"You'll see." He pushes to his feet in one fluid motion, offering me his hand. "Come on. Can't disappoint our audience."
I stare at his outstretched hand for a heartbeat too long. Then I take it, letting him pull me up. His grip is warm and sure, and he doesn't let go immediately. Just holds on for a moment longer than necessary, thumb brushing across my knuckles in a touch that's definitely deliberate.
"Is this going to be impressive?" I ask, trying to ignore how my pulse races.
"Depends." His smile turns playful, teasing in a way I haven't seen before. "What impresses you?"
"I'm not easily impressed."
"Challenge accepted." He finally releases my hand, moving toward where Amisra is bouncing impatiently. "Watch carefully, starlight. I wouldn't want you to miss anything."
Starlight. The endearment catches me off-guard, settles somewhere warm beneath my ribs. I hadn't expected him to use it again. I follow him across the grass, aware of Daryn watching us with a small smile that knows too much.
Valas crouches down near Amisra, hands held out in front of him. "Ready?"
"Ready!" She claps her hands together.
Magic gathers in the air—I can feel it even without the ability to use it myself, a change in pressure that makes my skin tingle. Light blooms between his palms, starting as a soft glow and then growing, shifting, taking shape.
A bird. He's creating a bird made entirely of luminescence, wings spread in flight. It hovers above his hands, moving as though alive, and Amisra gasps with pure delight.
"More!" she demands.
He glances back at me, something challenging and warm in his eyes. Then he creates another bird. And another. Until the air around us is filled with them, dozens of light-birds wheeling and diving in an intricate dance.
It's beautiful. More than beautiful—it's magic used not for power or control but for joy. For making a little girl laugh and her father smile and?—
And for impressing me, I realize as Valas meets my eyes again. This whole display is as much for me as it is for Amisra.
"Well?" He's still crouched but somehow manages to look infuriatingly confident. "Impressed yet?"
"Maybe a little," I admit, fighting my own smile.
"Only a little?" He makes a gesture and the birds swoop toward me, circling before dispersing into sparkles of fading light. "I'll have to try harder."
"Is that what you're doing?" The words come out more flirtatious than intended. "Trying to impress me?"
"Is it working?"
Daryn laughs from where he's sitting, the sound knowing and amused. I glance over and catch him watching us with that same small smile, satisfaction written in every line of his face.
Heat floods my cheeks. I turn away, suddenly aware of how this must look. Aware of how much I want it to look exactly like it does—like something blooming between us despite every reason not to let it.
My heart flutters traitorously, and I realize with startling clarity that I'm in trouble. The kind of trouble that starts with brushing knees and shared glances and ends with being completely, hopelessly undone.
8
VALAS
The afternoon light slants through Daryn's study windows as I gather scrolls and research notes scattered across his desk. My own handwriting stares back at me—theories tested and dismissed, remedies attempted and failed. Each page a monument to inadequacy.
I should be at my practice. Have patients waiting, appointments scheduled. But I can't seem to leave this house for more than a few hours before the pull drags me back. Before the need to check on Daryn, to see if he's still breathing, still here, becomes overwhelming.
The weight of it sits heavy in my chest. This inevitable loss approaching like winter—you know it's coming, can see the signs, but that doesn't make you ready for the cold.
And beneath that weight, tangled impossibly through it, is Keira.
Her laugh from this morning still echoes in my head. The way she'd finally smiled at me without that guarded wariness, how her knee had stayed pressed against mine even when she could have moved away. Progress, I'd thought. Maybe even hope.
