The doorbell rang.
Because of course it did.
Margaret letherself in without waiting for an answer, which was either very trusting or very concerning.
"The walls are visible from the street," she announced, setting down a bag that clinked with glass bottles. "You're doing the color-changing thing again. Someone's going to notice."
"Someone already did," Liam muttered. "About six neighbors took photos when the garden went feral."
"Yes, well, that's a problem for tomorrow." Margaret surveyed the living room—the trembling books, the flickering lights, the walls that were still cycling through shades of emotional chaos. "You two have been talking."
"Is that forbidden?" Cassie asked.
"No. But it's making the binding stronger. The more connected you feel emotionally, the harder it's going to be to separate the magic." She pulled herbs from her bag with practiced efficiency. "Weneed to stabilize this before something else catches fire."
"I'm tired of things catching fire."
"Then stop having feelings at such high volume."
"That's not how feelings work!"
"It is when you're a witch whose magic is tied to your emotions. You want control? You need to learn tofeelwithoutfeedingevery sensation into the magical field around you." Margaret pointed at Liam. "You. Sit there."
He sat.
"Cassie. Sit across from him."
She did, warily.
"Now hold hands."
"That seems counterproductive," Liam said.
"It's grounding. The binding is already there—you can't make it worse by acknowledging it. What youcando is learn to manage the flow instead of letting it surge every time you have a conversation." Margaret lit a bundle of sage, wafting the smoke between them. "Close your eyes. Breathe together. Feel the connection, but don't feed it. Just... observe."
Cassie took Liam's hands. The now-familiar spark jumped between them, but gentler this time. Present but not overwhelming.
She closed her eyes.
Breathed in. He breathed in.
Breathed out. He breathed out.
The magic between them hummed—a steady, warm current that flowed from her to him and back again. Not pulling. Not demanding. Just... there.
"That's it," Margaret said softly. "That's what it's supposed to feel like. A connection, not a compulsion."
Cassie could feel him on the other side of that connection. Not his thoughts—nothing intrusive—but the shape of his emotions. The wariness that was slowly giving way to something else. The loneliness he carried like old weight. The tentative curiosity about whether this could be something other than another magical disaster.
And underneath it all—careful, cautious, but undeniably there—a warmth that mirrored her own.
"Open your eyes," Margaret said.
Cassie did.
Liam was already looking at her. His eyes were storm-gray in the lamplight, and she could feel his heartbeat through their joined hands—or maybe that was her own heartbeat, or maybe it was both, synchronized through the binding.
"This is..." she started.
