His words are not a challenge, only an observation, but Liam’s jaw tightens all the same. The look he finally sends Trevor is not hostile, but it carries a warning edged with steel.
Trevor lifts his hands in a small, peaceful gesture, not backing down but not provoking further either. “I’m not trying to pry,” he adds. “But Harper nearly collapsed. The shop nearly collapsed. Wand reactions of that magnitude are...rare.”
Liam scoffs under his breath, lifting the ale to his lips but not drinking. “Rare or not, what happened in there stays between us.”
The tone brooks no argument.
A heavy pause settles over the table, as thick as the magic still lingering on my skin.
Trevor turns back to me, expression softening. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “Not now. Not at all, if you choose. But… if something happened that could put you in danger, I’d rather know before something else decides to explode.”
There is no humor in his voice.
No wryness.
No attempt to earn my trust through charm.
Just sincerity, and the faintest thread of fear.
Not for himself.
But for me.
I stare down at the knots in the wooden table, tracing one with my fingertip as my pulse thuds unevenly in my throat.
I’m not ready.
Not to speak about the wand.
Not to speak about the visions.
Not to speak about those eyes, those ancient, golden, impossible eyes that felt far too aware.
But Trevor isn’t wrong.
Something happened.
Something dangerous.
Something that didn’t end just because the wand stopped glowing.
And sitting here in the warm amber dimness of the Willow Wisp, with the fae ale shimmering in our mugs and the rest of Anvaris waking beyond the windows, I realize the truth I haven’t allowed myself to say aloud: Whatever chose me in that wand shop, whatever I glimpsed, is not done with me.
Not by a long measure.
Liam drains his drink with the urgency of someone desperately trying to shake the weight of the world off his shoulders. The fae ale glimmers faintly, its magic swirling through the mug like liquid gold.
By the time he reaches for his second, Theo has nearly matched him sip for sip, though his pace is more measured, his breathing more controlled. Trevor watches them both with a curious blend of amusement and unease, his gaze drifting back to me whenever he thinks I’m not looking. The table feels warmer than the rest of the pub, as if the four of us have carved out a small refuge within the crowded room. Yet my chest still feels tight, and every swig of ale only heightens the tremble in my hands.
I take my time with my drink, tracing the rim lazilybefore bringing it to my lips. The ale is warm and deceptively smooth, the taste dancing between sweet and sharp. It slips easily down my throat, settling in my stomach with a spreading heat that hits faster than expected, no doubt due to the emptiness of my belly. The room softens around the edges, blurring into a hazy glow of lantern light, murmured laughter, and the scent of roasted meat drifting from the kitchen.
Liam is the first to break the fragile calm. He leans forward, elbow on the table, gaze sharp despite the alcohol. “So seriously,” he says, directing the question at Trevor but glancing at Theo for confirmation, “why does your friend always feel the need to poke at my sister?”
Trevor exhales, rubbing the side of his neck as if searching for a measured answer. His expression folds into something that is equal parts honesty and disdain. “I think he sees her as a challenge,” he finally says. “Something to add to his scorecard.” His tone darkens, just a shade, revealing a quiet dislike for the idea.
Theo snorts softly, lifting his mug. “It’s not as if he’d be your first, Harper. Most of us got that out of the way by fifteen.” The joke hangs in the air a moment too long, its weight far heavier than he intends. Liam’s smile drops instantly. My mouth goes dry. Trevor’s laughter begins but falters as he watches my reaction.
Trevor leans closer, his eyes narrowing with curiosity rather than cruelty. “You’ve… lain with someone before, haven’t you? Everyone has by now. Especially in a world like ours.”
