“Ipurr.”
“Youhowl.”
Wesley cleared his throat, cheeks still faintly pink. “Can we not?”
“No,” all three of them said at once.
They wove together through the bustle, their odd little quartet slipping in and out of stalls. Oli couldn’t walk ten steps without someone congratulating him on his “victory for progress,” which he accepted as if he’d just slain a dragon instead of bribed three aldermen with coin and flattery. Selene bartered with every herb vendor they passed, muttering about Lydia Dross under her breath. Grim leapt from Maude’s shoulder to Wesley’s arm and back again like a tiny, furry diplomat.
Maude pretended to be annoyed. Secretly, she loved it.
At the edge of the square, children were rehearsing the next festival’s play. A tiny girl in a witch’s hat swung a wooden sword nearly her own height and shouted, “Back, foul baker!” at a boy in a flour-streaked apron costume.
Wesley froze, staring. Maude nearly choked on her coffee.
Oli doubled over. “Oh, this is art. This is social commentary.”
“Shut up,” Wesley said without heat, but his ears went pink.
Selene leaned in, stage-whispering, “You should ask them for pointers.”
Maude smirked up at him. “Foul baker.”
His eyes cut to hers, dark and heady. He leaned close enough that only she could hear. “Say it again, and I’ll show you just how wicked I can be.”
Heat curled through her. She shoved another bite of pastry into her mouth before her face could give her away.
At one stall, they bought honeycomb wrapped in paper, the sweetness sticking to their fingers. At another, Selene insisted on candied apples and Oli purchased a bag of roasted nuts and scattered them in Grim’s path, declaring him “the god of crunch.”
Grim accepted the offering with regal disdain.
It was warm. It was ridiculous. It was the kind of day Maude had convinced herself she wasn’t allowed to have.
By noon, they collapsed on the fountain steps, stomachs heavy with food, cider steam curling through the air, the four of them piled together in an arrangement that made no sense and somehow worked. Selene leaned against Oli, who insisted he didn’t mind her drooling on his sash. Grim stretched luxuriously across Maude’s lap, tail twitching every time Wesley’s hand strayed close.
The square buzzed around them—music, laughter, the smell of frying dough. And for once, Maude didn’t feel like the dark cloud hovering above it all. She felt…part of it.
Wesley caught her watching him. Not just looking—studying, like she couldn’t stop. His mouth curved, that quiet smile that undid her every time.
She looked away fast. “Your hair’s stupid.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely.
“Don’t agree with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Oli groaned. “Gods, you both are nauseating already.”
Selene smacked him with her apple stick. “Shut up. They’re cute.”
Maude flipped her hood up to hide the color in her cheeks. Wesley’s fingers brushed hers where their hands rested on the stone.
For a long moment, she let it sink in—Oli, smirking like he owned the entire village. Selene, laughing as she poked holes in his arrogance. Wesley, steadying the coffee in her hand before it tipped. Grim, grooming himself with indifference for the entire human race.
Her people. Somehow.
It wasn’t the picture she’d imagined. But it was the one she had. And, for once, she didn’t want to trade it.
