My cheeks warm, and I try desperately to ignore my body’s immediate protest at the loss of contact.
The moment my feet hit solid ground, reality slams into me with renewed force. I’m standing in front of Thorne Manor with no functioning car, no functioning phone, and no idea what I’m about to find inside that house.
Maceo pushes open his door and climbs out with fluid grace. Ezra follows, moving with quiet efficiency. Lucien steps out last, unfolding from the cab like a man who has never known discomfort or inconvenience a day in his life.
All three of them stand near me in a loose semicircle, and my body clocks it without permission: three large men, three steady presences, three completely different kinds of attention all focused on me.
I’m not used to this, not even remotely.
Maceo moves toward the back of the truck with purpose. “You got anything you need out of your car before I take it to my shop?”
Gratitude hits me so sharply it makes my throat sting. “Yes,” I say quickly, relief flooding through me. “My bags. My laptop. Honestly, everything I own at this exact moment is in that car.”
Maceo laughs, deep and understanding. “I figured.”
He climbs up into the truck bed with easy strength, unhooks my car’s trunk with practiced movements, and starts pulling things out with the competent efficiency of someone who fixes problems for a living.
Ezra stands beside me, his eyes fixed on the house. His posture appears relaxed, but his attention feels razor-sharp, like he’s analyzing something the rest of us can’t see.
“It doesn’t look so bad,” he says finally.
I glance at him sideways. “That is not remotely comforting.”
Ezra’s mouth twitches again, almost a smile. “It’s honest.”
Lucien steps closer, his eyes tracing the mansion’s architecture like he’s reading a story written in wood and weathered paint and accumulated years. The afternoon sunlight catches his profile, and that’s when I notice something I somehow missed in all the earlier chaos.
His ear is pointed.
It’s subtle, not the dramatic fantasy-novel version. The shape is slightly different from human normal, the tip more refined, like nature designed him and then decided to add an elegant detail for aesthetic purposes.
My stomach drops, then flips entirely.
I look at him properly for the first time, really look, and everything about him suddenly feels definitively non-human. Those violet eyes hold depths that don’t match the apparent age of his face. Even the way he stands seems to take up space differently than it should.
My voice comes out lower, more careful. “Lucien.”
He turns his full attention to me, calm as ever. “Yes, Sweetness?”
“What are you?”
Lucien’s smile is slow and genuinely pleased. “I’m glad you finally asked.” He pauses, letting the moment build. “I’m Fae.”
My breath catches, sharp and involuntary. I’m going to ignore the fact that he just called me ‘sweetness’ later, because this man just casually informed me, he’s Fae.
I turn to Ezra, eyes wide with growing understanding. “You?”
Ezra watches me carefully, like he’s measuring whether I’m about to bolt or have some kind of breakdown. “Wizard.”
My head snaps to Maceo, who is currently tossing my heaviest suitcase onto the sidewalk like it weighs absolutely nothing. “Maceo.”
He grins over his shoulder, flashing white teeth. “Wolf.”
I blink once, twice, three times. My brain tries to reboot, except there’s no convenient restart button.
My mother’s stories flash behind my eyes in vivid fragments: Witches, Shifters, Wizards and Fae. Wards and Warlocks and hidden towns where magic runs through the streets like water. It has always existed as a world at the edge of mine, close enough to glimpse but never quite real enough to touch.
Now it’s standing in front of me, smiling at me, handing me my luggage with supernatural strength.
