They cleared a space in the center of the cabin, pushing furniture back until bare floorboards formed a rough circle. Maren gathered salt, dried sage, a small vial of oil infused with protective herbs from her bag. Her hands steadied as she worked, ritual grounding her when everything else felt unstable.
"Sit across from me," she instructed, lowering herself to the floor. "Palms up. Don't break eye contact once we start."
Tristan folded his tall frame down opposite her, knees almost touching hers in the confined space. He placed his hands palm-up on his thighs, the gesture surprisingly trusting from someone who radiated controlled wariness.
Maren poured salt in a circle around them both, then lit the sage and let smoke drift between them. The familiar scent calmed her racing pulse, made the cabin feel less like a trap and more like a sanctuary.
"When I reach for you, don't fight it," she said. "Let my shadows in. They won't hurt you, but the sensation might be intense at first."
"I've handled intense before."
"This is different." She held his gaze, silver eyes meeting ice-blue. "This is magic recognizing magic. If there's any part of you that doesn't trust me, the circle won't hold."
"I trust you."
Three words, spoken without hesitation.
"Okay," she breathed. "Here we go."
She reached out with her magic first, shadows extending from her fingertips in thin dark ribbons. They crossed the space between them slowly, giving Tristan time to see them coming, to prepare for the contact.
The moment they touched his skin, heat flared through the connection.
Not her magic, but his. Something fierce lurking beneath his controlled exterior, responding to her shadows with recognition instead of rejection. The energy felt like sunlight filtered through smoke, warm and wild and barely contained.
Maren gasped as the sensation flooded through her. She'd expected resistance, the natural barrier that existed between different magical signatures. Instead, she found doors alreadyopen, pathways already cleared, as if his magic had been waiting for hers to arrive.
Her shadows wound around his wrists, his forearms, climbing toward his shoulders. Everywhere they touched, sparks of warmth ignited. His energy poured back along the connection, grounding her erratic magic like an anchor dropped into stormy seas.
The circle began to form around them, visible now as a ring of silver-black light rising from the salt line. Her shadows and his heat wove together, creating something stronger than either could produce alone. The wards hummed with new power, resonating at a frequency that made her teeth ache.
"Don't let go," Maren managed. "Almost there."
Tristan's hands turned, catching hers in a grip that felt like it could hold back the storm itself. The contact sent another surge through the circle, shadows and warmth spiraling upward until they hit the ceiling and spread outward, coating every surface in protective magic.
She felt the presence outside recoil. The twisted reflection of her signature flinched back from the reinforced wards like a hand jerked away from flame. It pressed once more, testing, then retreated into the storm with a sensation like dark laughter fading into wind.
The circle settled, power evening out into a steady hum. Maren's shadows slowly unwound from Tristan's arms, reluctant to release him, trailing across his skin like silk as they returned to her.
Their hands remained clasped, foreheads somehow close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. When had they leaned in? She couldn't remember moving, couldn't remember anything except the overwhelming rightness of being connected to him.
"Your magic feels like moonlight," he said quietly, almost wonderingly. "Cool and silver and endless."
An awkward and surprised laugh escaped her. "Yours feels like sunrise,” she responded.
His thumb traced a circle on her palm, a seemingly unconscious movement that sent shivers up her arm. The space between them was close enough that moving forward would mean crossing a line they couldn't uncross.
Maren wanted to, though. She wanted to close the gap and find out if his mouth felt as warm as his magic.
Tristan's eyes dropped to her lips, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.
"We should check the wards outside," she said instead, the words tasting like cowardice. "Make sure our ring spread to them as well."
His faced stayed neutral but he released her hands slowly, like letting go cost him something.
"Right. The wards."
They rose on unsteady legs. Maren's shadows clung to her, but she caught them reaching toward Tristan again, seeking the warmth they'd found in the circle.
