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Lunara ignored her embarrassment in favor of blurting, “You remember what happened?”

Brand rose, gaze locked over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have endangered yourself that way.”

High-handed, overbearing Demon!

For once, she was happy about it. His scolding was answer enough.

Lunara crossed the boundary, the moonlight bars parting around her and Fern before resealing themselves. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been locked in my bloody damned bedroom all night, as if I were a child. How do you think I’m feeling?”

Fern whistled low. “Don’t get confused, twig dick. You were locked in your bloody damned bedroom all night as if you were possessed by an eldritch being and dead bent on murdering everyone a few hours ago. I’d say there’s a fairly distinct difference, eh?”

“Fern!” Lunara pinned her with a glare.

She threw her hands up. “What? It’s true.”

Brand deflated at that. “She’s right. My apologies. I am…” He raised a hand to run it along one horn, the habit tugging at Lunara’s heartstrings. “Uncomfortable is too tame a word, but it’s no excuse. Forgive me.”

When he offered a shallow bow, Lunara’s mind went blank. So formal. So…Imperial.

So like those early days. So like himself.

Sisters, that too.

An ache bloomed from deep within her, joyous and fearful at once. That spark of hope was a relentless, dangerous little thing, and she was terrified to let herself feel it too soon, but…

Shite, it refused to dim. And somehow made her miss him all the more.

“Um…right. Yes. Of course.” Lunara cleared her throat. “You’re forgiven. Thank you.”

“Weeping Sisters,” Magnus groaned, plopping down onto the settee. “It’s actually painful to watch you two like this.”

“Speak for yourself.” Fern poked at the cage, examining it. “The angst. The drama. Get me a snack and I could watch it all day.”

Magnus gaped at her. “Are you actually being serious?”

“Of course I fucking am. They’ll be fine, I can feel it.” Fern shrugged. “May as well be entertained by it while I can.”

Well. This couldn’t possibly be any more awkward.

“See?” Fern hiked a thumb at her. “It’s blimmin’ fantastic!”

Apparently, it could.

“Can we please move on?” Lunara snapped.

“Gladly.” Brand turned away when she tried to meet his eye, scratching at his beard. “I assume you have a plan.”

“I do,” she said, shoving back at her disappointment. “If everyone is amenable, that is.”

“Whatever it is, let’s get on with it. I’m fucking starving.” Magnus pointed at her. “Next time, do us a favor and leave some food, witchling.”

Shite.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think of that.” She produced a basket of strawberries from her pocket of the ether and set them on the low table. “This is all I have, but I can⁠—”

“Good enough.” Magnus descended on them like he hadn’t eaten in a month. “What’s this plan, then?”