Page 46 of Impawssible Magic

“Stay.” The word is out before she seems to realize she’s said it. Her flush deepens. “I mean—on the couch. Like before. After what happened...”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She nods. Moves toward the stairs, then stops. Looks back at me.

“The couch is really uncomfortable.”

“I know.”

“I could—” She stops. Shakes her head. “Never mind. Goodnight, Tiger.”

“Goodnight, Leire.”

She disappears up the stairs. I hear her footsteps overhead, hear her door close, hear the creak of bedsprings as she lies down.

I stay on the couch. Neither of us sleeps.

I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling that new awareness humming beneath my skin. I know she’s up there—awake, restless, probably having the same argument with herself that I’m having.

I know what it cost me the last time I let someone this close. That knowledge lives in my chest like scar tissue, not pain anymore, just the shape of what was there.

But underneath the terror is something else. Something warm and wanting and far too much like hope. Something I don’t have a name for yet—or maybe I do and I’m not ready to say it.

Upstairs, I hear Leire shift in her bed. Roll over. Sigh into her pillow.

The restless thing in my chest goes still. She’s safe. I’m here. That’s enough for tonight.

We don’t know what this means. Don’t know what it will become. Don’t know if either of us is brave enough to find out.

And somewhere between us, something impossible is taking root.

Somewhere across town, the Registry bell rings. Once. Twice. A third time.

ELEVEN

LEIRE

Iwake to the smell of bacon and spend approximately three seconds being confused before I remember that a tiger shifter has colonized my kitchen.

By the time I get downstairs, he’s already reading Network updates on his phone. I steal a piece of his bacon and put it on my plate. He doesn’t comment.

We don’t talk about what happened yesterday. The attack. The power surge.

I know where he is. That he’s close. That he’s alive.

“I need to see my friends tonight.” I push eggs around my plate. “If that’s⁠—”

“Fine.” The word is clipped, but not angry. Just... Aslan. “Where?”

“Anouk’s apothecary. After hours.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

“Aslan—”

“I’ll walk you there.” Firm. Final. “And I’ll pick you up when you’re done. Text me.”

Part of me wants to bristle at the overprotection. Part of me remembers three masked attackers trying to drag me into an alley. Part of me—a small, traitorous part—likes that he cares enough to insist.