Thenshehad happened.
Aero closed his eyes and immediately regretted it. The image was there, waiting. Eyes that shifted between gray and green, restless as the sea. Dark curls escaping their braid. A mouth that curved with sharp humor and sharper defiance. The way lightning had arced between them the moment their gazes met?—
Mate, his dragon rumbled.Ours.
No.
Aero threw off the covers and stood, his bare feet hitting cold floorboards. The cabin was spartan—a bed too short for his height, a dresser he hadn’t bothered to unpack, and a single personal item on the nightstand. The photograph was old, faded at the edges, showing two figures in dragon form against a mountain backdrop. His parents. The only thing he carried between assignments.
He didn’t look at it this morning. He wasn’t in the mood for ghosts.
His dragon stirred at the thought, scales rippling beneath human skin.
Want out, it growled.Want to fly. Want to find?—
“No,” Aero said aloud. His voice was rough from disuse; he’d spoken to no one but Elder Tidewell since arriving. “We have work to do.”
The dragon subsided, but not quietly. It never did anything quietly anymore.
Aero drained his coffee and began preparing for the day. He had a research partnership to establish. Data to collect. A storm witch to manage.
He refused to think about the way his pulse quickened at that last thought.
The Haven Shoresweather station occupied a converted lighthouse keeper’s cottage on the harbor’s north point. Aero had set up his equipment here two days ago, integrating his instruments with the town’s existing monitoring systems. It was a good location—elevated, with clear sightlines to the open ocean, and far enough from the main town to minimize magical interference.
He arrived at 8:45, expecting solitude for at least fifteen minutes.
Cassia Gale was already there.
She stood at the central workstation, her back to the door, reviewing something on one of the monitors. Her dark hair was loose today, a riot of curls that tumbled past her shoulders. She wore layers—a deep blue sweater over some kind of practical shirt, fitted pants tucked into boots. Ready for fieldwork. Ready for weather.
His dragon surged the moment he saw her.
MATE.
Aero’s hand tightened on the doorframe. The wood groaned under his grip. He forced himself to breathe—in through the nose, out through the mouth, a technique he hadn’t needed in centuries—and shoved the beast back down.
She turned at the sound. Those shifting eyes found his, and every monitoring device in the room flickered.
“You’re early,” she said. Her voice was flat. Professional. Nothing like the sharp challenge of yesterday.
“So are you.”
“I wanted to review my notes before you got here.” She gestured at the monitor. “The coastal ward readings from lastmonth. Something’s been off, but I couldn’t pinpoint what until I saw your atmospheric measurements.”
Despite himself, Aero moved closer. Research. This was research. He could focus on research.
Her scent hit him halfway across the room. Ozone and sea salt and something sweet underneath. He stopped walking. Forced his feet to root to the floor.
“What did you find?” His voice came out rougher than intended.
If she noticed, she didn’t show it. “The pressure differentials don’t match the surge patterns. Look.” She tapped the screen, pulling up a graph. “Here, three weeks ago. The surge spiked, but the atmospheric pressure went the wrong direction. It should have dropped. Instead, it climbed.”
Aero frowned, his research instincts overriding his baser impulses. She was right. The data was anomalous. “External manipulation?”
“That’s what I thought. But I can’t find a source.” She looked up at him, and the movement brought them closer than he’d realized. Close enough to see the individual curls framing her face. The faint dusting of freckles across her nose. The way her pupils dilated when their gazes met.
“Your magic,” Aero said carefully, “seems to respond to proximity.”
