“I know,” I whispered. “It’s making me nervous. We’re running out of time.”
I heard Miora and Elira rustling down below in the cellar. Maybe I should have had them make the pastries for the potluck.
Keegan glanced at me. “You’ve got this.”
I nodded. “Bake.”
The pastry began to rise as the golden color returned and the lavender scent deepened into something richer.
There weren't any sparks or flames, and no sudden disasters.
Twobble’s mouth fell open. “It’s… behaving.”
We all leaned in just a little, watching as the pastry settled into a perfect, golden shape that for once didn’t look like it had come straight out of my chaos-prone kitchen.
I lowered my wand, exhaling softly. “Okay.”
Twobble looked at me. “Okay?”
I laughed, the sound light and a little breathless. “Okay! I think we did it.”
He threw his arms in the air. “It didn’t explode!”
“It didn’t catch on fire!” I added.
Keegan’s mouth curved into a quiet smile as he stepped back. “I’d call that a success.”
I reached out, hesitating for just a second before gently lifting the pastry. It was warm and not a flaming disaster.
“Would you look at that,” I said, turning it slightly. “That actually looks like something people would eat.”
Twobble puffed up. “Of course it does. My mother’s recipe is flawless.”
“You doubted it five minutes ago.”
“I doubtedyou.” He snickered. “Not the recipe.”
I set it down on a plate, still half-expecting something to go wrong at the last second, but it just sat there, calm and perfectly ordinary in the best possible way.
For a moment, the kitchen felt… light.
Like maybe we could have this. A normal morning. A small win. Something that didn’t come with a shadow creeping in behind it.
But I already felt the heaviness Keegan had been carrying since he saw his father, Rendel, during our last unexpected greeting from the Priestess. I'd tried bringing it up to Keegan many times, but he just kind of brushed it off in typical Keegan fashion. I know it's bubbling up at the surface. I can feel it.
An aggressive knock at the door shattered that thought, and all three of us froze.
Twobble slowly lowered his arms. “That doesn’t sound like a ‘good morning’ kind of knock.”
“No,” I said quietly, the warmth from the kitchen slipping away just enough to let that familiar unease settle back in.
Keegan’s posture shifted as his gaze moved toward the door.
Another knock followed, just as solid as the first.
Before I could move, the door flung open, and a familiar shape walked inside, dust and grit falling in small cascades as Karvey unfolded his wings.
His expression seemed more serious than I’d ever seen it.
