream and cinnamon sugar. We dug in slowly, the kind of quiet that follows good food and meaningful conversation.
“I might never move again,” Skye murmured as she leaned back. “You’ll have to roll me to the cottage.”
“I’m not licensed for that kind of transport,” I said, smiling. “But I do have a wheelbarrow at the tea shop.”
She paused, tilting her head. “You joke, but that actually doesn’t surprise me.”
Keegan chuckled. “Let’s not give her any ideas. Maeve’s capable of more than you’d expect.”
I felt myself blush slightly but said nothing.
We lingered. Time slipped gently past. The restaurant emptied out around us until only two other tables remained. The windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside, a contrast to the crisp breeze just beyond the glass.
And then, I saw it.
My gaze wandered, unthinking, to the large front window.
At first, I thought it was a trick of the reflection, shadows cast by lamplight, and movement. But then the shape didn’t move. It didn’t blend with the people walking past or the play of lanterns dancing on cobblestones.
It stood still.
Outside the restaurant, across the street beneath the overhang of the old bookbindery, a figure watched.
No lantern near it flickered. No wind brushed back its hood. It wasn’t moving. It wasn’t blending.
It waswaiting.
I froze.
The sound of Skye’s laugh beside me dimmed. Keegan was saying something, but I couldn’t hear it.
My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.
It wasn’t just someone out for an evening walk. It wasn’t a student or a late-night reader leaving the bookstore.
It was watching. Focused. Entirely still.
And even across the street, I could feel the pressure of its gaze pin me in place.
Keegan noticed first. “Maeve?”
I didn’t answer. My throat had gone dry.
Skye turned to follow my gaze. “What are you—”
“I’ll be right back,” I said, standing slowly.
