Lucien moved through the growing crowd like he’d been born for it, all charm and quick hands on shoulders, the kind of grin that made people lean in. But I knew the truth-he was still buzzing from the tracker readings, holding himself together with that showman polish so no one would see how close he was to cracking wide open.
I stepped toward the firepit. It wasn’t lit yet, but the stacked wood was waiting for the right moment. The tracker hung loosely at my side, its soft glow brushing my knuckles.
When the noise quieted, I didn’t try to stand taller or project like Lucien did. I just spoke.
“There’s no expectation tonight,” I said. My voice was steady, but I let it stay low, like we were already in on something together. “Nothing to prove, nothing to perform. No posturing. Just try to connect with each other. Have a real conversation. Walk the border if you want. Share food, share wine. Build something that actually matters to you.”
I looked around at the faces in the crowd, some guarded, some curious, some softening.
“I think the magic wants unity,” I said. “So let’s give it unity. Real unity. Not the kind we pretend to have for a ceremony. The kind we feel when we remember we actually belong to each other.”
No rousing closer. No applause. Just silence, then a few nods, the slow lift of someone’s mouth into a smile, a ripple of movement as they started to drift toward one another. Conversations began in low voices. Someone uncorked a bottle of wine. The wards hummed faintly under my boots, like they’d heard every word.
The change was slow, but it was there. Someone else pulled a loaf of bread and a block of cheese from a basket like they’d been waiting all week for an excuse.
On the far side of the clearing, two younger pack members started stringing up fairy lights they’d brought “just in case,” winding them through low branches until soft, golden light glowed in the trees.
Maggie settled into a circle near the unlit firepit, knees pulled up, laughing at something I couldn’t hear. It carried over the night anyway-light, easy, real.
I took the long way around the clearing, greeting people I knew, introducing the ones who didn’t, nudging a few awkward pairs into conversations they might not have started on their own. Nothing forced. Just a little push.
The tracker at my side kept climbing higher than I’d ever seen it. Every time someone clicked-a hug between two pack members who hadn’t spoken in years, a shared joke that doubled them over, the kind of quiet listening that meant you were actually hearing the other person-the glow spiked like it was celebrating with us.
And it wasn’t just the device. I could feel it in the air, a warm buzz under my skin, the wards humming faintly through the ground as if the whole territory had taken a deep breath for the first time in months.
Then there was Lucien.
He moved through the crowd like an eccentric wedding host who’d had too much champagne and made it his personal mission to ensure everyone felt something. Tissues in one hand, he’d clap someone on the shoulder with the other and say things like, “Yes! Tell her about your childhood trauma! That’s bonding, baby!”
At one point, he spotted a pair leaning against the firepit and called across the clearing, “Sing about your feelings!”
I caught his eye and gave him a look that said if he didn’t dial it back, I’d toss the tracker into the fire. He grinned like he knew exactly how far he could push me. And for once, I didn’t mind.
Because tonight, it was working. All of it.
Across the firelight, I spotted Maggie. She sat with her knees pulled in, leaning toward the circle, her hair catching the glow of the flames like it had its own halo. She was smiling-really smiling-and it lit up her eyes and softened every line in her face.
For a second, I forgot about the tracker in my hand. Forgot about the wards, the politics, the whole damn point of tonight. All I could see was her.
The device pulsed hot against my palm, the numbers climbing so high I was half convinced it might short out. The magic was screaming its approval, practically singing through the air around us.
But for once, I didn’t need the proof.
I slipped the tracker into my pocket, its glow dimming against the fabric, and started toward her. Because whether the magic liked it or not, I was choosing her.
I cupped her face and kissed her. Her hands slid up my arms like she knew I needed the contact as much as the wards did.
When we broke apart, she smiled against my jaw. “It’s going well.”
“It’s going better than I thought it would,” I said, brushing a thumb across her cheek. And it was true-everywhere I looked, people were talking, laughing, leaning in. The air felt different. Fuller. More alive.
Her gaze rose over my shoulder, and I felt her go still. I turned just enough to see what she saw-Seraphina, sitting off to the side on a low stone wall, wine glass dangling from her fingers, her expression a little too blank to be casual.
“I’ll be right back,” Maggie murmured.
I didn’t stop her.
Even over the low hum of voices, I caught Seraphina’s dry reply when Maggie asked if she was okay. “Like you care.”
“I do,” Maggie said, her voice steady but not defensive. “I imagine this is hard for you. You wanted to be the one who fixed the magic. You wanted a seat at the important table. And…” She hesitated. “You wanted Roman.”
Seraphina huffed. “Thankfully, I’m starting to actually like Dwight,” she said, swirling her wine. “But I don’t know if I know how to genuinely connect with someone. Not like this.” She gestured around her.
Maggie smiled. “This is a good start. Just opening up and being real.”
There was a beat of quiet between them before Seraphina nodded, her mouth pulling into a small, reluctant smile. “Yeah… maybe you’re right.”
Warmth and pride surged through my chest.
Maggie came back and sank into the spot beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. I was still replaying her conversation with Seraphina in my head when Lucien strolled past, riding the high of whatever the magic was doing to him.
“I think we should all move into a giant commune,” he announced to no one in particular. “Sleep in a pile. Eat only things we grow. Never wear pants again.”
Maggie leaned toward me, her voice low. “Is he serious? I never can tell.”
Epilogue
Maggie
The apartment was quietly comfortable. Nothing was expected, no one was trying to fill the silence. Roman had made tea. I hadn’t even asked. He just handed me the mug like he knew I’d been craving something warm and grounding.
We were on the couch, legs tangled together, my head on his chest. His heartbeat was solid and steady beneath my ear.
His fingers drifted along the curve of my spine, slow and absentminded. I could tell he was holding his breath a little. Like he was still afraid to exhale.
I wasn’t. Not tonight.
I tilted my head to look up at him. “Roman?”
He looked down immediately. His brows were knit, like he thought I was about to break something between us. But I was done breaking. I was done hiding.
“I’ve been thinking…” I paused. The words swelled behind my teeth. “I want to talk about the bond.”
Roman froze. His hand went still against my back. He didn’t say anything.
I pushed forward anyway. “I want it. It’s not fake for me anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. And maybe I was scared. Maybe I didn’t think I was someone worth choosing, but?-“
He cupped the side of my face so gently it undid me. “Maggie,” he said, and my name in his mouth made everything inside me still.
His thumb traced the line of my cheekbone. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”
There was so much relief in his voice, as if he’d been holding something so heavy for so long and it had just lifted.
“I wanted to ask you, so many times. I thought about it every day. Every time you walked into a room. But I didn’t want to pressure you. You’ve already been through enough. I wanted it to be your choice.”
“It is,” I said softly. “I want this. I want you, Roman.”
Something shifted then. Not between us-within us. We weren’t broken people stumbling into each other anymore. We weren’t just roommates or fake partners. We were choosing this. Choosing each other.
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