Talon sees it. Of course he sees it. His expression gentles immediately. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, because apparently I’ve learned nothing. “I didn’t mean to make everyone panic. I thought if I just pushed through it, maybe it would stop.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
That’s all it takes. Not the words, exactly. The way he says them. So soft. So heartbroken. Like the idea of me apologizing for this hurts him more than anything I’ve admitted so far.
My vision blurs with tears. Talon moves closer and I don’t even think before I fold into him. There’s no Fae elegance to it. One second I’m standing, trying to hold myself together with sheer spite, and the next I’m clutching fistfuls of his shirt and pressing my face into his shoulder. He wraps both arms around me immediately.
A sob tears out of me. Ugly. Humiliating and impossible to swallow back. Then another. My whole body shakes with it, all the fear and exhaustion and shame I’ve been choking down for days finally breaking loose at once. I cry into Talon’s shoulder and he just holds me tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I’m wrecked and raw and exhausted all over again now that the sleep powder has worn off enough for the fear to come creeping back. But Talon’s hand keeps moving over my back in slow, steady strokes, and his chest is warm under my cheek, and every time I try to apologize he shushes me like he’ll hear none of it.
Eventually the worst of it passes. My breathing still hiccups now and then, but the sobs taper off into embarrassing sniffles and damp, miserable little gasps. I pull back just enough to scrub at my face with the heel of my hand.
“I hate this,” I mutter.
Talon huffs a soft laugh. “I know.” He brushes the damp hair off my forehead and presses a kiss there, lingering for a moment. “I wish you told me how bad it was.”
I close my eyes. “I know.”
“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “I’m saying it because I need you to understand that I want the ugly parts, too. You don’t have to hand me everything at once, but you don’t get to run yourself into the ground because you’re scared of burdening me.”
I nod because speaking feels impossible.
Talon studies my face for a moment, like he’s making sure I actually heard him, then asks, “Will you let me stay tonight?”
A fresh wave of fear curls through me at the thought of sleeping. Of closing my eyes. Of stepping back into that dark place with Lord Yelling waiting for me somewhere inside it.
Right now, the idea of sleep doesn’t feel like something I have to face entirely alone. “Yeah,” I whisper.
His hold tightens. “Good,” he murmurs into my hair. “Because I wasn’t really asking.”
That earns him the ghost of a smile.
I’m still exhausted. Still scared. The sleep powder helped, but Lord Yelling was still there, just not as prominent as before.
But Talon is here. He knows everything now. Maybe I can get through the night without fear.
24
TALON
Wren’s been sleeping better, and I thank the stars for it every night.
Not perfectly. He still wakes up tense some mornings, and there are nights when he clings to me in his sleep like he’s trying to outrun something, even with the sleep powder in his system. But it’s better. The sleep powder dulls Lord Yelling’s influence enough that Wren can actually rest, and that’s enough to ease the constant knot that’s been living in my chest.
He smiles in the mornings again. That’s the part I keep noticing. He hums while he makes coffee. He leans against the counter and steals bites of whatever I’m testing before breakfast is technically ready. He flirts just to make me blush. It’s his sweet kisses that make my heart flutter, though. It feels like I have my Wren back, even if I know things still aren’t perfect.
The bakery has been chaos for the last week because the Summer Festival is coming up fast, and Wick has decided that means we all need to work ourselves half to death in the name of seasonal pastries.
He’s not entirely wrong. Festival week is one of the biggest events in Hex. Wick and I have been bouncing recipes and ideas off each other every day, trying to strike the right balancebetween the classics people expect and new things they’ll get excited about. We settled on fruit tarts, honey lavender scones, lemon bars, mini berry galettes, and a few fancier cupcakes decorated with edible flowers.
I’m ridiculously excited about the flowers. They aren’t just pretty. They work perfectly with the flavors. Violet sugar on the lemon cakes, candied pansies on the berry tarts, tiny pressed petals over whipped cream. Wick claims I’m being dramatic about garnish, but he also approved all of it, so clearly my genius is being recognized.
By the time we finish closing up for the night, I’m covered in flour and sugar and one streak of purple icing I somehow got on my forearm without noticing. My back aches. My feet ache. My hands smell like butter and citrus and vanilla.
