I think of how right it felt, standing in the Vein’s shadow.
How the air tasted like smoke and possibility. How my chest loosened for the first time in years when I realized I’m needed here.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I do. I feel tethered. Like there’s a cord running from the Vein, through Nightfall, through him and right into me.”
Jules exhales slowly. “Same.”
“Same,” Phoebe echoes.
“But it’s not just Nightfall,” I add, my voice a little rough. “It’s them. Thorne. Kael. Alaric. I didn’t come here for some grand cosmic purpose. I said yes because some insane, flaming skyscraper of a man looked me in the eye and said his world was dying and he needed help.”
“And you don’t say no to that,” Phoebe whispers.
“I don’t know how,” I admit. “Back home, I had a job. An apartment. A microwave that never quite worked right and neighbors who screamed at each other through the walls. It was fine. But it wasn’t… this.”
“Belonging,” Jules says softly.
The word lands like a weight in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say. “Belonging.”
Phoebe’s eyes shine. “I thought I was crazy for not wanting to go back when I had the chance. But I walk the markets at Castletide, and I know the fishmongers’ kids and the harbor Witches and the beautiful sea creatures and I just… I fit.”
“At the Eyrie, the staff doesn’t look at me like I’m some mistake,” Jules says. “They bring me tea when I’m working too late. They fuss at Alaric when he overworks. They care. Not because we’re Lords’ mates. Because we’re theirs.”
“And you?” Phoebe nudges me. “What about the Broken Plains?”
I picture the blazing savannah. The Fire Mustangs. The miners sharing jokes in the mess hall, nodding to me like I’m not an intruder. Evonne calling me “Lady Delia” with a little smile she didn’t bother hiding. Masha’s motherly bossiness.
Thorne’s voice, low and rough, This is your life now. Forward, with you.
“I’m not saying it’s not terrifying,” I answer. “It is. I’m literally sleeping with a fifteen-foot flaming skeleton sometimes.”
Jules snort-laughs.
“But when he looks at me,” I continue, “when we walk the camp together and he actually listens when I talk about triage and training and response times… I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Like there’s a Delia-shaped hole here that I’m finally filling.”
Phoebe smiles softly. “He looks at you like you hung the stars over his volcano.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Shut up.”
Jules nudges my knee with hers. “We’re not saying this is easy. Or safe. Or guaranteed. But if Nightfall is the source of dreams, maybe it makes sense that we found ours here. Not on some cozy beach in Belmar. Here. With them.”
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “So what you’re saying is the multiverse’s dream-factory decided to pull three Jersey girls off the bench and throw us in the deep end.”
“Pretty much,” Jules says.
“And our job is to keep the forges burning,” Phoebe adds. “To keep them from going dark. In every sense.”
I look between them—two women I’ve just met and somehow already trust more than most people I’ve known my whole life.
“You know,” I say, voice quiet but sure, “if the SoulTakers really want to stop dreams, picking a fight with three stubborn-ass Jersey girls and their Demon Lords might have been a tactical error.”
Jules grins, sharp and bright. “Oh, absolutely.”
Phoebe lifts her cup. “To tactical errors.”
I lift mine too, heart steady and fierce.
