"I'm not lovesick," I say automatically.
Everett just looks at me.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "It's nothing. I'm just tired."
"You don't get tired. You're essentially immortal."
"Then I'm bored."
"You're never bored during prep season." Everett steps closer, his expression shifting from irritated to concerned. "What's actually going on?"
The words hover on my tongue. I should brush him off, make some joke, redirect his attention to the thousand things that need handling. But Everett has been with me for longer than most civilizations have existed. If there's anyone I can trust, it's him.
"I fell in love," I hear myself say.
Everett stops moving. Stops breathing, probably, though he doesn't technically need to do that much, anyway. "You did what?"
"It's fine. I've moved on."
The lie sounds unconvincing even to my own ears. Everett's expression suggests he's not buying it for a second.
"You know what will happen iftheyfind out." He emphasizes the word "they" in a way that makes my jaw clench. "You can't?—"
"Of course I know!" The words come out sharper than intended. "Why the hell do you think I left her without a clue as to who I was or where to find me?"
Not that she could find me even if I'd given her an address and detailed directions. The North Pole exists on an entirely different plane of reality, accessible only to those who belong here or are brought here by someone who does. The separation isn't just physical. It's metaphysical, fundamental. I feel it every moment of every day, her absence like a wound that won't close properly.
I turn away before Everett can respond, striding across the courtyard toward my residence. I hear him call after me, but I don't stop.
My house sits at the edge of the village, a structure that shifts slightly depending on my mood. Right now, it's leaning toward rustic cabin mixed with architectural elements that wouldn't be out of place in a fairytale. Exposed wooden beams, stone fireplaces, windows that frame views of the aurora-lit sky. Cozy is the word mortals would use, though that coziness is wrapped in enough magic to make the air shimmer if you look at it right.
It's too big for one person. I've known that for years but never cared before. Lately, though, I keep catching myself imagining what it would sound like with someone else here. Another voice. Laughter echoing through rooms that stay too quiet.
A voice that sounds suspiciously like Samantha's.
I head straight for my study, a room lined with books and curiosities collected across centuries. In the corner sits an antique mirror, though calling it just a mirror is like calling the ocean just water. It's a window, really. A way to look in on the mortal world from this pocket of elsewhere.
My position grants me certain privileges. The ability to observe, to check on situations that might need intervention, to witness the ripple effects of the work we do here. I'm supposed to use it sparingly and only for professional purposes.
I've spent the last six weeks not looking at Samantha.
Every single day, I've come close. I've stood in front of this mirror, my hand hovering over the carved frame, ready to speak her name and let the magic show me how she's doing. Whether she's okay. Whether she thinks of me at all.
And every single day, I've stopped myself.
I stop myself now, staring at the covered glass. All I have to do is remove the cloth draped over it, speak her name, and I'd see her. Just a glimpse. Just enough to know she's alright.
My hand reaches for the fabric before I consciously decide to move.
I freeze there, fingers inches from the cloth, heart pounding in a way that feels absurd for someone who's technically beyond such mortal concerns.
If I look, I won't be able to stop myself from going back.
That's the truth I've been avoiding. It's not just about breaking rules or facing consequences from whatever higher powers govern the boundaries between my kind and mortals. It's that seeing her will shatter whatever fragile restraint I've managed to construct.
I'll go back to Caraway Cove. I'll find her. I'll tell her everything, rules and consequences be damned.
And then what? I pull her into my world, into a life she never asked for? I burden her with the reality of what I am, what I do, the fact that I'm not quite real in the way she is?
