“I noticed.”
We play a few arcade-style games set up along the sidewalk. He’s obnoxiously competitive, and when I beat him at the ring toss, he accuses me of witchcraft. I buy us funnel cake, and he immediately gets powdered sugar on his hoodie. Watching Magnus Flint—self-proclaimed bad boy of the Wolves—lick sugar off his fingers while glaring at me for laughing might be the highlight of my week.
We drift toward the exit, the afternoon settling into gold light. I’m thinking about how nice it is not to be “Hale” or “Flint,” just… us.
Then I hear a familiar voice.
“Alaric?”
I freeze.
Molly.
My sister stands across the sidewalk, dressed in running clothes, leash in hand, her golden retriever Butter trotting happily at her side. Her husband, Mark, trails behind carrying iced coffees.
Of course. Because the universe enjoys tormenting me.
“Mols!” I manage, forcing a smile. “Hey.”
Magnus looks from her to the dog and back again, eyes going wide. “Oh my God,” he breathes. “That’s Butter.”
Molly blinks. “You… know my dog?”
Magnus crouches instantly, holding out his hand like he’s meeting royalty. “Butter Hale. The legend. The goodest boy in Silver City.”
Butter wags his tail so hard his entire body wiggles.
Magnus grins like a fool. “He’s even more handsome in person.”
Molly stares at him, clearly recalibrating. “Uh… thanks?”
Magnus looks up at me with mock solemnity. “You didn’t tell me you were related totheButter Hale. I would’ve brought something for him to autograph.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to laugh. “He’s not famous.”
“He probably has more followers than I do.”
“That’s because he’s less trouble than you.”
Molly’s gaze bounces between us, suspicion blooming. “Wait.” She tilts her head. “Is this… Kyle?”
My entire body locks up. “What? No, I—uh—this is?—”
“Magnus,” he says smoothly, rising to his full, intimidating height and extending a hand. “Magnus Flint. Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Hale.”
Her eyes widen. “You’reMagnus Flint.As in, the guy my brother body-checks for a living?”
“The very one,” he says easily, shaking her hand. “But don’t worry. That’s mostly for show. Rivalry sells tickets.”
Molly arches a brow. “You’re telling me the Wolves–Titans feud is an act?”
Magnus smiles, wolfish and charming. “Not entirely. He hits hard.”
I glare at him. “You deserved it.”
“I usually do,” he says, eyes glinting.
Molly looks between us again, something sharp and amused in her expression. “So… you two just happened to bump into each other? At a street fair?”
