“Step in the right direction,” Twobble said, grinning.
Something in my chest shifted at that.
Before I could respond, footsteps sounded behind us, steady and familiar. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Keegan stopped short when he took in the scene: Stella mid-sigh, Ardetia clearly mid-lecture, Celeste standing over a toad who looked far too pleased with himself, and me staring at the problem like it might hop away if I blinked.
He lifted a brow. “I feel like I missed something.”
I smiled tiredly. “Just debating the ethical ramifications of turning my ex-husband back into a man and erasing his memories.”
His mouth twitched. “Ah. A casual afternoon, then.”
The toad ribbited again, louder this time.
Keegan looked down. “Is he… judging me?”
“Yes,” Stella and I said in unison.
Keegan crouched beside Celeste, studying the toad with a thoughtful expression.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
His gaze lifted to mine, something soft and protective there. “We’ll figure it out.”
I nodded, grateful beyond words. “I know.”
Ardetia folded her arms. “Whatever we do, it has to be deliberate. No shortcuts. No panic spells.”
Stella sighed dramatically. “You take all the fun out of questionable magic.”
Keegan glanced between us. “So. No mind erasing.”
“No,” I said firmly.
Well, maybe,
The toad blinked.
“And no turning him loose without a plan,” I added.
Another ribbit.
Keegan smiled faintly. “He’s very vocal.”
“He always was,” I said dryly.
We stood there a moment longer, with the problem very much unsolved but no longer ignored. Celeste leaned against my side, Stella muttered about tea, Ardetia watched the toad as it might suddenly sprout legs and run, and Keegan’s presence grounded the whole absurd scene.
For now, the toad waited, and so did we.
However, within a few short seconds, the chaos began, fittingly, with a leap.
One moment, the toad was perched smugly near the planter, blinking like he owned the place, and the next he sprang with surprising force straight toward the low table stacked with scrolls and teacups. The impact sent parchment fluttering and a cup tipping onto its side, tea spilling in a dramatic arc across the stone floor.
“Oh no,” I said, already moving. “Absolutely not.”
