“Jesper.” Sabine’s voice was crisp, sharp as cut glass, though a thread of weariness ran under it that I’d only ever heard when she was worried about her daughter. “I wouldn’t bother you if it weren’t serious. A few of the students are falling ill at the Academy, and supernaturals are still disappearing across Kalista.”
I gripped the counter, the knife stilling in my hand. “Disappearing? You mean?—”
“Gone. No trace. And the Council suspects itisn’trandom.” She exhaled audibly, then continued, “I need you to keep an eye on Rune when you’re on campus for mentoring.Quietly. She’s a target whether she realizes it or not.”
The request sank heavy into my chest for some reason, but I didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I’ll watch out for her. But Agent Bloodwyne, what about Darian?”
A sharp silence answered me.
“Jesper, Darian is nothing like you. The only reason I ever allowed Rune to date him was because he was your cousin and Tobias’s friend. I thought that alone would keep her safe. I was wrong.” Her tone cracked, just slightly. “He isnothinglike you, and Tobias lost a friend when his true nature showed.”
Garlic cloves crushed beneath the flat of my blade, and that pungent scent bloomed sharp in the air. I tossed them into the hot oil of the other pan, and it hissed.
My throat burned with guilt. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he leaves her alone.”
Her voice softened, trusting me in a way that made my chest ache. She was my boss, but sometimes she reminded me of a second mother. “Good. I know I can count on you.”
The line clicked dead, but her words stayed.
I stirred slowly, letting the oil soak up the garlic. Throwing in some herbs, the scent spread through the house.
Rune shouldn’t have to deal with Darian’s harassment. Him bringing her flowers was an unwelcome romantic gesture that, when done again and again, became harassment. I’d worked a few harassment cases, and they never bode well.
The water bubbled to a rolling boil.
I dropped the noodles in, watching the pasta soften and curl. Steam fogged the kitchen window, blurring the view of the small garden beyond.
When I drained the noodles and tossed them into the pan, the garlic and herbs clung to all of them. I added in the vegetables and stirred it all up.
Cooking wasn’t just food for me. It was a sanctuary, and it carried memories. It reminded me of the nights Mom cooked for me growing up, humming low as she stirred, making something fragrant to chase away the silence after one of Darian’s outbursts while Aunt Maelis calmed him down.
It was theonething I knew how to give Rune that wasn’t tainted by my cousin’s shadow.
I made a plate for my mom, aunt, and I, and packed one into an enchanted glass container that would keep the food fresh. Making garlic noodles wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was something I’d never done for anyone but my mom and my aunt.
If Rune thought I was tainted by Darian’s shadow, I’d prove her wrong.
drecken
. . .
The glass vialson my workbench trembled as I siphoned Rune’s magical essence from a droplet of her venom into a potion bottle with telekinesis. My magic wouldn’t stop popping off around it like it couldn’t get enough of her magical essence. I’d been trying forhoursto replicate the sensation she left behind in me—the Fates-damned butterflies that spread warmth under my ribs. Unfortunately, it slipped through my grasp every single time.
The memory of that flutter Rune left in my chest when she touched me,when I held her in my arms,haunted me.
If I could bottle this feeling, it would be worth more than any other potion. It would bring a sense of excitement and belonging that not everyone could feel. I’d been alive over a century and never felt the way Rune made me feel. If it worked, even humans would beg for this.
The problem was that it wasn’t working.
Every formula I tried just burned out.
My gaze drifted to the photo propped on the shelf above me. My parents, frozen in their laughter, heads tilted toward one another like they shared a secret language. There was a timein my adolescence when they’d described this feeling to me as romance, aslove, but I had dismissed it.
Hypotheticals.
Poetic exaggerations.
The Fates’ intervention.
