“What is it?” His voice is low.
“The circle Samuel’s working on, I recognise it.” My voice barely carries. I remove the night-vision goggles and rub my eyes. “I have seen it before.”
He says nothing, simply watches me.
“That is the circle,” I whisper. “The exact design they used to turn me into a sentient house. The flourishes, the detailing—they are distinctive. I have seen it only twice before, in the Magic Collective archives and when I died, and they are following it to the letter.”
My knees buckle and I drop onto the bench.
“I thought I was paranoid,” I say with my head in my hands. “I thought I had destroyed everything, but they’ve been operating under the radar, using paperweights to hide from me. How many people have they hurt?” I look up. “Lander, have any powerful mages gone missing?”
He frowns. “None that I know of.”
“Then perhaps this began only after they learned about the sentient house. After they knew I was real and thought I was destroyed. Someone found the old plans and did not realise what they had. Until now.”
The spell preparation takes time—that is the only reason Knox is not already dead. If I had spoken up when I first suspected, we might have had longer to plan.
“That circle looked nearly finished,” I warn. “Give them another hour, and they will be ready.”
He studies me. “How’s your magic?”
“Better. The nausea from the paperweights has mostlygone, but I can still feel them—and there are more out there.” I steady my breathing. “What a nightmare.”
I flex my hands and get to my feet. “I need my magic back in full before I go in. I have to destroy that circle, but it will require lots of magic and finesse.”
He opens his arms and waits.
“What… w—what are you doing?”
“I’m offering you a hug.”
I stare at him, then at my boots, and shuffle awkwardly. “I do not need a hug. I am not a child to be coddled.”
“I’m offering comfort, not coddling. Just a hug.”
“Just a hug?”
I look at him, baffled, then take in the empty room.
We are alone.It is just a hug.I ease into his arms, my body stiff. Lander lets me settle, then pulls me closer and gives a gentle squeeze. Slowly. So slowly. My arms creep around him.
We stay like that for a long minute.
His chest is warm and firm; the muscles in his back shift under my hands. Vanilla and coconut. He is solid, alive, and I had not realised how much I needed this until his arms were around me. My worries melt beneath the quiet pressure of the embrace.
“Thank you,” I whisper, stepping out of his arms.
“You’re welcome. I like you, Harper House, and it surprises the hell out of me, because I hardly ever like anyone.”
“Youlikeme?”
“I’m crazy about you.” He chuckles, and his celadon-green eyes sparkle. “Do you know, that was the first real expression I’ve seen on that beautiful face? I’m glad I put it there, even if it’s utter confusion. What’s not to like? You’re kind, beautiful, intelligent, and powerful. I’d be an idiot not to court you.”
He kisses my cheek and strides away.
That is the second time he has kissed me. I press my hand to the memory of his lips on my face, and I stare after him—those broad shoulders, the muscled arms, the absurdly handsome face.
He likes me.
