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Christopher pours himself the tea using a stack of red disposable cups I left out on the counter. God, I couldn’t have imagined him drinking out of that a year ago, or eating off my disposable plates, or throwing college parties on the weekends, but I’ve really rubbed off on him and probably not in the good kind of way.

Downing the dark brown liquid, he hisses in satisfaction before crossing the room to me and taking both my hands in his. “You’ll like France too, when you’re ready to find me again.”

Because we’re moving, but not together.

I’m going to my aunt’s house—the one who’s in the Septem—to study her spellbooks for a solution to my Salios/eternal damnation/Daemon problem. And Christopher is going to link up with his sister in the European coven to do the same. We’ve exhausted all our resources here, and the only solution is to move on and check somewhere new.

A part of me wishes Christopher could come with me, but Gabriel would never allow it; it’s a miracle he’s allowed us to live together at all. Even though I’m not a Septem witch, I’m not a light witch either, and being unaffiliated with either group means I’m an outsider to both.

An enemy.

And also his mate.

He squeezes my hands and my stomach twists—with guilt, with anger, with a dozen different emotions—because I should love him. I do love him, but only as a friend. And God, he’s been so understanding about it even though he has no reason to be.

“Christopher—”

“Don’t say it,” he says. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’m not a wounded animal, Ann. I promise I won’t become a recluse in Paris waiting for you. I’ll go to bars. I’ll date. I’ll have lots of sex, I swear it.”

I’ll believe that when I see it. Never in these seventeen months has he brought a single woman home, and we both know why.

“Your sister is going to hate me,” I tell him, forcing a smile to my face.

“You might be an acquired taste, but she’ll adjust.” He sticks his tongue out in a way he once considered childish—because it is childish—and makes me chuckle. “You’ll call me once you get settled at your aunt’s?”

“Of course. And you’ll call me?”

“How is that even a question?” Christopher kisses me on the cheek before letting go, returning to the kitchen to grab some cold pizza out of the fridge.

While he makes himself breakfast from our barebones-stocked kitchen, I lay on the floor between all the stacks of boxes and wait for the movers to come. I have no idea what to expect living with a Septem witch, but it’ll be interesting to find out. At the very least, I’ll finally know where I come from.

I watch in silence as movers carry out the last of our boxes—two teams of workers for our two very separate destinations. A little while ago, Christopher vanished to finish some paperwork at the bank, and as the last man carts out the last box, I find myself completely alone in this empty building. Car horns blast outside in the bustling downtown. Someone shouts obscenities a few balconies lower.

Home.

That’s what I’m losing here. God, it hurts.

Knuckles rap against the front door, and I wipe a stray tear from my eye as I go to answer it, only slightly ashamed for getting so emotional. After all, it’s just a condo. Sniffling, I turn the knob. “Christopher, did you forget your ke—You’re not Christopher.”

“No, I’m not.” In the doorway stands my mother, dressed in a white pantsuit, holding an un-taped brown moving box that’s piled high with childhood mementos. “May I come in?” she asks.

“I—Sure.” I haven’t seen her since she banished me from the coven. Technically, it’s illegal for her or any coven witch to continue communicating with me, which is ultimately why Christopher left. “Can I get you anything?” I ask her. “We have some iced-tea or—”

“No.” My mother’s voice is as firm and hardened as always. She sets the box on the kitchen countertop, and the contents inside rattle. A stuffed bear threatens to spill out. As she scans the room, I get the distinct feeling she’s scanning me, judging me for the space I’ve made into my own. “I heard you graduated college,” she says finally. “Occult studies.”

“Yeah,” I scratch the back of my head. “It made sense, given all the research I was already doing.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself to her, to defend my choices. It’s not like she gives a shit about me.

“I’m glad you switched from General Studies,” she says, her face emotionless. “Christopher has been a good influence on you.”

I grit my teeth.

Even now, the subtle dig at Daemon rankles me. Because General Studies had been his choice, and we both know it. But we’d been kids more interested in having fun than attending classes, and there was nothing wrong with that. We grew up—just not in a time or way she found acceptable.

“Why are you here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Dropping off your stuff. Obviously. I found out you were leaving and wanted you to have it.”

There’s no hint of deception in her voice, and that makes my brows furrow.