"What are we discussing so seriously?" he asks, settling onto the floor beside us with the kind of fluid grace that shouldn't be possible for someone his size.
"Heidi likes my rock collection," Irida announces, immediately abandoning her careful arrangements to crawl into his lap. "I told her about the soulmate one."
Something flickers across his expression—too quick for me to interpret before it's gone. "Did you?"
"She thinks it's working because I stayed," I say, meeting his gaze over Irida's dark curls.
"Children see magic everywhere," he replies carefully. "It's one of their gifts."
But his eyes don't leave mine, and I catch something in them that makes my pulse quicken. Like maybe he's not entirely convinced the magic is imaginary either.
Irida wriggles around in his arms until she's facing both of us, her expression suddenly serious. "Dad, can we show Heidi the garden maze tomorrow? I want her to see the ice sculptures."
"If the weather permits," he agrees, but I catch the way his gaze drifts to where I'm still holding her green stone.
"Will you come too?" Irida asks me, golden eyes bright with hope. "The maze is really fun when Dad plays hide-and-seek with me."
The image that conjures—Mihalis stalking through hedge corridors while his daughter shrieks with delighted laughter—sends warmth spiraling through my chest. "I'd like that."
"Perfect!" She claps her hands together. "It'll be like a family adventure!"
The word 'family' makes my chest ache. Casual, innocent, the way children speak truths adults spend years avoiding. But theway Mihalis goes very still tells me he heard it too, felt the same jolt of recognition and longing.
"We should let Dad get back to his work," I say when the silence stretches too long.
But Irida's already scrambling out of her father's lap, apparently satisfied now that tomorrow's plans are confirmed. "I'm going to ask Ilyra if we can have hot chocolate in the maze! With those little sugar cookies!"
She darts from the room with the energy only children possess, leaving me alone on the floor with Mihalis and a scattered collection of rocks that suddenly feel weighted with significance.
"She's getting attached," he says quietly.
"So am I." The admission slips out before I can stop it, honest and raw in the warm library air.
His gaze sharpens, searching my face for something I'm not sure I want him to find. "That wasn't the plan."
"No," I agree. "It wasn't."
We're sitting too close—close enough that I can see the faint lines around his eyes, smell the subtle scent of his skin beneath expensive soap. Close enough that when he reaches out to take the green stone from my palm, his fingers brush mine and send electricity racing up my arm.
He doesn't pull away immediately. Neither do I. For a moment that stretches like eternity, we sit there on the library floor with his hand covering mine, both of us pretending this is about rocks and childhood magic instead of something infinitely more dangerous.
"Heidi," he says, and my name sounds different in his voice. Rougher. Like it costs him something to say it.
"I know." I do know. I know this is getting complicated in ways neither of us anticipated. Know that whatever's buildingbetween us goes far beyond magical compulsion. Know that I should be terrified instead of exhilarated. "I know."
But I don't move away. Don't break the contact that's making my skin burn and my breath catch. Instead, I let myself have this moment—this single point of connection that feels more real than anything I've experienced in years.
When he finally pulls back, the loss of contact is almost painful. The bond's pressure doesn't return—we're still close enough to keep it at bay—but something else aches in its absence. Something that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with want.
The next morning dawns clear and bright, winter sunlight turning the snow-covered grounds into a crystalline wonderland. Irida practically vibrates with excitement through breakfast, chattering about ice sculptures and secret passages while Mihalis listens with patient amusement.
"The maze is Irida’s favorite place on the grounds," he explains to me over coffee. "Each winter, the gardeners create new ice installations throughout the pathways. It's become something of a tradition."
"Dad's being shy," Irida pipes up around a mouthful of toast. "They're not just installations—they're magical! They change when you're not looking!"
"The magic of perspective," Mihalis corrects gently, but there's warmth in his voice that makes my chest tight.
Watching them together is becoming a sweet torture. The way he automatically cuts her food into smaller pieces, how she unconsciously mirrors his posture, the shared glances that speak of inside jokes and deep affection. It's a glimpse into a kind of love I've never experienced—unconditional, protective, absolutely certain.
