And settling into the peace of the moment, as well as the comfort of his presence. The safe net that the rooftop had become for me.When I used to feel the need to run, I would leave the building and head into the park with nature as the only way I could clear my head.
Running from the terrible feeling in the back of my mind that my mother and my asshole of an ex-fiancé were trying to find me.
But then after that, the sharp memory of being snatched by Tasia’s ex, his filthy hands digging into my arm as he dragged me across the grass, twigs reaching for me, trying to hold me and protect me but unable to against his brute strength would fill my mind. Even now, I struggled to push it away, my breathing going shallow, but I was able to do it eventually.
I saw Savla looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I chose to ignore him. He might be my new safe-place, but there was no way I was going to talk to him about the worst parts of my past.
I didn’t trustanyonethat much. Not even my beautiful sisters. They’d wanted me to. They’d tried to pry it out of me, but the same way I hadn’t told them the entire story of where I’d come from, I hadn’t disclosed much about my abduction.
I preferred not to think about any of it. To pretend that it had happened to someone else instead of me. It was so much easier that way.The same way it was easy being with Savla.
My magick hadn’t protected me then, and I hadn’t been strong enough.Buthefelt strong enough to protect me, and maybe that was the most dangerous magick of all.
Chapter 14
Savla
The night was the kind of quiet that made me nervous.
Usually, Grebath never really slept—there was always something humming, hissing, or sparking—but that night even the city seemed to have shut its eyes. The heat that used to drive through my chest was gone and in its place was a low, steady warmth.
I was supposed to be finishing the third shelf of a piece I was making for Hanna. A nice addition to the workshop so she didn’t have to keep carrying ingredients around. She could just store them all here. I’d even drawn the measurements in chalk on the plank. Instead, I found myself staring at the doorway.
I could still see her standing there earlier that evening, cinnamon bread in her hands, a little embarrassed, a little defiant, telling me that she hadn’t meant to add too much rosemary to the potion that she’d created—which had bubbledand scalded a work bench. The smell of sugar and spice had drifted into my space and clung to the air like a spell. I’d meant to thank her properly, but she’d laughed at something—bright and careless—and every word had died on my tongue.
Now I couldn’t stop thinking about that laugh, or about how she’d tilted her head when she teased me. The motion had made the lamplight catch on her mouth, soft and full and so damn alive that my body had gone tight all over.I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, trying to will the image away.
“Get it together,” I muttered to myself.
Ribbon blinked at me from his spot on Hanna’s worktable—the one I’d made just for her. Little slots for her herbs, extra reinforcement for her cauldron. I was already designing her a bigger, sturdier one since she was so upset about scalding this one. I’d ask Zara to enchant it. She’d already given me some patterns and symbols that I could carve into the wood that should stop all the explosions Hanna seemed to enjoy creating.
The thing about tryingnotto think about Hanna was that it was impossible. It wasn’t just her lips—which were so damn plump and deliciously kissable. It was everything about her. How she filled space without trying to, how she talked with her hands and how she made a mess before somehow turning it into beauty. She was a storm I’d walked into willingly.
I picked up my chisel and started carving again with slow, deliberate strokes. The smell of cedar helped steady me for a while. But my mind kept sliding back to her.
I imagined her downstairs in her little apartment, hair pulled up, sleeves rolled, muttering at a cauldron. She’d be barefoot again, probably humming off-key, scattering herbs like confetti. I wondered if she knew I could hear her sometimes, faintly through the pipes—the clink of glass, the soft curses when something spilled.
If she knew, she’d probably apologise. She’d think that I’d beannoyed. And maybe Ishouldbe annoyed. But the truth was that I liked those sounds. They made the building feel alive.
I liked her laughter most of all. It reached me up here, muffled but unmistakable, and every time it did, the restless edge inside me dulled a little more.
I ran a thumb along the sanded edge of the shelf. It was smooth and clean. Good work, I was sure. But not good enough for Hanna. I moved the shelf over to the side, setting it for another piece. For someone less... important.
I started with a new shelf, running my fingers over it. This one. This was the one that would work for her. I could tell already. It was something inside of me and I wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but it always knew which piece would work for something and what wouldn’t.
I ran my fingers over the wood again, picturing Hanna. I wanted to tuck that stray curl behind her ear. I wanted to rest my palm against the back of her neck and see if the pulse I always felt in my own throat matched hers. I wanted to know if she’d gasp or laugh if I finally closed the distance between us.But then the old fear kicked in—sharp and familiar.
I can’t.
Fate was cruel and I’d seen more than enough proof of it. The moment you claimed something as yours, the world found a way to take it back.So instead of kissing her, I built shelves.
I worked until the heat in my blood drained into the wood grain, until desire became sawdust on my hands. That, at least, I could control.I’d already planned to sneak the shelves into her half of the workshop the next day. She’d find them installed and assume Zara had ordered them. I’d even asked my best friend to take the blame for me—and if she didn’t, I was going to blame her anyway.
Maybe I’d fix her window latch, too—she never remembered to lock it. I’d add some extra locks to her apartment door whileI was there. The ones she never bothered to check—and it drove me mad. Especially after she’d been taken. She’d think they were just a building-wide security addition.
What worried me was that it wasn’t all I wanted to do. I wanted to do so much more, and it irked me that I couldn’t. That I had to find ways to sneak them into her life because I didn’t want her to know they were from me.
I wanted to hang a lantern above her balcony so she’d stop brewing in the dark. To leave the good tea on her counter. To repair the crack in her mixing bowl before she noticed it was chipped.All the little things I’d never say out loud.
