"You're taking me from a fancy museum opening to a food truck?"
"I'm taking you anywhere you want to go. Tonight, tomorrow, always."
Her smile lights up the room. "Tacos sound perfect."
We slip out the side entrance, Charity's heels clicking on marble before we hit the street. The May air is crisp, carrying the smell of new growth, hot pretzels, and exhaust. My city. Our city.
"Draco?" She stops walking, turns to face me. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For seeing me. For helping me see myself." She touches my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "For being exactly who you are, unapologetically."
"That's what you do for people you love," I say. "You see them. All of them. The good, the broken, the parts they're still discovering."
"When did you get so wise?"
"Couple thousand years of practice." I laugh as if lying frozen for two thousand years gave me wisdom. After pulling her close, I rest my forehead against hers. "Plus, I had a good teacher. This stubborn heiress who showed me that freedom isn't just about escaping. It's about choosing who you want to be."
"And who do you choose to be?"
"Yours," I say simply. "The man who gets to love you. Everything else is just details."
She kisses me again, softer this time. A promise, not a performance. When we finally make it to the food truck, we eat tacos sitting on a park bench, her fancy thrift shop dress getting wrinkled, my leather pants collecting dust.
My phone buzzes with notifications—a new booking request, a message from a producer interested in a TV special. Charity's phone chimes too—her agent, excited about interest from a museum in Chicago.
We ignore them all. Right now, it's just us, delicious, cheap handmade tacos, and the city lights overhead. Just like it should be.
"Think your parents will actually follow through?" I ask. "Coffee and all that?"
"Maybe." She leans against my shoulder. "Maybe not. But at least I said what I needed to say. At least I stopped pretending."
"That's all you can do."
"What about you? Any regrets about leaving the Sanctuary?"
I consider it. Less than a year ago, I was lost, angry, barely making enough money to eat. Now I'm performing at museums, living with the woman I love, building something real. "Not one," I say honestly. "I needed to find my own path. Turns out it led straight to you."
"Lucky me."
"Lucky us."
We sit here until the food truck closes, until the temperature drops and Charity starts to shiver. Then, I give her my jacket and we walk home through Manhattan streets, her hand in mine, both of us exactly where we belong.
Free. Together. Finally, completely ourselves.
And that's the real magic—not the tricks I perform on stage, but this. Us. Two broken people who found each other and decided to be whole.
Six months ago, I didn't believe in fate. Now, I think maybe Fortuna knew exactly what she was doing when she froze me in ice and woke me in Charity's world.
The goddess of luck works in mysterious ways.
But sometimes, she gets it exactly right.
Epilogue
Draco
