Still, beneath the tired relief, something tugged at me. An old, forgotten thread pulling tight. I brushed it off as moving-day nerves. Or maybe it was the strange sensation I'd had earlier, that weird flicker in my stomach when we passed the bakery sign with the dragon curled around a cupcake. Familiar, in a way I couldn't place.
I filled the tea kettle and watched the automatic porch lights flicker on, one by one. For the first time in months, maybe years, the sense of tightness in my chest loosened just a little.
"Hey, girls, if you're not tired yet, come check out the deck," I called. "There should be a clear view of the stars out here."
Fifi arrived first, hoodie zipped all the way, with Huey in her arms. Mere followed, pulling on an extra layer against the wind. We stood side by side, taking in the dark and the hush and the slow burble of the creek.
A warm breeze drifted from somewhere down the valley, carrying the faintest scent of smoke and spice. My breath hitched. It was probably someone's wood stove or the bakery's late-night prep, but for one strange moment, I felt like we were being watched. Not in a bad way, but in a way that prickled under my skin, like someone out there was thinking about me too.
"It's so quiet," Mere said. "I mean, really quiet."
"Bet you could hear bears coming a mile away," Fifi said.
I watched them, side by side, still sparring, not broken. If there was hope to be had, it was in small moments like this.
We lingered until the night turned our breath to fog, then headed back inside. Lights glowed warm in every window, and for once, the world outside could stay there.
Mere yawned and stretched, already turningtoward her room. "Wake me up when it's breakfast time."
"Might wake up to rolls from the dragon bakery."
Fifi managed another smile. "I don't want to miss that."
They disappeared up the stairs, footsteps already softening into the hush of the house. I closed up the kitchen, pulled out my phone to set my alarm early, and leaned against the counter for a minute.
The house settled into silence, but my nerves didn't. I rubbed the tight spot between my eyebrows, annoyed at myself. I hadn't been on a date in… God, forever, and yet tonight some weird, low hum under my skin wouldn't let me relax. Like I was bracing for something. Or someone.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I caught myself thinking about that college night. The blur of lights, the music, the warmth of his hands on my hips. A memory I'd forced into a box years ago, surfacing now, of all times. I shook it off, but the echo of it clung to me as I turned out the lights.
Somewhere out there, the hellbenders and work were waiting. But tonight, my girls slept safely. My job wasn't done, but it felt a little more possible.
Chance
I wokeup at three am, as usual. I'd gone to bed at midnight, and still I wasn't even a little bit tired.
The house was dead quiet, but Caden was already pacing under my skin, impatient, itching, hungry for air.Let's go.
I padded out onto the deck, rubbing the sleep from my hair, and didn't bother with shoes or a jacket.
The porch boards were cold. It snapped me awake. Even before my wings furled open, something tugged low in my chest. A flicker of anticipation with no name. Caden surged toward it, hungry, as if the valley hid someone he'd been waiting for. I took one deep breath, then the shift rolled over me. Scales instead of skin, claws instead of fingers, everything stretching andgrowing until I could barely remember my own shape. It always hurt briefly, like all my bones cracked and glued themselves together in new places, but then the dragon took over.
Caden liked the night. He liked the wind even better.
We lifted off fast. My wings shoved air in huge, quiet blankets. I didn't look back at the house, or at the trickle of yellow porch light leaking from the kitchen window. There was only sky and nothing else.
Flying was the only thing that made sense when everything else refused to. No inspections, no fruit deliveries showing up bruised and unusable, no questions about whether we served low-carb crème brûlée or discussions on why trash pickup in Laurel Gap happened on Wednesdays instead of Mondays, which was objectively the superior trash day. Just cold air and the ink of a pre-dawn sky.
Mountains reared up on every side, old and stubborn. Caden wanted to show off, so we torqued around the ridges, catching the weird, sweet scents rolling up from the valley. Smoke, dry grass, a waterfall on the far side of Dragon's Peak that hit the cliff like a drum. Every thermal pulled at me like a thread leading somewhere specific. Someone warm. Soft. Human. I shook it off, but the feeling stuck, a low hum under my ribs.I looped low across our acreage, wings tucked close, and got a thrill that punched harder than caffeine. My family's territory, guarded by old spells. The creek gleamed like a live wire.
Further. More.Caden always wanted to fly longer, but the bakery wouldn't open itself, and my cousin and boss, Maeve, had definite opinions about punctuality. I circled once more, enjoying the rush of wind this high, then arrowed back down and landed behind the house, slowly and carefully as a heron. The ground felt different after flying, rubbery, too small. I shifted back, my human bones knitting together as if nothing had happened.
I adjusted my clothing, which shifted with me thanks to Maeve's spell, and tried to pretend Caden wasn't already peering out through my eyes, looking for threats. He never turned off. Not even for Maeve's cinnamon rolls.
By quarter to four, I slipped behind the wheel of my SUV and drove into town with the windows cracked.
Laurel Gap was even quieter before sunrise. Every shop light off, not a single car moving. By habit, I checked every alley and side street as I went. Old dragons know better than to ignore the dark.
The Sweet Dragon Bakery glowed faint and gold.Someone had left a light burning in the window. That was Maeve's doing. She never trusted the timer on the front lights.
