“I mean it.” Dahlia’s eyes glistened. “You threw yourself in front of that construct without even thinking. For me. I don’t know how to—” She stopped, swallowed. “Also, that man hasn’t left your side in days. At some point, you’ve gotta admit that means more than you’re willing to say.”
“She’s right.” Junie’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “I know you’re scared, Avine. You’re scared because the last time you let someone in, they made you small. They took everything you were and compressed it into what fit their expectations.”
The wine in her glass shifted to pale blue—vulnerability, maybe, or sadness. She stared into it, not trusting her voice.
“But Theo doesn’t want you small.” Junie continued. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like you’re the most powerful thing he’s ever seen. Like your magic, your strength, your everything—it doesn’t scare him. It pulls him in.”
Cassia pushed herself up on her elbows. “Can you two please stop dancing around each other? Honestly! The tension between you is messing with the tides!”
“Cassia.” Dahlia’s voice held a warning.
“What? Someone had to say it. You were all being way too delicate.” Cassia waved a hand. “Look, I’m not good at the soft emotional stuff. But I know this—when you find a person who makes you feel more instead of less, you hold onto them. You don’t let fear talk you out of it.”
Narla spoke last, her voice quiet but carrying. “I’ve been able to smell it since the start. The way you respond to each other. The way your scents change when you’re near. It’s already there, Avine. Whatever this is between you—it exists. The question isn’t whether you want him. It’s whether you’re brave enough to keep him.”
The room fell quiet. Avine looked at each of them in turn—her coven, her family. Who saw through her walls and loved her anyway.
“I’m scared out of my mind.” The words came out small. “I came here to find myself again. And now there’s this man who makes me feel things I didn’t think I could feel… ever, and I don’t know if I’m ready?—”
“You’re not.” Junie interrupted. “Nobody ever is. That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“Doing it anyway.” Junie smiled. “Being scared and wanting it and reaching for it even when you don’t know if you’ll fall. That’s what brave is, Avine. Not the absence of fear. The refusal to let it win.”
TWENTY-NINE
AVINE
Aknock at the door interrupted the moment.
Before anyone could answer, it swung open, and Elder Sue Tidewell swept into the room with the serene confidence of someone who’d never encountered a locked door she couldn’t talk her way through.
“I heard there was wine.” She perched in the only empty chair as if it had been left specifically for her. “And feelings. I do so love a good feelings session.”
Avine stared at her great-aunt. Sue wore floral patterns that belonged at a garden party—flowing and completely inappropriate for an impromptu bedroom spa night. Her silver hair was perfectly coiffed. Her smile was perfectly innocent.
Avine didn’t trust that smile for a second.
“Aunt Sue. How’d you know we were?—”
“Oh, dear.” Sue waved a hand. “I know everything that happens in this town. You should understand that by now.” She accepted a glass of wine from Junie—who looked slightly awed and slightly unnerved—and took a delicate sip. “Now. I understand there’s been some discussion about your situation.”
“My situation.”
“With the Alpha. With your magic. With the interesting position you’ve found yourself in.” Sue’s eyes—sharp as ever despite her sweet-old-lady facade—fixed on Avine. “You’ve been hiding your power for years, dear. The inn saw through that.”
A chill slid down Avine’s spine. “You knew. About my magic.”
“Of course I knew.” Sue smiled. “I’ve known since you were a child. You think you visited me those summers by accident? You think I didn’t notice the way the sea responded to you, the way the wards reacted when you were near?”
“But my mother—” Avine began.
“Your mother was earth-touched, yes. The sea magic doesn’t always pass in a straight line.” Sue’s tone was patient, matter-of-fact. “In the Tidewell line, it runs deep but quiet — skips a generation, sometimes two, then comes back stronger than it left. Your great-grandmother on my side could call storms from a clear sky. Your mother never had a drop of it, and neither did her mother before her. You got the full measure of what they missed.”
The room had gone very quiet. Even Cassia looked uncertain.
“You orchestrated this.” Avine spoke slowly. “My coming here. The inn. All of it.”
