“I won’t,” I say as I shake my head, my throat thick. “Thanks, Dad.”
My phone dings again, and everyone at the table rises to grab their shit and head to the elevator. “I want you in Brooklyn for Mother’s Day though, you hear me?” Mom says as she walks around the table and hugs me. “You too, Willow, if that’s okay.”
“That’s okay,” Willow says, a slight tone of grief. Her own mother has been gone for a while; she won’t be celebrating with her.
“We’ll be there,” I promise as I hug the woman who gave me life. “You guys really have to get downstairs.”
And it’s chaos and craziness. There are so many of us, and they have so much luggage that it takes us two trips to geteverything down the elevator. Aunt Vivi is cursing about missing a set of earrings by the time we make it out onto the curb. Uncle Henrik is sizing up the doorman like he doesn’t trust the guy’s solid enough to keep out the gangsters. And Mormor is muttering blessings on my building like it can keep anything bad from ever happening here.
The valet stares after the crazy lot. I just shrug. “Family.”
Two black SUVs roll up to the curb just as things are escalating louder and louder. I huff in relief as the drivers climb out and start loading luggage.
“Love you!” Vivi declares as she hugs Willow. She turns to me. “Sorry, I don’t think I can in good conscience hug you ever again, Lucky, you know, considering…”
“We are in agreement,” I say as I hold my hands up in surrender, shaking my head.
“Take care of her,” Uncle Einar says with a brief hug, nodding to Willow. Henrik just offers a handshake.
“Love you both,” Mom gives one last hug before Dad is dragging her into the SUV.
And just like that, they’re all loaded. The chaos is contained. And the curb is quiet as they pull away and head to the airport.
For the first time in days—maybe weeks—the world feels quiet.
No screaming crowds. No blood. No fire. No god-complex cult leader trying to play executioner.
Just the hum of Vegas, low and alive, and Willow’s hand twined with mine.
She leans her head on my shoulder. “I get why you faked your death.”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. “They’re fucking insane. And yet, somehow, I kind of… missed them.”
She tilts her head to look at me. “I get that, too.”
Upstairs, the penthouse feels too still, too wide. It’s like the walls exhaled when my family left. The quiet is a living thing—thick, velvety, the first deep breath of peace since everything fell apart.
I walk over to the window. The city is pulsing below, endless light and promise. “I can’t believe I still got away with it. That somehow my family didn’t ruin my identity. Saint Shade still stands.”
“That might be the real miracle.”
I glance back at Willow over my shoulder, and my eyes darken. “Are you ready?”
Her lips curve into that wicked smile that makes my heart do dangerous things. “Mask. Camera. Magic.”
The air crackles between us.
For the first time since the world caught fire, we’re back in our own orbit—right back where we started. Just us. Our world. The magician and the witch.
And the internet’s about to lose its mind all over again.
It takes us fifteen minutes to get everything ready. Between the two of us, we’re practically professionals in knowing how to film a reel. We’ve got the lighting. We both pick the background. I hang the silks from the ceiling, and Willow sets up the tripod in just the right spot.
“You’re not really leaving that shirt on, are you?” Willow asks, sounding disappointed.
I walk out of my office with my Saint Shade mask in hand. I can’t help it. I’m a cocky, thirsty, horny son of a bitch. I grin. “Baby, if you want me to take my shirt off, you’ll never have to ask twice.”
I peel it off and drop it on the floor.
