Samantha's in trouble.
I'm up and moving before I even realize it, crossing the room in three quick steps. The mirror waits in the corner, still hidden under the cloth I threw over it months ago. My hand hovers for a second, then I yank the cover off.
The glass catches the dim light, looking plain and harmless, until I say her name.
"Samantha Baylor."
The mirror ripples, surface warping until I'm staring into a room that I recognize from that fateful night. Her apartment above the bakery.
And there she is.
Pregnant.
The word slams into me. She's on the couch, one hand on her stomach, and even through the glass I can see the fear carved into her face. Her friend Ella's there, talking a mile a minute, trying to keep her steady, but Samantha's not really hearing her. She's crying, shoulders shaking, lips moving in words I can't catch.
The scene in the mirror shifts, showing me what happened earlier. The man from my dream, reaching for her with that too-perfect smile. Ella stepping between them, fierce and protective. Samantha's panic attack, her gasping for breath while her hands clutch at her stomach.
Our child. The thought hits me so hard I almost stagger. She's carrying my child.
The mirror keeps going. Shadows gather at the bakery's edges, things I know too well. A demon, skin hanging wrong on its bones. A rogue angel, cold and sharp, barely holding its real shape. They're circling her, hunting, drawn to the power inside her.
A child made of magic and flesh. Stuck between two worlds, not really belonging to either. The kind of power that makes monsters hungry.
And I left her to face it alone.
The guilt crashes over me, so intense I have to grip the edge of the mirror to stay upright. I left her pregnant and alone, dealing with a pregnancy she can't possibly understand, carrying a child that's drawing every dark thing in creation straight to her door. I did this. I walked away because I was afraid of whatstaying might mean, and in doing so, I abandoned her to face consequences I should have been there to explain.
She's terrified. She's alone. And it's my fault.
"Never again," I say to the mirror, to myself, to whatever cosmic forces might be listening. "No one touches her. No one touches our child. Not while I'm still breathing."
The rules don't matter. The boundaries, the old lines I spent centuries keeping. None of it means a thing now. Not when I can still see Samantha crying on that couch, hands wrapped around a child she doesn't know how to protect.
I was wrong. So stupidly, completely wrong. I thought leaving would keep her safe. All I did was leave her exposed, alone with something precious and dangerous and no one to help her.
That ends now.
I throw on clothes, not caring what I grab. My mind's already racing, plotting the fastest way back to Caraway Cove, the quickest route from here to there without losing time I don't have.
The courtyard is still buzzing, even though it's late. Or maybe early. Time here is more suggestion than rule. I'm halfway across the square when Everett appears at my side, keeping up with that easy, inhuman grace all elves seem to have.
"What are you doing?" he asks, though the tone of his voice suggests he already knows.
"Doing what I should have done months ago."
"Nick." His hand closes around my arm, stopping me. "Think about this. If you go back, bring her here, reveal yourself, or whatever it is you're planning, there will be consequences. You know that."
I turn to face him, and whatever he sees in my eyes must convince him I'm done listening, because he lets go and steps back.
"I don't care about consequences. They're already after her. After our child. Demons and rogue angels and who knows what else, all drawn to power they want to corrupt or control or destroy. She's alone, Everett. Pregnant and terrified and alone, and I did that to her. So yes, there will be consequences. But I'll deal with those after I make sure she's safe."
He studies me for a long moment, silver eyes searching my face for something. Then he nods, once, sharp and decisive.
"The Threshold is fastest," he says quietly. "North end of the village, past the last workshop. It'll put you out near the coast. You'll have to cover the rest of the distance yourself."
The Threshold. A rip between worlds, usually locked down for emergencies. Using it without permission is supposed to be a big deal, but I stopped caring about rules about five minutes ago.
"Thank you."
