“Obviously,” I muttered.
They grinned at me like they had been waiting months to say it out loud.
“Dr. Ripley,” the taller one repeated, clearly enjoying the syllables.
And this time, I didn’t deflect. I didn’t qualify it. I didn’t say technically or almost or stillpending.
“Yes,” I said.
The word felt solid. Not aspirational. Not fragile.
Earned.
I checked it into the system like any other volume, made the catalog entry with hands that shook just a little, then walked it out to the shelf. I slid it into place and stood there for a moment, just looking.
I had the life I always wanted. The work. The love. The belonging.
Even my boss stopped by and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Good work, Artemis,” he said. “Really. This is… impressive.”
I smiled, stunned.
By the time the sun dipped low enough to turn the library windows gold, my brain felt pleasantly wrung out. I shut down my computer, gathered my bag, and let myself linger for one quiet moment between the stacks.
Then I went outside to meet Arthur.
Arthur walked me up to my old apartment like it was still sacred ground. Like it mattered becauseImattered. He didn’t rush me. He never rushed me. Even now.
We reached my apartment door still tangled together, his hand warm and familiar in mine. I was digging for my keys when Eloise’s door opened.
Caliban stepped out.
In a robe.
Not his robe.
Silk. White. Tied slightly wrong, like someone else had doneit for him in a hurry. There was a faint smear of lipstick near the collar. In one hand, he held several crumpled dollar bills.
Time stopped.
Arthur made a strangled sound. “Caliban.”
Caliban froze. Then straightened. Then sighed the long, resigned sigh of a man who had served the same dragon for centuries and could not believe this was how it was going.
“Alpha,” he said. “Good evening.”
I stared. “Why are you dressed like you robbed a very expensive widow?”
Caliban cleared his throat and adjusted the robe with what could only be described as professional dignity. “Eloise required sustenance.”
Arthur blinked. “You were leaving her apartment. To get snacks?” He eyed the bills. “From the vending machine?”
“Yes.”
“Inthat?”
“The machine does not accept ancient coinage,” Caliban said, holding up the dollar bills. “I was forced to borrow.”
There was a beat.
