Lucien lingers just behind him, composed as ever despite the chaos, though his eyes track every movement in the room with the quiet intensity of someone who sees far more than he lets on.
Ezra stands near the edge of the crowd, slightly apart from the others, his attention fixed on the couple with that particular expression that tells me he’s already trying to figure out the magical mechanics of how this could have happened.
Sir jumps onto an empty chair beside me, his substantial weight making the old wood creak softly. His tail flicks sharply against the chair back, the sound like a metronome counting down to disaster.
“This is decidedly not good,”his voice cuts through my thoughts, low and tight with the kind of restrained agitation that means he’s working very hard to maintain his composure.“If what these people are saying ever got out to the wrong ears, our carefully hidden town will be exposed. Not only ours, but every hidden magical community from here to the West Coast. This situation is growing rapidly out of control.”
The crowd presses closer despite Lin’s gentle attempts to keep breathing space around the table, curiosity and concern overriding common sense. Murmurs ripple outward, quiet at first, then growing louder as fear begins to settle into the spaces between words.
“This has never happened before in all my years here. . .”
“How did they even get through? Surely the wards would prevent unauthorized entry. . .”
“Something’s definitely wrong with the protective barriers. . .”
“But what? How could they fail like this?”
“The timing is awfully suspicious, don’t you think?”
A fragment of a sentence reaches me as someone shifts past my shoulder, their voice dropping to what they probably think is a whisper but carries clearly in the acoustics of the small space.
“Well, in my opinion, this town has been perfectly fine until she. . .”
The rest is swallowed by overlapping conversation and the scrape of chairs, but I feel those unfinished words land in my chest like a physical blow, settling heavy and cold in the space between my ribs.
My stomach drops with the weight of that hanging insinuation. None of this would be happening if I’d never come to Ruby Springs.
Before the tension can stretch any further, before someone finds the courage to voice what’s clearly being thought, the front door swings open with enough force to make the little bell above it ring frantically. The shift in the room’s energy is immediate and almost tangible.
Councilman Montgomery steps through the doorway, and I recognize him immediately from his visit to Thorne Curiosities a few weeks ago, a tall man with graying temples and the kind of understated authority that comes from years of managing magical crises. His presence cuts cleanly through the chaos, bringing the noise level down exponentially just by existing in the space. His expression remains composed despite the faint strain lining his features and the subtle tightness around his eyes that suggests this situation is testing even his considerable experience.
He pauses just inside the door, offering polite nods and reassuring smiles to several townspeople as he scans the roomonce, assessing the scene with the efficiency of someone trained to handle supernatural emergencies. His attention stops on the couple at the center of the disturbance, and I watch his entire demeanor shift into what I can only describe as professional crisis management mode.
“Everyone,” he says, his voice carrying the perfect balance of firmness and calm authority, just loud enough to command attention without seeming aggressive or panicked. “Let’s give our unexpected guests some breathing room, shall we? There’s no need for a crowd gathering like this. I’m sure everyone has places to be, things to attend to. Let’s get back to our morning routines, nothing unusual to see here.”
The effect is almost magical in itself, though I suspect it’s more about years of practiced leadership than any supernatural influence. People begin to move, slowly at first, chairs scraping and feet shuffling, then with more purpose as his quiet authority settles over the room like a calming blanket. The crowd starts to disperse, though not without lingering glances cast in my direction, looks filled with curiosity now threaded with something quieter, something more uncertain and pointed.
I feel the weight of every single gaze. All those eyes finding me in my corner, assessing, calculating, judging. If someone’s going to point blame for this unprecedented breach in our defenses, I’m the obvious target, the unknown entity in this equation of spectacularly shitty timing. No will say it outright, not with Montgomery here taking control, but the implication hangs in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore.
By the time the room empties, only a handful of us remain. The confused couple, Montgomery, the Rhodes sisters, my three men, Sir, and me. The sudden quiet feels almost oppressive after the earlier chaos, like the calm that comes right before a storm breaks.
Montgomery approaches the table with measured steps, offering the couple a reassuring smile that manages to be both genuine and professional, though I notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes the way it probably should.
“I’m Councilman Montgomery,” he says gently, settling into the kind of authoritative but non-threatening posture that probably took years to perfect. “I understand that this must be very disorienting and frightening for you both. I want to assure you that we will get you safely back on your way with minimal further disruption to your travel plans.”
The man lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it whatsoever, just the kind of desperate sound people make when their grip on reality starts to slip.
“Back on our way to where?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly around the edges. “We didn’t take a turn. We didn’t exit the highway. This place just showed up around us like something out of a movie. That’s not possible. That’s not how roads work. That’s not how anything works.”
“No,” Montgomery agrees softly, his tone carefully neutral. “Under normal circumstances, it isn’t possible.”
My gaze shifts past him toward the café’s front door, scanning the glass panels and the street beyond with growing unease. I find myself waiting, expecting to see a familiar figure approaching with purposeful strides and a political smile.
I’m expecting my aunt to walk through that door any minute now. To sweep in with her perfectly pressed power suit and her mayoral authority, to paste on that sugary sweet smile she wears for public appearances and explain all this away with the kind of smooth political double-speak. She’s a no-show though. I wait, watching the empty sidewalk, but there’s only the occasional curious townsperson peering in through the café’s windows before hurrying past.
“Where is my aunt?” I ask, my voice cutting through the relative quiet as the realization hits me that her absence from this crisis is absolutely intentional. “Shouldn’t the mayor be handling something this serious?”
Montgomery’s attention flicks to me briefly, and I catch the way his expression smooths over with practiced political neutrality before he answers, clearing his throat in a way that suggests he’s been anticipating this question.
