“Sav! You up there hiding again?”
I muttered something under my breath that Ribbon wisely pretended not to understand, too busy being charmed by Hanna.Seconds later, the door opened and both my brothers walked in—Krusk, enormous and grinning, and Enka with his daughter perched on his shoulders, waving a stuffed toad in the air.
“Well, well,” Krusk said, crossing his arms. “I knew you were sneaking off to the roof, but I didn’t realize it was for company.”
Hanna’s eyes widened. “I was just—”
Enka grinned. “He’s terrible at sharing tools, butapparentlyhe’s pretty good at sharing breakfast.”
Gabbi giggled, pointing her toad plushie at me. “Uncle Savla’s blushing!”
“I’mnot,” I retorted sharply—though my ears betrayed me by going hot.
Krusk clapped me on the shoulder, nearly sending me flying into my workbench. I was certain that one of these days, one of us was going to impale ourselves on a sharp object just because of enthusiastic back-slaps. “My little brother’s growing up. Next thing we know, he’ll be smiling in public.”
“Keep talking,” I muttered, “and I’ll clamp your mouth shut.” I held up the clamp I had in mind, but he grinned at me, reaching over to ruffle my hair good-naturedly. As if none of this was his fault.
He’d spent the last few years trying to talk me down from my firm stance on fated mates and why they were aterribleidea, and now he had the gall to come in here and try to matchmake.
Hanna was laughing now—really laughing—and somehow that made it worse. Or better. I wasn’t quite sure yet.
Krusk winked at her on his way out. “If he gives you trouble, tell Pen. She loves making him behave.”
“Noted,” she giggled, eyes dancing.
When they finally left, the workshop was quiet again—except for Ribbon and the faint sound of Hanna stifling another laugh.
“I think your brothers like me,” she said.
“Unfortunately,” I muttered.
She smiled, tearing a sweet roll in half and offering me a piece. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”
And that—may the Gods help me—didn’t sound half as bad as it should have.
By the end of the week, I’d come to accept a few new facts that I’d previously been in denial of.
Hanna was going to keep showing up,Ribbon was now firmlyhertoad, and my workshop—my quiet, sacred,personalspace—was rapidly becoming a witch’s playground.
She showed up that afternoon carrying a basket full of potion supplies—jars, a tray of freshly growing herbs that she set up alongside some of my carvings on the windowsill, and a tiny copper cauldron that looked entirely too fancy for the roof.
“What are you doing?” I asked, already suspicious.
“Borrowing your sunlight,” she said sweetly, setting everything else down on my workbench. “The light up here’s perfect for brewing. I need consistency for testing color reactions.”
“You’re using my roof for your potions?”
“Exactly,” she answered with a nod, as if I was a youngling who’d gotten my first question right.
“And what happens when something explodes?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.
She gave me a look that was somehow both innocent and mischievous. “Then you’ll have a new sculpture subject.”
I stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and muttered, “Fine. Just stay away from the forge.”
She grinned then—a quick, bright thing that hit me somewhere under my ribs—and started unpacking her ingredients.
It was… chaos. Organized witch chaos, I was certain, but chaos all the same.
