“So you can fix it.”
“So I can fix it,” Zoe agreed easily. “It’s like the plants are... not misbehaving.” She tilted her head, searching for the right word. “More like they’re tired.”
Jade made a face. “The poor things. What are you going to do next, then?”
“I might take a long walk in the forest,” Zoe continued. “See if anything is off. Or more off. Or off in a new and creative way.”
“If it’s forest-adjacent, do you want me to ask Aryon and Elara if they’ve noticed anything? I don’t know how much they can help now, not with Letha so close.”
It was a good idea. The High Lord and Lady of the Elves shared a special affinity with nature. It was definitely worth having their input. “Wherever they can share, it’ll be helpful,” Zoe said. “Thank you. I appreciate a good triangulation.”
She nudged a mint leaf with her straw, playing with the ice as it bumped against the glass. The sound was comforting. Or the alcohol was doing its job. Probably the alcohol. She wasn’t above acknowledging a useful mojito.
She needed a pause. Space in her head to let the thoughts reshuffle into something actionable instead of merely poking. “Tell me about Letha,” she said, glancing back at Jade. “Properly. From the beginning. With footnotes.”
Jade smiled, knowing, and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. An empath, she’d caught both Zoe’s surface-level desire to change the subject and the deeper need forreassurance Zoe rarely let herself voice. So she offered both without making a production of it.
“You’ll figure it out,” Jade said easily. “You always do. Just remember, you don’t have to do it alone.” Then she lifted her chin with mock solemnity. “And with that, I officially approve the change of subject. Letha, my friend, is a spectacular, radiant disaster.”
As Jade launched into the glorious ordeal of planning the biggest, loudest celebration in Mystic Hollow, Zoe let herself drift. Half her attention followed her friend’s kaleidoscopic, chaotic, weirdly competent planning. The other half lingered with her herbs, her people, her whispered questions.
The worry stayed nearby, not loud nor urgent.
Just there, waiting for its turn.
“THAT BALL WASnotthere a second ago.”
Rex stood over the pool table, hands braced on the felt, shoulders tight, eyes locked on the black eight ball sitting far too comfortably near the corner pocket. Not as close as it had been a breath ago.
Midnight had arrived and found nothing worth interrupting; the bar crowd thinned to the faithful and the foolish. Someone had turned the music down at some point. No one remembered who.
And his best friend had just cheated at pool. Again.
Lachlan crossed his arms. “It was right there. Yer’re just no’ payin’ attention.”
“I pay attention.” Rex’s teeth flashed, enough to make a point. “And you nudged it.”
“I did no such thing.”
“That ball moved by itself,” Rex growled. “You leaned on it with magic. I felt the damn shift.”
Lachlan stiffened. “I will no’ be accused of cheatin’.”
“You’re a sorcerer,” Rex bit back. “Cheating’s your whole personality.”
“I did no’ use magicon the table.”
“What abouton the ball? It moved, Lach.”
“Balls roll.”
“Not after they are damn still, they don’t.”
Silence fell. Even the bartender stopped wiping glasses.
This wasn’t new. None of this. And now they were at the standoff moment—the pause, the staring, the mutual decision not to back down. It always happened this way.
Best friends, zero learning curve, infinite replays.
