“Right.”
And that was the extent of their conversation. Every day. Like clockwork. Like two people sharing an apartment on Craigslist who’d made a terrible mistake and were now contractually obligated to pretend everything was fine.
The walls had settled into a neutral beige. Not sad gray, not hopeful rose. Just… beige. Switzerland beige.We’re not taking sidesbeige.
Luna called it “emotional purgatory” and refused to elaborate.
The only upside to the disaster that was her personal life was that her magical training had actually been working. Margaret came by every afternoon, and without the distraction of Liam’s presence (he conveniently disappeared to fix things in the garage during lessons), Cassie found she could actually focus.
“Better,” Margaret said on day three, watching Cassie successfully light a candle without setting anything else on fire. “You’re learning to channel instead of leak.”
“Is that the technical term? Leak?”
“The technical term is ‘uncontrolled ambient magical discharge,’ but ‘leak’ is faster to say.” Margaret handed her a cup of tea. “The binding has loosened considerably. He’s no longer tethered to the property—just to you. Within about a mile radius, I’d estimate.”
“So he can leave.”
“He’s been able to leave for days, dear. He’s choosing to stay.” Margaret’s eyes were too knowing. “Though I notice you two aren’t speaking.”
“We speak.”
“You exchange pleasantries like hostages reading scripted messages. That’s not speaking.”
Cassie didn’t have a response to that, so shedrank her tea and pretended the walls weren’t flickering a guilty shade of mauve.
The morningof her Big Work Day, Cassie woke up feeling something she hadn’t felt in years: confident.
Not magically confident. Not “I just cast a successful spell” confident. Actually, genuinely,I might not be a complete disasterconfident.
She had a presentation. A real one. The campaign she’d been developing for months—the one Dana had been trying to poach pieces of—was finally going before the executive team. If it went well, there was talk of a promotion. Senior Marketing Manager. An office with a door. A raise that might actually let her fix the roof without having a panic attack.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror and gave herself a pep talk.
“You’ve got this. You’re prepared. You know this campaign inside and out.” She pointed at her reflection. “You are not too much. You are exactly enough. You are a goddamn professional.”
The mirror fogged slightly. Sparkles danced at the edges of her reflection.
“Okay, dial it back,” she told herself. “Confidence, not chaos.”
She closed her eyes and did thegrounding exercise Margaret had taught her. Roots into the earth. Energy flowing down, not out. Controlled. Centered.
When she opened her eyes, the sparkles were gone. Just her reflection. Just Cassie. Ready to kick ass.
She chose her best blazer—the one that made her feel like she could conquer small nations—and headed downstairs.
Liam was in the kitchen, nursing tea and reading something on his phone. He looked up when she entered, and something flickered across his face. Something that looked almost like concern.
“You look…” He paused. “Professional.”
“That’s the goal.” She poured coffee into her travel mug, keeping her movements brisk. Businesslike. “Big presentation today.”
“The campaign you’ve been working on?”
She was surprised he remembered. They’d discussed it once, weeks ago, before everything got complicated. “Yeah. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck. You need those executives to have functioning brain cells.” He returned to his phone, but she caught the ghost of a smile. “Which, admittedly, might require luck.”
It was the most they’d said to each other in days. It felt like a ceasefire. Maybe even the beginning of a truce.
