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I scratched beneath Muffin’s chin. “I don’t know how humans do this.”

“Badly, mostly,” Audrey said. “But we have online forms.”

I tried to summon a pen. Gold light flickered around my fingers, produced a pathetic puff of smoke, and died.

“Fuck.”

The word came out small.

I stared at my hand as though it belonged to someone else.

Logan sat beside me. “Your magic will come back.”

“Some of it.” I swallowed. “Coven magic is communal. I spent my entire life drawing from hundreds of witches and generations of stored power. Now it’s just me.”

“Just you is still terrifying,” Audrey said.

I smiled, but tears burned my eyes. “I couldn’t even summon a pen.”

Audrey handed me one. “Neither can I. Pens remain available through traditional channels.”

A real laugh escaped me.

We worked through the folders. Audrey had already arranged an account through Kingston Security and found a lawyer who specialized in supernatural separation agreements. Apparently, that was a real profession because Arrhythmia refused to let anything be simple.

“Employment,” Audrey said, tapping the final form. “What can you do without coven authorization?”

“Charms. Teas. Household wards. Healing salves. Small practical magic.”

“The shop,” Logan said.

I looked at him.

“You told me about it at the drive-in. The little shop your mother called a waste of your lineage.”

“That was a fantasy.”

“So was dating a cursed vampire. Your judgment is already questionable.”

My mouth twitched.

“Kingston Security needs warded equipment,” Audrey said. “We don’t need High Priestess theatrics. We need reliable, practical enchantments. We can be your first client.”

“You’d trust my magic right now?”

“I trust you. The magic can submit references.”

I bent over the form. My hand shook as I wrote my name, but each letter grew steadier.

CAROLINA FORTMAN.

I paused over the line marked BUSINESS NAME.

“What would you call it?” Logan asked.

I thought for a moment, then wrote:

SECOND CHANCES.