Lesha’s voice comes through the intercom, brisk again. “A call for you from Agent Harris.”
Shock jolts through me. I haven’t heard that name in years, not since she approached me and helped lay the groundwork forthis nonprofit idea. My pulse kicks faster as I answer, “Patch her through.”
“Briar,” Agent Harris’s clipped voice filters through the line, as short and precise as I remember. “Just checking in. Two years in, and I hear your program’s waitlist has doubled already.”
A smile curls my lips. “Tripled, actually. Word travels fast when there’s finally a safe bridge between our realms.”
She makes a satisfied sound, the kind of quiet approval that still carries weight. “I knew you’d make something of it.”
We debrief for a few minutes about funding allocations, the idea of a new branch opening in Chicago, and a handful of problematic cases that need review. It’s all standard and entirely efficient, but when the silence lingers at the end, my curiosity takes over.
There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask her for a long time.
“Agent Harris,” I murmur, leaning back in my chair, “I’ve always wondered…how did you know I wanted this? Back then, after Terrance and the hunter network fell. How did you know I’d want to study in the human realm? To go to NYU, and to build a non-profit like this?”
Her answer comes without hesitation, as if she’s been waiting years for me to ask. “Because they told me.”
My breath hitches. “They?”
“Elias, Callum, and Dante.” Her tone softens in a way I’ve never heard from her. “When we met to exchange intel to formulate that plan to take down the hunters, they were very clear in what they wanted in exchange. They said you needed a chance at college, at a life on your own terms, and demanded we put security on you as the rest of the network was dismantled. They wanted you to have everything–we only had to listen and oblige.”
My throat tightens as Agent Harris continues.
“You already had your acceptance to NYU’s exchange program. They made sure I knew that too. Honestly?” A rare laugh slips through her words. “They’re very persuasive men. Persuasive, and entirely devoted to you.”
I can only manage a soft sound that’s half a laugh, half a sigh. “Yes. They are.”
“And after meeting you and hearing your story,” she adds thoughtfully, “I knew your heart instantly, and I knew that you’d be the perfect person to help us with this. You’ve grown the program beyond our wildest dreams. Thank you.”
When the call ends, I sit for a long moment with the dial tone still buzzing faintly in my ear.
Six years with them already.
Six years of shared coffee and midnight study sessions, of arguments over laundry and making up against our loft walls. Of waking every morning tangled between the three of them and remembering I’m still alive. Still theirs. Still me.
Six years of learning who we are outside the shadows of our past.
There were mornings that smelled like burnt toast and coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Afternoons that meant stolen naps across textbooks, sunlight spilling through wide windows as I listened to their breathing around me and let myself believe in our safety. Nights that were louder with arguments over music options, over whether Dante reallyneededthree different planners, over how many times Elias could burn rice before we banned him from the kitchen altogether.
There were softer nights too…of me tracing the scars across Dante’s back when he was asleep, Elias pressing his forehead to mine after listening to new lyrics he composed, and Callum laughing so hard he nearly fell off the couch when I managed to beat him at a video game.
We healed in pieces, each moment a stitch, until the wounds we carried from the compound and Terrance weren’t open anymore, only faded, jagged lines we could live with.
And through it all, we grew. We learned how to argue without breaking down, how to lean on each other without feeling like a burden. We learned what it meant to love, not just on the easy days, but on the hard ones when it’s a choice.
Looking back, I wouldn’t trade a single second.
By the time I come back to the present, my computer is lit up and pinging with reminders. Lesha diverts a call to me, and then another. And another.
I fall into the rhythm without complaint, taking the calls the four of us usually split. My voice remains confident and steady as I field questions about funding allocations, reviewing partnership contracts, and soothe concerns from nervous parents in two different realms. Between them, I fire off replies to a half-dozen urgent emails and drag Agent Harris’s latest files into a fresh folder to review.
Chicago. The second branch and another step forward.
At some point my hand drifts to the portal ring on my finger, spinning it absently while I skim through the file. The thought of splitting myself between New York and Chicago makes my stomach dip, but the weight of the ring steadies me. We always knew taking this on would stretch us thin.
But when I look at the procedures we’ve put in place for the huge list of colleges wanting to offer exchange programs–drafts of new admission guidelines for magical students to apply to human colleges, new lists of academic requirements, dietary protocols for shifter metabolisms and vampire nutrition, boarding accommodations for our students–I can’t help the smile curving my lips.
This is the work that matters. Work that ensures no one crosses our veil into either realm lost and terrified the way I oncedid. Work that makes people feel like theybelongsomewhere possible.
