Avine smiled, soft and knowing. “Then maybe you should stop convincing yourself you can’t have it. Maybe you should let yourself find out.”
“What if I find out that I’m right?” Cassia hated how small her voice sounded. “What if he doesn’t—what if I’m not?—”
“What if you are?” Junie cut in. “What if you’re exactly what he needs, and you never find out because you were too scared to try?”
Cassia didn’t have an answer.
She didn’t know if there was one.
But later that night, walking home under a sky she’d managed—barely—to keep clear, Gust riding warm and solid on her shoulder, she thought about the charge that built between her and Aero. About a dragon who’d existed for longer than memory and who now looked at her with something she couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.
What did she want?
She wanted to stop being afraid.
She just didn’t know how.
Baby steps,Gust offered through their bond.Even storm petrels learn to fly in stages.
“Since when are you philosophical?”
Since you needed to hear it.He nuzzled against her neck.Still don’t like the dragon, though.
“Noted.”
He looks at you like you’re something precious. Like you’re worth standing in the storm for.A pause.I’ll allow it. Provisionally.
Cassia huffed a surprised laugh. “High praise from you.”
Don’t tell him I said that. I have a reputation to maintain.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They walked on in companionable silence, the harbor lights twinkling below, the cottage on the bluff waiting ahead. Tomorrow, she’d go back to the weather station. Back to Aero and his clinical observations and his unreadable eyes. Back to charged air and frustration and the terrifying possibility that maybe—maybe—she wasn’t as alone as she’d convinced herself she was.
But that was tomorrow.
Tonight, she let herself walk under clear skies and think about what she wanted. Not what she feared. Not what she thought she couldn’t have.
Just… what she wanted.
The answer was terrifying.
But for the first time in years, she didn’t push it away.
TEN
AERO
“This is a terrible idea.”
Aero stood outside Wolf Moon Brewery, arms crossed, watching Delos practically vibrate with anticipation on the wooden porch. The building was an old cannery converted into something aggressively rustic—exposed brick, massive timber beams, windows fogged with warmth against the evening chill. The scent of hops and barley drifted through the door every time someone entered or left.
“It’s a fantastic idea.” Delos grabbed his arm and tugged. “Necessary social integration. You can’t spend your entire time in Haven Shores hiding in the cabin and lurking around the weather station.”
“I don’t lurk.”
“You absolutely lurk. I’ve watched you do it. You stand in corners and radiate menace until people forget you’re there.” Delos’s grin was entirely too cheerful. “Tonight, we’re going to practice being normal. Or at least your approximation of it.”
