It was unbearable.
But somewhere in the unbearableness, she was getting better. The house had stopped randomly rearranging itself. Jacques the toaster had developed a daily routine of greeting her in French each morning. The gnomes mostly stayed in one place—though they still tracked movement with their creepy little eyes.
Progress.
Today, she had to go back to work. Two days of “personal emergency” plus a conveniently timed weekend was all her PTO could handle, and Dana had already sent seventeen passive-aggressive emails about "coverage concerns" and "team commitment."
The thought made her want to crawl under her bed and never emerge.
"You'll be fine," Liam said, still not looking at her. "You've got better control now."
"How do you know I'm nervous about work?"
"You're thinking very loud. And you've reorganized that salt shaker four times in the last minute."
She looked down. The salt shaker was indeed in a different spot than it had been.
"The binding," she said. "Can you... feel what I'm feeling?"
"Not exactly. More like... echoes. You're anxious about something, I can sense that. But I don't know why unless you tell me." He finally looked up, and his expression was carefully neutral. "It goes both ways. You probably feel some of mine too, if you pay attention."
She had been feeling something—a steady sort of weariness, like background noise. She'd assumed it was her own exhaustion.
"Your ex-wife," Cassie said carefully. "The one with magic. Did she... was there a binding?"
His jaw tightened. "No. She didn't need one. Lovespells, mood adjustments, little nudges here and there to make me agree with things I shouldn't have agreed to." He set down his screwdriver with deliberate precision. "I didn't even realize it was happening until I was so far in I couldn't see straight. All those years of marriage, and I don't know how much of it was real and how much was her magic making me compliant."
"God, Liam. That's?—"
"Manipulation. Aye. That's what it was." He met her eyes, and there was something raw there. Something hurt. "So when I tell you to be careful with magic, to learn control, to think before you cast—it's not because I think you're incompetent. It's because I know what happens when witches treat magic like it's harmless."
Cassie's chest ached. For him. For the years he'd lost. For the trust that had been so thoroughly broken.
"I won't do that to you," she said. "I wouldn't even know how, but?—"
"I know." His expression softened slightly. "You're chaotic, lass. Not cruel. There's a difference."
She didn't know why that felt like such a compliment, but it did.
"I should get ready," she said, standing. "Work. Visibility. Pretending I didn't have a complete breakdown last week."
"Cassie."
She paused.
"You didn't have a breakdown. You had an awakening. Those are messy."
"Mine was messier than most."
"Aye. But you're still here. Still trying." He picked up his screwdriver again, dismissing her gently. "That counts for something."
She carried that thought upstairs with her as she got ready.
In the bathroom, she found the grimoire sitting on the counter. She definitely hadn't brought it up here.
"House," she said to the ceiling. "Are you trying to tell me something?"
A cabinet door opened slightly. Then closed. She took that as a yes.
