Hazel launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Marcus froze, then his arms came up automatically, steadying her.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Lily, she needs this. They all need this.”
“I know.” He should step back. This was unprofessional. But her warmth seeped through his shirt, and she smelled like lavender and ozone from her magic, and he found himself holding on.
She pulled back, cheeks flushed. “Sorry. That was…”
“Don’t apologize for being grateful.” Though his hands lingered at her waist, perhaps a beat too long before he let go.
“Still.” She turned back to the counter, busying herself with herbs. “The Shadow Council isn’t going to like you circumventing their blockade.”
“The Shadow Council can take it up with my legal department.”
“Your legal department is terrifying.”
“I am my legal department.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “Of course you are.”
“The same Mrs. Henderson whose granddaughter needed moonbell flowers?”
Hazel looked up sharply. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything about this case.”
“Just the case?”
He didn’t answer, focusing instead on drying his hands. When he turned back, she was grinding herbs with perhaps more force than necessary, but there was a lightness to her shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
“The valerian root needs to be crushed, not pulverized,” she said. “Here, like this.”
Hazel guided him through basic preparations, her hands sure and graceful as she measured and mixed. Marcus was genuinely interested, asking questions about properties, reactions.
They worked side by side, falling into a rhythm. Pass the jar. Hold this steady. Careful with that, it stains. The kitchen filled with herbal scents and quiet concentration.
“You’re not terrible at this,” she admitted as he successfully ground lavender to the right consistency. He’d put too much pressure on the first batch and turned half of it to powder; they’d tipped that into the compost without comment.
“High praise.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
Azrael had long since wandered off, leaving them alone. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, catching the red in her hair. Marcus realized he was staring and forced his attention back to the mortar in his hands.
They finished the salve in careful silence, packing it into small jars. Normal. Domestic. Nothing like what Marcus had expected when he’d woken to find her gone.
“I won’t run again,” Hazel said quietly as they cleaned up. “I mean it.”
“Good.”
“But I need you to trust me. At least a little.”
“I trust you not to intentionally get yourself killed.”
“Such faith.”
“You ran off to a magical market alone while being hunted by assassins.”
“I needed ingredients!”
