A woman emerged from between two towering shelves. Tall and willowy, with hair the color of autumn leaves and eyes that held an unsettling shimmer—fae-touched. Fallyn Green. Her gaze swept over them, lingering on Theo’s hand at Avine’s back.
“Alpha and the innkeeper everyone’s been talking about.” Her attention shifted to Avine. “The one who activated dormant wards and then exploded her magic all over the Old Wards District. Subtle.”
“More like ‘dramatically expanded.’” Avine smiled sweetly. “Less violent connotations.”
Theo made a sound that might have been a laugh, quickly suppressed.
A flicker of approval crossed Fallyn’s angular features. “What do you need?”
“Research. The sabotage on her inn—we need to trace the sigil patterns, identify the source.”
“The Sabotage and You section is in the back. Don’t ask why we need one.” Fallyn was already moving, gesturing for themto follow. “Second floor. I’ll pull what I have on the specific patterns your sheriff photographed.”
She disappeared into the stacks with the efficient grace of someone who’d been navigating magical libraries longer than most families had existed.
“She’s charming,” Avine murmured.
“You would say that.” Theo guided her toward a spiral staircase that hadn’t been visible from the entrance. “You’re charming in the same way. All sharp edges and dry comments.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation.” He started up the stairs, still close enough that his shoulder brushed hers with each step. “Whether it’s a compliment depends on how you feel about sharp edges.”
“I’ve been told I have too many of them.”
“By idiots.” He said it like a fact. “Your edges are some of my favorite things about you.”
Her heart did a complicated maneuver. “You have a list?”
“It’s getting longer.” He glanced back at her, and his expression made her miss a step. He caught her elbow, steadied her, didn’t let go. “Careful. These stairs like to shift.”
“Right. The stairs.”
THIRTY-ONE
AVINE
The second floor opened into a research room that felt carved from the building’s bones—old stone walls, heavy wooden tables scarred by centuries of use, windows that looked out on views Avine was fairly certain didn’t exist in actual Haven Shores. One showed a stormy sea she’d never seen from any coast. Another revealed a garden in full bloom despite the autumn chill outside.
“Don’t look at those too long,” Theo advised. “Fallyn says they’re windows to somewhere. She won’t say where.”
“This town has a lot of doors to somewhere.” Avine tore her gaze away from what might have been a sunset over impossible mountains. “Does anyone actually know what’s behind them?”
“Orryn Vale probably does.” Theo pulled out a chair for her at a corner table. The gesture was old-fashioned, almost courtly, and it made her stomach flip. “But getting straight answers from the Fae Elder is its own form of magic.”
They fell into the work, books stacking up between them. Wyatt’s photographs of the sabotage sigils spread across the surface—the dark marks burned into her basement floor, the patterns woven through the salt constructs, the traces left on her wards.
Hours passed. Avine lost herself in the research—translating old sigils, cross-referencing attack patterns, comparing magical signatures to the historical records Fallyn kept delivering. It was methodical, absorbing, and made more complicated by the fact that Theo kept finding excuses to touch her.
His knee pressed against hers under the table—and stayed there. His hand brushed hers reaching for the same book, and instead of pulling away, his fingers tangled with hers before slowly releasing. When she shivered in the cool air of the archive, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders without a word—still carrying his heat, smelling of cedar and him.
She didn’t give it back.
“You’re staring at me instead of the book.” She said without looking up.
“The book isn’t nearly as interesting.”
“We’re supposed to be researching.”
