I nodded, knowing we all had responsibilities.
The shop’s familiar sounds tried to knit themselves around us: the clink of china, the soft whirr of the old ceiling fan, the crackle of the tiny fireplace in the corner. Outside, the village moved on. Inside, we sat with the ghost of a circle that hadn’t closed and a future that had just gotten murkier.
And then the floor moved.
It was subtle at first, a tiny shiver through the wood, like the building had just swallowed hard.
My fingers tightened around my cup. “Please tell me that was just my emotions.”
The teacups rattled in their saucers. The glass jars on the shelves clinked against each other, little crystalline protests.
The floor shuddered again, harder.
Dust sifted down from the beams overhead. The old copper kettle hanging near the back swung once, then twice, then began to sway in earnest.
“Okay,” Twobble said, eyes wide. “If this is how Gideon’s making his grand entrance, I’m going to be very annoyed and slightly impressed.”
“It’s not Gideon,” Nova said sharply, already half out of her chair, staff in hand. “The resonance is wrong.”
The ground gave a proper lurch.
Chairs scraped back as several people reached for whatever counted as their weapon. Lady Limora reached for her cane, which definitely hid a blade; Bella for the knife at her boot; my dad for the power thrumming low in his chest as his canine surged; the Silver Wolf’s pupils blew wide as her own shift pressed forward.
The teapot slid an inch across the table, sloshing tea. Stella’s hand shot out and caught it one-handed without even looking, eyes narrowing.
“Oh, absolutely not,” she said to the air. “This is ateashop. We do not do earthquakes as ambiance.”
The trembling intensified.
This wasn’t the wild, jagged bucking of natural earth. This was… rhythmic. Intentional. Like a giant heartbeat under thefloorboards, pounding in an irregular, disquieting pattern. The windowpanes rattled in their frames.
Outside, the village sounds faltered. No more voices. No more clatter. A hush fell, thick and unnatural.
Ardetia went very still.
“Feel that?” she whispered.
“What is it?” I demanded, heartbeat climbing.
She shook her head slowly, eyes unfocusing as she listened with senses I didn’t have. “Something pushing,” she said. “Not here. Not on the shop. On the world. The edges.”
The butterflies on the ward sigils painted near the ceiling flickered, their enchanted wings beating faster.
My butterfly mark flared with a cold sting.
The shaking stopped.
Just… stopped.
The quiet that followed landed heavy. Even the kettle’s steam seemed to pause.
Everyone looked at each other at once.
“Well,” Twobble said, voice a little too high. “On the plus side, the cups didn’t break. On the minus side, I think my soul just tried to leave my body.”
“Sit,” Stella ordered, though she herself was already standing, moving toward the front window. “Stay. No one panic yet. We’ll panic together once we know what we’re looking at.”
I pushed my chair back and followed her, Keegan right at my shoulder, his presence like a shield. Nova swept along on my other side, staff gripped tight. The rest of them drifted behind us, pulled by the same gravity.
