By this time next year, I told myself,you will be whole again.
That night would mean nothing. Just a fun night that led to a brief period of weird vibes.
I glanced toward the living room, straining my ears for any sign of movement, before letting my gaze drift back to Ambrose’s shelf of mementos.
A life of friendship sat neatly arranged there.
But the token from our last job—the night we’d crossed a line we couldn’t uncross—had never earned a place among them. It wasn’t a memory meant to be cherished. He’d saved it as a reminder that what we had done could never happen again.
I tiptoed across the room and slid my hand beneath Ambrose’s pillow. My fingers closed around cool plastic, and I pulled out the bloodied button.
Without looking at it, I slipped it into my pocket.
If I wasn’t summoned, I’d put it back in the morning.
And I’d force myself to talk to him then.
Just get through tonight.
As I padded out of his room, I forced the frown from my face, schooling my features into my usual careless smirk. Ambrose still stood at the window, watching the traffic and mortals below, his shoulders stiffening the moment I drew near.
Words failed me again, so I reached for my phone—anything to give my hands something to do. My tongue clicked unconsciously against the roof of my mouth as I skimmed through my notifications and opened my email.
Three new requests for supernatural security.
The first was from a young wolf shifter, Rhea Varrow, asking for backup during a meeting between her alpha and a rival pack trying to muscle in on their territory. Six months ago, that would’ve been right up our alley. I sent a polite reply declining the job.
The second was from a witch who’d heard—via a friend of a friend—that we were now taking on domestic work. She had a hob problem. Apparently, a handsome, strong man lingering for a few weeks would be just the thing to persuade it to stop attacking her wards.
The third was from another witch, this one wanting someone to hang around and keep a particular coven-mate from stealing her magicked candy recipe until she could perfect and patent it.
Thrilling stuff.
“Hob or candy?” I asked.
“Hmm?” Ambrose murmured, still facing the window.
“For a job,” I said. “If neither of us gets summoned tonight. Want to scare off a hob or watch a witch make candy for a month?”
Ambrose shrugged. “I’ll take whichever one you don’t want.”
Neither. I want to do neither.
The hob job sounded simple enough, but it reeked of forced small talk, herbal tea, and a nomad witch expecting a bit of flirtation from the muscle she’d hired. Ambrose was the patient one.
My chaos was better suited to cursed candy than polite cups of tea.
“I’ll take the candy one then,” I said, slipping my phone back into my pocket, planning to accept the jobs after the summoning—assuming we were both still here.
The silence stretched again.
I perched on the armrest of the couch, doing my best not to let my mind replay exactly what we’d done on that same couch six months ago. And just as my resolve started to waver, Ambrose finally turned to face me.
His expression was stoic and unreadable, his dark gaze sliding past me—lingering for just a fraction of a second on the couch, long enough to make my heart stutter—before fixing on the clock on the wall behind me.
“Less than an hour until the summoning,” he said. “Are you ready?”
I slapped my palms against my thighs and forced a grin as I pushed to my feet. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
