I spotted Skonk before he spotted me, which was impressive considering he was attempting to hide behind a trash can that could barely conceal a cat. He was crouched low, eyes narrowed, posture rigid with focus, clutching a lemon scone as if it weresacred. His attention flicked back and forth between the shop window and the pastry with visible effort.
When I cleared my throat, he nearly dropped both.
“I’m being very stealthy,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re ruining it.”
“You’re doing great,” I whispered back, because encouragement was sometimes easier than honesty.
He nodded and leaned closer. “They’re talking a lot. I don’t see shouting or theatrics. That’s suspicious.”
I gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and stepped around the trash can before I could second-guess myself.
The bell over Luna’s door chimed softly as I pushed it open, the sound cushioned rather than sharp. The air was thick with smells of lanolin and lavender. A domestic magic ran through the air that felt woven rather than cast. Normally, the shop would have brought me comfort, but not today.
Shelves ran along the walls, overflowing with skeins in every shade imaginable. Colors shifted subtly when I wasn’t looking too closely. Sometimes, the blues deepened, greens caught light, reds stayed warm and grounding rather than bright.
Half-finished scarves drifted lazily between hooks, knitting themselves with patient determination, needles clicking in a steady, soothing rhythm. A basket of yarn rolled itself a few inches to the side to avoid bumping into me.
At the center table, Luna stood with her hands resting lightly on a length of silver-gray wool that was braiding itself without instruction.
Across from her stood Gideon.
Seeing him there unsettled me more than if he’d been lurking in shadow. He looked too real in that light, coat unbuttoned, posture relaxed, head inclined as he listened. He didn’t seem to be posturing or prowling like he was searching for prey. In fact, he just looked…present.
The two were deep in conversation with voices low. For a moment, I watched unnoticed. The way Luna gestured gently as she spoke. The way Gideon’s attention followed her movements instead of the magic weaving itself between them. It scraped against something raw inside me.
Once again, there was a closeness or an acknowledgment between these two that was undeniable.
When Luna looked up and saw me, whatever had been in her eyes softened instantly, relief and warmth rising together.
“Maeve,” she said.
Gideon turned at the sound, his gaze settling on me with that familiar, measured calm that never quite reached his eyes. He smiled pleasantly enough, but the look was unnerving.
“You’ve come for me,” he said, knowingly.
“I have,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt as I stepped fully into the shop. The door closed behind me, the bell chiming again.
The yarn continued its quiet work around us. A scarf completed itself and folded neatly onto a shelf. A mitten turned right side out with a satisfied twitch. I wondered briefly whether Luna’s magic was always this visible, or if it sensed what was coming and wanted to be useful.
“We’re closing the circle today,” I said, because dancing around truth had never served anyone in Stonewick for long. “And you agreed to be present.”
Gideon’s eyes flicked briefly toward Luna. Something passed between them that was unreadable before he looked back at me.
“I remember,” he said. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
That should have comforted me. Instead, the mark on my hip buzzed with anticipation. Certainty from Gideon had never been simple.
Luna’s fingers tightened slightly on the yarn, then relaxed. Her gaze moved between us, as though she were holding space rather than choosing sides.
“You’re welcome to sit,” she offered gently, gesturing toward a chair that slid out from the table.
I shook my head. “I won’t keep you long.”
I turned to Gideon, “We should go, if you’re ready.”
It wasn’t a command because consent mattered now more than ever.
He studied me for a heartbeat longer, then inclined his head. “Very well. Let us not keep the circle waiting.”
