He hesitates just long enough to make my stomach twist. “I do. You loved her more fiercely than anyone.”
“So she’s real? I didn’t imagine her.”
He nods.
The air feels thick with questions that I’m not ready to ask. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m afraid he can’t or won’t answer them, or if I’m afraid he will.
“Was she… from Goira?”
He looks at me sidelong, a small smile ghosting over his mouth. “Yes.”
“Was that a straight answer?”
“I’ll do what I can."
I want to push, to demand more, but the warmthinside me is starting to ebb and exhaustion is starting to set in. Instead, I sigh. “You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve been told.”
When we reach the end of the clearing, I glance back. The tinder I had been trying to light glows faintly, a residual simmer of gold.
“I did that.”
“You did,” Flint says. “And you’ll do more. Much more.”
He sounds unshakably certain.
I look up at him, the calm in his eyes and I believe him. Maybe it’s his unyielding belief, but I do.
“When I was glowing, what did you see?”
He seems to be choosing his words carefully as he considers, then answers with a reverence that makes my throat ache. “I sawyou. The way you were always meant to be.”
Something inside me trembles.
“Feels like I’ve done this before,” I mutter.
“You have.” He doesn’t elaborate and I stop pressing.
The light breeze curls around us, carrying the scent of wildflowers. Somewhere deep in my chest, a forgotten part of me stirs at it.
I feel the echo in my soul, and the light under my skin hums in answer.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The night after the clearing, I can’t stop watching the light.
It lingers on her skin even after the sun has gone down, faint as a memory, pulsing like a heartbeat. It wasn’t magick the way I’m used to it —wild and vast, bound to intention or focus. Ash’s power had always been more raw. Like the world itself can’t decide if it belongs to her or ifshebelongs toit.
Ash stands in front of the apartment window,holding her hands out toward the glass. A slow shimmer rolls from her fingertips, gold dust catching the morning light.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” she whispers. “I was just… thinking about how warm it felt out there. With you.”
My throat tightens. “And that’s what you’re doing now. Manifesting warmth.” She turns and smiles at me —small, nervous, radiant — and the light around her brightens.
The next morning, we walk to Wanderlust together, holding hands. Annemarie pretends not to notice, but I don’t miss the inappropriate comments she makes under her breath. Based on the red staining Ash’s cheeks, she doesn’t miss it either.
Betsy gives me one of those all-knowing looks over her glasses, like she already knows too much and intends to meddle anyway.
