“And that’s bad because?” Cassia’s eyebrow arched.
“Because he’s leaving, Cassia.” The words tore out of her, unfiltered and exposed. “Because I’ve spent my whole life protecting myself from this exact moment—caring about someone who’s going to walk away. Everyone I’ve ever let close has eventually?—”
She stopped. Her throat was tight. Her eyes burned.
Glimmer butted her head against Junie’s palm, scales steady. The familiar’s presence was grounding—a reminder that not everyone left. Some creatures stayed.
“Junie.” Narla’s voice drew her attention. The candle witch had risen from her chair, moving to stand before her. “May I share an observation?”
“Can I stop you?”
“No.” Narla’s smile was gentle. “I’ve been watching Leo Castellan since he arrived in Haven Shores. Watching the way he moves through our town, interacts with our people, responds to our magic.”
“And?”
“His scent has changed.”
Junie frowned.
“Changed how?”
“His scent has changed. When he arrived, he smelled like fog and money and tension. Now he smells like sea salt. Haven Shores is getting into him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that whatever Leo Castellan planned when he came here, his instincts are telling a different story.” Narla returned to her chair, lowering herself with the ease of someone who’d said her piece. “Lions are territorial creatures. They don’t bond with places accidentally. And they don’t change their scent signature for somewhere they’re planning to leave.”
Junie looked at Avine, who nodded slowly. “Theo mentioned it too. Said Leo’s lion has been different lately. Less guarded. More present.”
“That could mean anything.” Junie’s protest was weak.
“It could.” Avine agreed. “Or it could mean that sometimes, people surprise you. Sometimes they stay.”
TWENTY-ONE
JUNIE
The wine flowed. The pastries dwindled. The conversation spiraled through a dozen topics before circling back, as it inevitably would, to the question none of them had asked directly.
It was Dahlia who voiced it, her sharp eyes gentle as she caught Junie’s gaze across the low table.
“What do you want, Junie?”
The question was simple. The answer was anything but.
She thought about all the masks she’d built—the potion witch, the chaos element.
She thought about Leo in the neon light of the diner, talking about his father. About his face when he laughed, startled and wondering, like he’d discovered a part of himself he’d thought was lost forever.
She thought about the way he’d looked at her outside her door. The way he’d stepped back instead of forward. The way he’d chosen restraint when every line of his body had been straining toward her.
I’ll do better next time.
Next time.Like there would be more. Like this was a beginning instead of an ending.
“I want to stop being afraid.”
The admission was quiet. Raw. More honest than anything she’d said all night.
