Too quiet.
Too boring.
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d lived that ending once before. But this time he knew—bone-deep and certain—that he wouldn’t survive this round. The fall.
His jaw tightened.
If he couldn’t shut this down on his own, he needed something to take the edge off.
There was only one place in town that might offer some help.
He hated that he knew exactly where it was.
***
Tonics & Potions—Myrtle’s Shop sat tucked away in a quiet side alley, colorful fairy lights blinking in the window like trappedstars. The wooden sign creaked overhead as he pushed the door open.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of powdery floral and ancient dust. Shelves crowded with tiny glass bottles held liquids that looked capable of either easing a headache or creating an entirely new species. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the beams like inverted bouquets, their scents mingling into a spicy, medicinal haze.
He hadn’t set foot in here in years.
“Rhavor!” Myrtle called from behind the counter, her voice sharp as a tack. “Well, that’s a surprise.”
She leaned back, studying him with eyes that saw far too much.
“How are you? How’s the farm? How’s your aunt?”
“Good. Thanks.” He clipped the words.
He was internally combusting, his blood still running too hot, and he did not have the patience for polite social updates.
“I’m seeing your aunt tomorrow at the Hearth & Hollow,” she said casually. “It’s the monthly good-cause auction. You should come.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“In the evening?” Her brow arched.
“There’s always work at the farm.”
She hummed, her gaze sliding over him slowly, like she was diagnosing a terminal illness.
“Well, the new businesses in town got invitations,” she added lightly, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial purr. “The newbakery got one, too. Good chance to mingle. See what Honeybay has to offer.”
The image of Sylvie mingling—laughing, leaning toward some smooth-talking idiot who didn’t have claws barely under control—flashed through his mind.
Something sharp twisted in his chest.
Mine.
That was exactly the goddamn problem.
He straightened, filling the small shop with muscle and restrained irritation.
“I need something.”
Myrtle’s brows rose.
“What kind of something?”
