She sighed. “The universe could not let us have five uninterrupted minutes, could it?”
Hektor’s mouth ticked, almost a smile. “Apparently not.”
Another tail smacked the ground. Someone else shoved someone else purely for the principle of momentum.
Zara pinched the bridge of her nose. The moment had been perfect, fragile, and rare. And now…basilisk liquor logistics.
She glanced back at Hektor. “We are finishing that conversation later.”
He met her eyes, steady. “Yes. We are.”
But the tone—oh, the tone—said very clearly:
Even fate and drunken half-reptiles don’t get to derail this again.
Behind them, another shout echoed:
“WHO MIXED THE VIP STOCK WITH THE SUN-TONIC KEG?!”
Zara exhaled, grabbed Hektor’s wrist, and tugged him back toward the bar. “Come on,” she muttered. “Before someone tail-whips a car and we’re stuck filling out incident forms all night.”
He followed, just a step behind, close enough that she could still feel his warmth. And despite the ridiculous interruption, she smiled. Because now she knew that when she stepped away, he would follow.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, more people had gathered. Phones were out, recording the chaos like it was the evening’s entertainment.
“Oh great,” Zara muttered. “Drunken basilisk fight turned Lifting the Vale content. Exactly what civilization needed.”
Before she could say more, three very familiar figures appeared beside them: Elian, Liora, and Pythorus, all looking far too entertained.
Liora leaned close, eyes dancing. “I think,” she whispered dramatically, “we need to triangulate.”
Elian nodded earnestly. “We have afeelingabout these guys.”
Zara arched a brow. “Really? Now?”
“Chaos tends to shake loose magic,” Pythorus only shrugged. “Might as well use the opportunity.”
So, they triangulated. Zara in the center, Hektor closer than necessary, his arm almost brushing hers as if the distance between them was now a negotiable concept.
The world sharpened.
Magic thrummed.
A bright white lightning symbol cracked into existence above the loudest cluster of basilisks, flickering with unmistakable divine energy.
Zara stared. “Oh gods…at least three of them are demigods.”
The basilisks kept arguing, blissfully unaware.
“We need to talk to them,” she said, “but how do we get their attention?”
Elian gestured toward the growing crowd of phones. “Too late for subtle.”
“I can handle that,” Hektor said.
Zara snapped her gaze to him.
But his chest was already glowing, ruby-bright, molten, and alive.
