I push a low branch out of my way. It snaps back harder than I expect and stings my palm. “We should’ve thought this outbetter. We were so focused on finding the forge we didn’t take into account what might happen when we did find it.”
“She's coming back." Wylder moves alongside me.
“You don't know that for sure.”
“No, but Mica is not someone to get swallowed by things quietly. Whatever Brimstone and that forge are showing her, if she doesn’t like it, she’ll make it known.”
Rowan makes a sound that's almost a laugh.
Her attempt at humor chips something loose in my chest, at least a little. And Wylder’s right, Mica didn't sign up to get absorbed by an ancient forge in the Arizona desert.
She signed up to be mentored on how to use a mythical forge so we can fight an asshole of a demon.
I don't know if she's safe. I don't know if she's scared. I don't know if that cat isactuallybenevolent or if the Crucible took what it needed and that's the end of Mica.
I close my eyes and erase that thought from existence.
She’s fine.The cat chose her, and now she’s living her best metal witch life.
The porch steps creak under my feet and, instead of going inside, I let the others file past me and lean against the railing. Is it colder than it was an hour ago, or is that just me?
Winter is coming.
The conversations of the others filter into the house, the soft voices of Wylder and Sebastian becoming muffled and then silent as the back door closes.
"Hey," Asher leans on the railing beside me, staring out at the yard and the stones beyond, "don’t overthink this one, Pops. This isn’t your fault. It seems everyone has their destiny unfolding. Yours, mine, and now Mica’s."
"Yeah, you’re right. It still scares me.”
“Of course… but there’s nothing you can do to safeguard any of us, so you can’t take that on as your responsibility.”
I press my palms flat against the railing. The wood is rough, cold, and real. "But what if she doesn't come back? What if the cat just—keeps her? What if we're sitting here making tea and she's trapped somewhere and we never find out what happened to her?"
Asher shifts closer and hooks his arm under mine. He laces our fingers together and squeezes, and I drop my head to rest against his shoulder. “Tell me she’s going to be all right. You don’t even have to believe it, just say the words and I’ll believe it because it’s you.”
He turns his head and kisses my forehead. “She’s going to be fine, baby girl, and I’m not just saying it. I believe it.”
I draw a deep breath into tight lungs. “All right, then I believe it, too.”
The coffee machine gurgles behind me like it's out of breath. I fold the same dish towel for the third time, stalling because leaving Biscuits & Banter means walking back out into whatever the hell today's atmosphere is serving up.
"You good there, Poppy?"
I glance up. Tanner's leaning against the archway between the kitchen and the serving counter, his arms crossed, his gaze sharp under that easy-going exterior he wears like armor.
"Yeah… it’s just..." I gesture vaguely at the five occupied tables in the middle of afternoon rush hour, "been a weird day. I feel like something big is looming.”
He nods. “Life can feel that way when the stakes are high.”
“So, what do I do?”
“Go home, rest, and take care of yourself. You know what they say, ‘In case of emergency, you need to put your own mask on before helping others.’”
That’s sound logic.
Too bad I’m not great at being logical.
I grab my things from the back room, shrug into my jacket, and sling my purse over my shoulder.
