He shook his head. "No, but I want to."
"I’ll show you sometime. We can start easy—not too loud, don’t want to scare the neighbors."
He grinned, but then he winced, almost as if he’d bitten his tongue. He set the cookie down, both hands going to his temples.
Krystal noticed right away. She moved to his side, crouching so they were eye-to-eye.
"What’s wrong?" she said, brushing the hair off his forehead.
Bryce’s face was pale, the freckles stark. "My head hurts again," he whispered. "Worse than yesterday."
Krystal’s hand went to his cheek, checking for heat. "Are you feeling sick?"
He shook his head, but even that seemed to cost him. Up close, his eyelids fluttered, and his shoulders bunched like he was bracing for impact.
I shot Krystal a glance—Is this normal?—but she just shook her head, lips pressed flat.
"We should get you home," she said, her tone already shifting to full mom mode.
Bryce clung to her arm, eyes watering at the edges. "Sorry," he said. "I didn’t mean to ruin?—"
"You didn’t ruin anything," I cut in. "Not even close."
Krystal helped him off the couch, one arm tight around his waist. He leaned into her, the energy from earlier folded away for now.
I kept my distance, not wanting to crowd them. But as they neared the door, I reached out and squeezed his shoulder, just enough to anchor the moment.
"We’ll do this again soon," I promised. "When you’re feeling better."
He nodded, a shy smile ghosting over his face. "I’d like that… Dad."
The word froze me where I stood.
Bryce held my eye for a second, then ducked behind Krystal’s side, spent but brave.
Krystal lingered a moment, her gaze softer. "Thanks for today."
"Anytime," I said.
They slipped out. The house felt emptier with them gone, shadows crowding in around the afternoon light.
I waited, alone with the promise of more. For once, I’d made the connection I was after. I let myself hope.
I had a son. And he was amazing.
Chapter 20
Krystal
Saturday,I pulled up to Beck Manor with the engine still ticking under my hands. Tonight, the windows glowed gold against the oncoming storm, and the only vehicle in the drive was Zaden’s motorcycle. He opened the front door before my boots even hit the first step.
He looked different. There was no shield in the curve of his mouth, just a question written all over his face. Are you really here, or am I still dreaming you?
He said, "Hey," but it sounded like welcome back.
I tried to answer, but my lips had decided to stick together out of sheer spite. Instead, I tucked my hands into my jacket pockets and let him take the lead, following the broad line of his shoulders through the foyer. He waited for me to catch up, then walked me down the long, echoing hall.
Aurelia’s ritual room was on the ground floor, tucked between the library and the less formal den. I’d never seen the inside, only heard stories that the floors had been imported from a church in Spain, that the walls were lined with enough protectiveglyphs to keep a whole town in check. I’d assumed, stupidly, that they were exaggerating.
