Emily places it in my palm, her calloused fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. The dragon feels solid, whole again in a way I hadn’t expected. When I’d handed her the broken toy, I’d assumed she might glue it back together, leaving visible scars where it had fractured. But this repair is flawless, the wing seamlessly reattached.
“That was the easy part,” Emily says, her smile widening. “Jared helped, too.”
“Quinn will be happy to see it again.” I turn the figure in my hands, catching how the light plays across its curves and angles. “My grandfather taught woodcarving at the community college for thirty years. I always wished I’d inherited his talent.”
Emily watches me examine the piece. “You never picked it up?”
I shake my head, a familiar regret rising. “No one in my family was skilled in fixing things. My mother said my hands were meant for books, not tools.”
“It’s never too late to learn.” She grips the strap of her work bag. “Everyone starts somewhere.”
I trace the mended seam. “How did you get the break to disappear like this?”
Emily lights up with the question, her passion evident. “That’s all in the preparation. You have to clean the break and match the grain before applying the adhesive. After it sets, sand it down gradually, working through finer and finer grits until the transition is seamless.”
Her hands move as she speaks, mimicking the motions of sanding. The skill in those hands strikes me, how they can build structures strong enough to withstand storms, yet delicate enough to restore a tiny wooden wing.
“I could show you a few tips and tricks,” she offers, catching my interest. “Basic repairs aren’t difficult once you know the principles.”
“Yeah?” The word comes out eager, childlike in its enthusiasm.
“Yeah. It’s all about patience. Taking time with each step.” She gestures toward the dragon. “No different than what you do with Quinn, really. Building foundations, one piece at a time.”
Down the dock, Jared helps his cousin secure the water taxi, passengers already lining up to board.
Emily’s tone softens. “You should come by sometime. We?—”
The buzz of my phone interrupts her. I pull it from my pocket, expecting another message from Quinn’s uncles about tutoring schedules or meal preferences.
The notification banner freezes the air in my lungs:
Faculty Summit Announcement
Pacific Northwest Education Alliance, Hosted by Pinecrest Academy.
The harbor noise fades, replaced by the sudden rush of blood in my ears. My fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles whitening. The private school in town, hosting educators from across the region.
Hosting Carson.
“Sorry. Work thing.” I swipe away the alert and shove the phone into my pocket. “I’m going to be busy for a while.”
Emily studies me, her gray eyes narrowing. I force my face to remain neutral, though my heart hammers with such force I wonder if she can hear it. Alphas have keen senses. Can she pick up on the sudden fear prickling across my skin?
“Another time, then,” she says easily enough.
The care behind her restraint only tightens theknot in my stomach. People like Emily and Jared don’t deserve to end up tangled in the fallout of what I’ve done.
Emily adjusts the strap of her bag across her body. “See you around.”
She turns and heads down the dock to board the water taxi, her boots echoing solidly on the planks. Sunlight catches in her silver hair, transforming it into a beacon that grows smaller as she walks away.
I watch her go, the dragon clutched in my hand, while the notification sits heavy in my mind. Carson in Pinecrest. Carson walking these same streets, breathing the same air.
Carson finding me.
The morning continues its rhythm around me, oblivious to my internal collapse.
I force my lungs to expand, to draw in the salt-laden air. A fisherman passes, nets slung over his shoulder, nodding a greeting I barely manage to return.
