Cassia narrowed her eyes but obliged. “He shows up at the station before me every morning. Every. Morning. I’ve tried getting there at eight. Seven-thirty. Seven. He’s already there, looking like he’s been working for hours, making me feel like I’m late even when I’m technically early.”
“Monstrous behavior,” Narla murmured. Her lips twitched.
“And he never gets flustered. Never. I say something sharp, he just looks at me with those—” Cassia gestured vaguely. “—those eyes, and his jaw does this thing, and then he says something perfectly reasonable that makes me feel like I’m the one being dramatic.”
“You are—” Dahlia started.
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” Avine asked gently.
Cassia stopped pacing. The wine in her glass had gone still, which meant her hands had steadied for once. She didn’t know how to answer the question without admitting things she wasn’t ready to admit.
“He makes me feel…” She searched for a word. “Visible. No, that’s not right. He makes me feelseen. Like he’s actually paying attention to what I’m doing, not just waiting for me to finish so he can correct me. Even when he’s being insufferable, he’s—” She cut herself off. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
Junie and Dahlia exchanged a look. The kind of look that communicated entire conversations in a single glance.
“What?” Cassia demanded.
“Nothing,” they said in unison.
“He’s also incredibly attractive,” Narla observed calmly, examining her wine glass. “In that terrifying ancient predator way. I passed him near the harbor yesterday. My candle flames guttered out from across the street.”
Warmth crept up Cassia’s neck. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Four pairs of eyes fixed on her with varying degrees of skepticism.
“Liar.” Dahlia reached for the pastry box beside her and extracted a croissant, holding it out like a peace offering. “Your storms have been worse since he arrived, Cass. Three squalls in three days. That’s not anger.”
“It’s—”
“Don’t say frustration.”
“—frustration.”
“It’s attraction.” Dahlia’s voice was gentle but implacable. “I watched you do this for months before you’d admit you were interested in anyone. Remember Marcus Vermelli? You flooded the pier because he smiled at you.”
“We agreed never to speak of Marcus Vermelli.”
“We agreed to revisit the subject when relevant. It’s relevant.”
Cassia buried her face in her hands. The croissant dangled, forgotten, between her fingers. “This is different. Marcus was human. Normal. Temporary. This is—” She lowered her hands and met Dahlia’s steady gaze. “He’s ancient, Dahl. He’s studied surge patterns across dozens of communities. He’s met more powerful witches than me and probably forgotten their names within a decade. I’m not?—”
She stopped. Couldn’t make herself say it.
“You’re not what?” Junie sat up from her sprawl, all traces of teasing gone.
“I’m not someone who matters to people like him.” The words came out quiet. Wrong-sounding, even as she said them. “I’m a local weather witch with unstable magic who’s going to be dead in sixty years. Why would he—why would anyone like that?—”
“Cassia.” Avine’s voice cut through her spiral. “Stop.”
She stopped.
“You’re not nobody.” Avine unfolded herself from the couch and crossed to where Cassia stood. Took the croissant from her unresisting grip and replaced it with both of her hands, warm and firm. “You’re one of the most powerful witches Haven Shores has seen in three generations. You feel things deeply, and yes, sometimes that creates storms, but it also createsthis—” She gestured at the room, at the five women gathered inside it. “—people who love you. People who show up.”
“That was one time?—”
“That waseverytime.” Avine squeezed her hands. “You matter. And maybe—just maybe—you matter to this dragon more than you’re willing to see.”
