The Firefly's Burden

Chapter 1: Two Worlds, No Peace (Revised)

There are mornings when I wake and, for one stupid heartbeat, forget which version of myself I am supposed to be. No court. No school. No glamour waiting under my skin like a leash. Just warmth under the blankets, hair stuck to my mouth, sunlight pressing against my eyelids, and the wild little possibility that maybe I could stay there long enough to become someone no one had named yet. This morning, the clock on my wall had other ideas.“Seven hells and a firestorm,” I hissed, shoving upright so fast my hair fell over my face in a copper-red snarl. Sparks snapped over my fingertips, tiny gold bursts skittering across my skin before dying in the air above my comforter. My magic was already awake, which was rude. My temper never waited for permission, and my magic had apparently decided solidarity meant making the room smell faintly of smoke before I had even brushed my teeth.

The mirror above my vanity reflected every part of me that needed to disappear before I stepped outside Emberhall. My eyes stared back too dark and too bright at once, brown so deep they almost looked black until the light caught the gold and silver flecks scattered through them like someone had cracked open the night sky and hidden the evidence in my face. My hair fell in waves of crimson, copper, and molten gold, dramatic enough to make subtlety pack a bag and leave town. The pointed tips of my ears peeked through the mess as if they had personally declared war on passing for human.

I leaned closer, hands braced on the vanity, and stared at the girl in the glass. The face was mine. That was the irritating part. It was mine, and it still felt like something everyone else thought they had the right to read before I did. Princess. Daughter. Liability. Secret. The mirror never said any of it out loud, but Emberhall had a way of making silence fluent in every language that hurt.

My glamour waited at the edge of my magic, familiar and reluctant. It always fought me harder when I was late, or when my nerves had already started chewing through the soft places inside me. I closed my eyes and inhaled until the air settled deep enough to count. In. Hold. Out. Again. I pictured the lie piece by piece because that was how lies survived: not all at once, but detail by detail, until even the person wearing them could forget where the seams should have been.

Human eyes. Human ears. Human hair. Human girl.

The glamour slid over my skin with a shiver, cool at first, then hot as it tightened into place, and my reflection blurred as the starlit darkness of my eyes washed into polished emerald green, my hair dulled into autumn ginger that humans could admire without wondering why it looked like fire trying to behave, my ears softened beneath carefully arranged waves, and even my freckles shifted into something charming instead of strange, the dangerous parts of me vanishing one by one as I muttered better, although better was a generous word for easier to survive.

The clock on the wall, all gold filigree and smug little hands, announced I was fifteen minutes late. First day of junior year, and I would be walking into Ravenrest Heights Academy with every expensive, bored, bloodthirsty eye turning toward me. Perfect. Exactly what every girl wanted: a grand entrance while held together by caffeine, spite, and unstable magic.

I grabbed my satchel and bolted. My heels struck the marble in sharp clicks that echoed down the corridor and chased me toward the grand staircase. Emberhall gleamed around me with its usual suffocating perfection: black marble veined in gold, columns carved like rising flame, crystal vases overflowing with enchanted blooms that never wilted because even flowers were apparently expected to perform in this house. Stained glass spilled warm color across the floor, but the light never reached anything that mattered.

From the street, Emberhall looked like an old Ravenrest mansion, stately and rich enough to make pedestrians slow down without admitting they were staring. The wards made sure human eyes saw only what they were willing to believe: a historic estate, a private family residence, another monument to Dominveil money. Inside, the house unfolded into impossible halls and hidden wings, all that court magic tucked behind stone and glass like a secret too arrogant to stay small.

To anyone else, it was beautiful.

To me, it was a gilded throat closing around a scream.

I was halfway across the foyer when Mother’s voice cut through the morning. “Mira.”

My hand tightened around my satchel strap hard enough for the leather to creak. I stopped because I had been trained to stop, then turned because pretending not to hear Seara Firebrand was a luxury reserved for people with survival instincts worse than mine.

She stood in the eastern archway, framed by carved stone and pale sunlight. Crimson silk clung to her in a gown threaded with molten gold, her copper hair falling over one shoulder in a perfect cascade that had never once had the decency to frizz. Her amber eyes fixed on me, warm in color and cold everywhere else. Mother never needed to raise her voice. Rooms listened to her before people did.

“Mother,” I said, smoothing my expression into something obedient enough to pass inspection. “I’m running late.”

“You will spare a moment.” Of course I would. Time belonged to her when she wanted it. So did the house, the court, the air, and apparently my spine. She crossed the foyer with the kind of grace people wrote poetry about when they had never been prey. “There is a ceremony at court tonight. Your attendance is required.”

The words landed in my chest with a dull, immediate weight. Tonight was the Student Council Welcome Gala, the one I had spent half the summer planning. Lanterns, music, guest lists, a speech I had rewritten until even the commas looked expensive. It was stupid, maybe. Human. Small. But it was mine.

“The gala is tonight,” I said before I could stop myself.

Mother’s eyes narrowed by a fraction. That was all. She could make a fraction feel like a blade. “You are a princess of the Unseelie Summer Court. Not a human child dressing herself in borrowed importance.”

Heat rushed under my skin. My glamour pinched at my ears, warning me to control it, warning me to control myself, as if the two had ever been separate things in this house. “I worked hard on this.”

“And that is precisely the problem.” She stepped closer, and the faint scent of summer wine and burning petals wrapped around me. “You pour yourself into mortal distractions, then wonder why you remain unfinished.”

My mouth went dry and a thousand arguments crowded behind my teeth, each one sharp and useless, insisting that I was not unfinished, that she had never cared long enough to understand me, that if I clung to the human world it was because the court had already taken too much from me, but I swallowed every word and let the silence stand in their place.

Mother reached out and adjusted the collar of my blazer with two elegant fingers. The touch looked almost tender. It was not. “If you insist on playing at humanity, Mira, do try not to make the family name look desperate while doing it.”

My throat tightened and I hated that she could still do this, hated that a few quiet words from her could make my whole body feel twelve years old and too bright and wrong in all the ways no one bothered to explain gently. “Of course,” I said. “As you wish.”

Her hand fell away and her gaze traveled over me, assessing the glamour, the uniform, the smile I had pressed into place like a bandage. “Better. Try to return in a state fit to be seen.” Then she turned and walked away, her gown whispering over the marble.

I stood there until the palace swallowed the sound of her footsteps. Only then did I breathe. One inhale. One exhale. No sparks. No flames. No cracked glass. A personal miracle, really.

By the time I pushed through the front doors and crossed the drive, my face had settled into the shape everyone expected from Mira Quinveil. Pleasant. Bright. Untouchable. The girl with the expensive car, the perfect grades, the polished smile, and nothing at all crawling under her skin.

Ravenrest Heights Academy sprawled beneath the late morning sun like someone had designed a school by asking what if privilege had turrets, with Gothic stone rising into sleek glass additions, ivy curling down walls in careful decorative rebellion, and lawns so manicured they looked personally offended by nature, and at the center of campus the clock tower lifted its gilded hands toward the sky and judged me for being late, exactly like the students.

I did not hurry across the cobblestones. Hurrying looked guilty. If you were going to arrive late on the first day of junior year, you had to look like the day had rearranged itself around your schedule and everyone else was simply catching up. My heels clicked in a measured rhythm. My chin stayed high. My pulse hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat, but no one needed to know that.

Here, I was not Princess Mira Firebrand of the Unseelie Summer Court. No titles. No court. No bloodline old enough to have grudges with architecture. I was Mira Quinveil, daughter of Elias Quinveil, rising star of Dominveil politics and the kind of man adults discussed with lowered voices and bright, calculating eyes. Everyone knew my father, or thought they did. They admired him, envied him, gossiped about him, and speculated about how much influence it took to place his daughter at Ravenrest Heights.

Pulling strings was the popular theory. People loved a simple explanation, especially when it let them feel superior.

“Mira!”

Ashlyn waved from near the lockers, her honey-blonde braid swinging over one shoulder. Student council treasurer, future owner of at least three monogrammed planners, and one of the few people at Ravenrest who could weaponize friendliness without seeming to notice.

“Nice of you to join us,” she teased.

“Fashionably late,” I said, breezing past with a wink.

She laughed because I had aimed the line exactly where it needed to land. Not too defensive. Not too apologetic. Just enough charm to turn absence into style. Another small social door unlocked.

That was the trick with Ravenrest, everyone acted like belonging was natural but it was all choreography, smile here, tilt your head there, let people think they know how much of you they are seeing, I was student council vice president, cheerleader, occasional chess champion, and the girl teachers trusted to fix disasters before they became visible, I could run a Model UN debate on three hours of sleep and organize a charity gala while pretending the seating chart had not made me want to bite someone, and no one realized how much work went into looking effortless.

Movement across the hall pulled my attention before I could stop it, and Cassandra Fairborn stood beneath the high windows with her usual little court arranged around her, every line of her uniform crisp and every strand of honey blonde hair falling in loose waves that looked careless in the way only expensive things ever did, sunlight catching the edges and turning them almost gold as she laughed at something one of her friends said, head tipped back just enough to expose the pale line of her throat.

My brain, traitorous little disaster that it was, noticed.

Then Cassie’s eyes slid to mine.

Blue. Cold. Too direct.

Her smile changed.

It was barely anything, just the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth, but my entire body reacted like she had stepped close enough to touch me. Irritation, obviously. Pure, reasonable irritation. Nothing else made sense.

That look dragged me straight back to last spring, to a biology classroom too warm for the season and a presentation I had practiced until I could have delivered it unconscious. I had stood at the front with my notecards arranged, my facts memorized, my smile perfect, only to realize halfway through that someone had switched the order. Sentences cut in half. Definitions in the wrong places. One card replaced with good luck, Quinveil in Cassie’s neat, vicious handwriting. My stumble lasted two seconds. Her laugh had been quiet, but quiet did not matter when the whole room was listening for blood.

Across the hall, Cassie lifted one brow, and I held her gaze long enough to prove I could before turning away first because I knew she would hate that more than a glare, keeping my shoulders loose until I reached the espresso kiosk tucked into the alcove beside the main hall, and only then did I let my fingers flex around the strap of my bag.

“Usual?” the barista asked, already reaching for a cup.

“Please,” I said, with the kind of sincerity usually reserved for prayers and hostage negotiations. The iced mocha slid across the counter and the first sip was cold, sweet, and grounding enough that I almost forgave the universe for mornings.

“Running late today, Miss Quinveil?” I turned to find Professor Adair behind me, coffee in hand, amusement tucked neatly into the corner of his mouth, young for faculty and likable in a way that made students forget he was still paying attention, and he noticed too much, not enough to be dangerous probably, but enough to be inconvenient.

“You know what they say,” I said, lifting my cup in a half salute. “Greatness can’t be rushed.”

He chuckled. “I’ll remember that next time you’re organizing a gala.”

The word slipped under my ribs. Not deep. Not like Mother’s voice. Worse, maybe, because he meant nothing by it and I still felt the bruise. The Welcome Gala flashed through my mind in a bright, bitter sweep: lanterns, music, speeches, the careful little world I had built and might not even be allowed to stand inside tonight.

I took another sip before my face could betray me. “Everything’s under control.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

When he walked away, I lingered by the kiosk while the hall moved around me. Students passed with waves, nods, little greetings offered up to the social machine. I returned each one with precision. Warm, but not available. Friendly, but never open. If people looked at me long enough to admire the shine, they rarely asked what had been polished away.

By lunch, my glamour still held, my smile still worked, and I had not set anything important on fire, which by my standards meant the day was practically thriving, and the courtyard café shimmered under the midday sun with marble tables, clipped hedges, and water glasses too delicate to have ever known a faucet while espresso steam curled through the air with the scent of truffle fries, expensive soap, and money, making lunch at Ravenrest feel less like a break and more like a performance with better lighting.

I stood in line for my second iced mocha and pretended caffeine was a charming quirk instead of something I needed to stay upright, the cup cold against my palm as I held it a little too tightly, and I had barely stepped into the lounge when the atmosphere shifted, conversations thinning, heads turning, backs straightening in tiny humiliating increments as if the whole courtyard had felt the same invisible tug, because Cassandra Fairborn had arrived.

She moved through the room like she had been born knowing people would make space for her. In a way, she had. The Fairborn name was old Dominveil wealth, the kind that did not need to shout because other people had been trained to listen for its silence. They owned the top media company in Dominveil, controlled narratives as easily as they controlled boardrooms, bought buildings through shell companies, funded scholarships, buried scandals, and smiled for charity portraits. Cassie wore all of that like a silk ribbon wrapped around a knife.

Her gaze swept the courtyard, found me, and stayed, and the mocha cup creaked under my fingers as she called, “Mira Quinveil,” bright enough to sound friendly if someone had never been hunted indoors.

The nearest tables quieted. Not obviously. Ravenrest students were too practiced for obvious. They simply stopped chewing, angled their shoulders, and pretended the conversation unfolding in front of them was not the most interesting thing to happen since someone’s father got indicted and still made the winter donor list.

Cassie crossed the space between us, heels clicking in an even rhythm. Her scent reached me before she did: frosted citrus, white flowers, something chilled and soft beneath it that curled through my senses with infuriating precision. It cut through espresso and sugar and expensive soap, sliding straight under the edge of my glamour.

My skin tightened.

I hated that my body noticed her before my pride could stop it.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” she said, eyes flicking to the mocha in my hand. “Busy morning?”

I shifted my weight to one hip. “Hello to you too, Cassie. I didn’t realize you were keeping track of my schedule.” A ripple of laughter moved through the closest tables.

Cassie’s smile sharpened. She liked an audience. Worse, she knew what to do with one. “Someone has to. You missed the pre-event planning meeting. Let me guess. Too busy polishing your halo?”

I took a slow sip of my drink and let her wait. “Maybe if you contributed something meaningful, I’d feel worse about missing it.” A few students made soft, delighted noises into their lunches.

Cassie stepped closer. Not enough to be obvious. Enough that the air between us changed. Enough that I could see the tiny flecks of darker blue around her pupils and the way her lower lip pressed harder for half a second before her smile returned.

“Look who found claws over the summer,” she said. “Do they give trophies for most iced mochas consumed before noon, or is that just another cry for attention?”

The laugh that followed was bigger this time, and heat rushed through me, quick and bright, not embarrassment because embarrassment folded inward and this wanted teeth. “I don’t know,” I said sweetly. “If they did, I’m sure you’d buy the award and then act wounded when people noticed the receipt.” The courtyard went very still.

For one second, Cassie’s smile slipped into something more honest, not hurt, not exactly, maybe interest or annoyance, the dangerous little spark that appeared when someone finally hit back hard enough to make her pay attention, then she leaned in, her scent wrapping around me as my glamour cinched so tightly at my ears I nearly flinched, her gaze dropping to my mouth quick as a stolen thing before snapping back to my eyes.

“Careful, Quinveil,” she said, soft enough to feel private and loud enough to cut. “You might fool them.” Her eyes flicked over the listening tables. “But not me. Everyone knows the only reason you’re here is because Daddy pulled strings. It must be exhausting, pretending you belong.” There it was, not the worst thing anyone had ever said to me, not even close, but Cassie had a gift for finding the place where a bruise was already forming and pressing one perfect finger to the center.

For a second, my hold slipped and heat sparked beneath my skin, bright and eager, the glamour twitching as my ears ached and the air around my fingers warmed while Cassie’s eyes narrowed, not enough for anyone else to notice but enough for me, and she saw something, not the truth, she couldn’t have, she was human, rich, cruel, and irritatingly beautiful, not clairvoyant, but for one breath she looked at me like the mask had thinned and she wanted to know what waited underneath, and my smile came slowly, carefully, sharp enough to keep my mouth from trembling as I said, “See you at practice, Cassie.”

I turned before she could answer, keeping my steps measured and my spine straight, my hand wrapped around the mocha cup so tightly I was one bad second from wearing it, and I did not look back because if I did I might see that smirk again or worse I might see her still watching, and by the time I reached the cooler hush of the hall beyond the courtyard my pulse was hammering and the glamour felt like armor strapped too tight over a bruise, and worse some faint trace of her still lingered at the back of my throat.

I hated her.

I absolutely hated her.

Probably.

My fingers found the silver bracelet at my wrist before I consciously reached for it. Frost-patterned etching circled the band, always cool no matter how hot my skin ran. Naomi had given it to me on a day I had been pretending loudly enough that even strangers might have known I was lying.

She had not asked what happened and she had not tried to drag the truth out of me like a confession and she had only pressed the bracelet into my palm and closed my fingers around it with both of hers. “You run headfirst into things,” she had said, violet eyes steady. “Fine. But if the ground moves, you hold on to this until you remember where your feet are.”

I traced the etched frost with my thumb. Once. Twice. Again. The heat under my skin eased by degrees, magic settling from a blaze into a low, resentful glow. My breathing slowed. The hallway sharpened around me: marble underfoot, distant laughter, the bitter edge of coffee, the hum of fluorescent lights humans pretended did not scream.

Fire did not ask permission to exist, Naomi had said that once when I needed it and hated that I needed it, and I did not repeat the words out loud here with cameras and students and Cassie Fairborn’s eyes still too fresh in my memory, but I let the shape of them sit behind my teeth until I could stand without shaking, and only when my glamour stopped pulling at the edges did I push away from the wall.

The rest of the school day dragged itself across my nerves. Teachers lectured. Notes blurred. The clock in every classroom became personally invested in my suffering. I answered questions, smiled on cue, and kept my magic locked down so tightly that by the final bell my skin felt too small.

But it was not the assignments that had me wound thin.

It was her.

Cassie’s voice kept sliding back into my thoughts at the worst moments, silk over steel. I saw her across the quad between classes, laughing too brightly with her friends, turning her head so sunlight caught in her hair. Once, her gaze flicked toward me and away again so fast I might have imagined it if my pulse had not reacted like an idiot.

Infuriating.

By the time I reached my car, I felt brittle from holding myself together. The black sports coupe waited in its assigned space, polished enough to reflect the academy gates back at me. Mother had called it dignified when she chose it. I called it an apology with leather seats.

I slid behind the wheel and shut the door. The quiet hit first. Then the engine purred to life, vibrating through my palms on the steering wheel. I sat there for one breath longer than necessary.

You might fool them. But not me.

My fingers tightened.

“Fuck off, Cassandra,” I muttered to the empty car, which was both mature and emotionally productive.

The car, wisely, offered no opinion.

Ravenrest Heights unfolded around me in clean lines and calculated beauty as I drove out through the gates. Gothic facades, wrought-iron fences, manicured gardens trimmed into obedience. The kind of neighborhood where every window sparkled and every brick whispered old money in a language only other old money pretended not to understand.

Most people saw prestige, but I saw what the glamours wanted hidden, the faint shimmer of wards against mortal sight behind stone and glass, the subtle pulse of gates where spells recognized bloodlines, and buildings that seemed too large for their own shadows with true shapes folded behind illusion, while humans might feel a strange warmth in the air or catch a flicker at the edge of vision and explain it away as sun glare, stress, or lack of sleep instead of the truth breathing inches from their faces, and I passed a corner where I had once seen a fae sentry move too fast for human eyes, and today the sidewalk looked empty, but the fine hairs along my arms lifted anyway.

Ravenrest Heights gave way to Silverlake Row, where wealth softened into age. Ivy clung to weathered brick. Narrow shops glowed behind leaded windows. The air smelled faintly of tea, rain on stone, and enchantments worn so thin they felt more like memory than magic. I cracked the window and let the breeze pull at the heat trapped under my collar.

I did not go home.

Obviously.

Silverlake Row bled into Grimwall Hollow, where elegance surrendered to grit. Buildings leaned close over the streets, brick darkened by soot and weather, fire escapes laddering up their sides like old scars. Alley walls wore graffiti in mortal paint and fae marks layered beneath, visible only when the light hit wrong. My mother would have been appalled if she knew how often I came here, which was one of Grimwall’s many charms.

I parked behind a weathered tenement and took the long way around. The glamour clung to me with each step, tighter now that the day had worn me down. My true shape pressed beneath it, restless and hot, demanding room.

The alley was empty except for a sagging fire escape, a puddle reflecting a strip of gray sky, and a scrap of paper caught against the wall, which was good enough, so I let the glamour fall and felt it peel away with a shiver through my bones as my hair tumbled free in molten waves of red and gold catching the low light, my starlit eyes returning with silver flecks flaring as the world sharpened around me, the points of my ears emerging with a familiar ache, and my skin finally stopping its borrowed feeling.

For a moment I just stood there and let myself exist, then the back door of the Howling Moon Tavern groaned open beneath my hand and the threshold ward brushed over my skin, recognized me, and let me pass, and as always the tavern had changed, yesterday the bar had been burnished oak carved with thorned roses but today it curved in a sweep of dark stone inlaid with mother of pearl catching the lamplight and breaking it into shifting constellations, a cage of bottled lightning hung from the rafters with pale arcs flaring whenever laughter rose too loud, and where a sunlit alcove had been the day before a sunken lounge now opened around a sapphire fire pit with cushions scattered in deep blues and purples like spilled night.

The Howling Moon did not change so much as remember itself differently. I had stopped asking why years ago. Some magic explained itself when it wanted to. Some magic had better manners.

The air wrapped around me warm and spiced, laced with warding smoke, dark cider, and something sweet enough to loosen the knot between my shoulders. Beneath it pulsed the wild undercurrent no mortal tavern could imitate, a heartbeat in the walls.

“Mira!” Naomi’s voice carried from our booth, low and steady, threaded with the quiet welcome she rarely wasted on anyone else, and she sat with one arm stretched along the back of the leather bench, cropped white hair catching the lightning glow overhead while frost-mark tattoos marked her forearm and shifted faintly as she shuffled a deck of Veil cards.

Kess perched on the table’s edge beside her, amber eyes bright with trouble. “Finally decided to grace us with your royal presence. What, did the crown get too heavy for the school day?”

“Shut it, Kess.” My voice came out warmer than the words.

Naomi slid a mug toward my usual spot before I even sat down. She did not ask if I wanted it. She knew. The ceramic was warm against my palms, and the smell of dark cider laced with something citrusy made the last of Ravenrest loosen its claws.

Kess dropped into the seat across from me like gravity was something she tolerated for comedic effect. “You missed a good one last night. Drok challenged me to darts and ended up owing me three bottles of shadowbrew.”

I took a long sip. “Shadowbrew. Is that the one that makes you see everyone’s aura or the one that makes you think you can dance?”

“Yes,” Kess said.

Naomi snorted into her cards and did not look up, but one white brow ticked. “You’re later than usual. Either Cassie Fairborn pushed your buttons again, or you finally got arrested for excessive smugness.”

“Arrested would’ve been faster.” I sank deeper into the booth until my shoulder pressed against Naomi’s side. She shifted without comment, making room as if my weight against her were a normal part of the furniture. “And for the record, if smugness was a crime, Kess would’ve been executed years ago.”

Kess lifted her mug in a lazy salute. Dark hair spilled from a loose braid, streaked with faint gold that was not dye so much as her panther heritage refusing to stay subtle. Her leather jacket hung open over a faded shirt, boots scuffed from nights spent in streets most people avoided. Kess carried danger casually, like jewelry she had forgotten she was wearing.

“Bold talk from someone who walked in looking like she got emotionally run over by a rich girl in designer shoes,” Kess said. “What did Cassie do this time? Compliment you through gritted teeth?”

“She smiled at me,” I said flatly. “With teeth.”

Naomi finally looked up, violet eyes cool and faintly amused. “That’s practically a declaration of war.”

“That is a declaration of war,” Kess said. “So do we hex her car, or are we pretending to be civilized this week?”

“Civilized,” Naomi said.

Kess groaned. “You ruin all my best ideas.”

Naomi reached over without looking and nudged a plate of fries toward me and I had not asked so I stole one immediately. “You see that?” I pointed the fry at Kess. “That is love.”

“That is enabling,” Naomi said.

“Love is a complex and varied experience.”

Kess leaned forward, grin sharpening. “Sweetheart, you only start defining abstract concepts when you’re avoiding the actual conversation.”

“I am not avoiding anything.”

“You are eating Naomi’s fries with the haunted intensity of someone who got read for filth in public.”

I opened my mouth.

Naomi placed one card face-down on the table with a soft tap. “Some things?”

I closed my mouth.

That was the problem with having friends who knew me. Actual friends, not school friends, not court acquaintances, not girls who smiled in hallways and traded favors like currency. Naomi and Kess did not need me to narrate the wound. They could see the shape of it from the way I held my cup.

“She said I only got into Ravenrest because of Dad,” I admitted.

Kess’s grin vanished and Naomi’s hand stilled on the deck as the tavern noise filled the space between us with laughter at the bar, the crackle of sapphire flame, and glass against stone, and neither of them rushed to fill it, which was why I could breathe around them because they let silence sit without turning it into another demand.

Kess spoke first. “Do you want me to say she’s wrong, or do you want me to say she’s a spoiled little nightmare with excellent aim?”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. It cracked at the edge, but it was real. “Both?”

“She’s wrong,” Naomi said, calm as snowfall. “And Kess’s version is also accurate.”

Kess pressed a hand to her chest. “I feel so supported.”

“You should try feeling quieter,” Naomi said.

I laughed again, easier this time. My shoulder stayed against Naomi’s. Kess stole one fries from the plate like she was reclaiming stolen treasure. The tight thing inside me loosened notch by notch, not because the day stopped hurting, but because here I did not have to pretend it hadn’t.

For a while, the conversation tilted away from Cassie and into safer chaos. Kess told us, with completely unnecessary dramatic detail, how Drok had accused her of cheating at darts. She insisted creative interpretation of wind currents was not cheating. Naomi pointed out that indoor taverns did not have wind currents. Kess said that was exactly what made the interpretation creative.

I talked too much here. I always did. Words tumbled out faster than I could catch them, jokes crashing into complaints, thoughts veering sideways mid-sentence. At Ravenrest, I trimmed myself into something elegant. At Emberhall, I folded myself into something acceptable. Here, I sprawled. I stole food. I interrupted. I laughed with my whole body and did not check who was watching.

Naomi kept dealing cards one-handed because my shoulder had pinned her other arm. She never told me to move. Kess noticed and smirked like she was collecting evidence for later, but for once she let it pass.

The Howling Moon hummed around us, warm and strange and alive. The bottled lightning overhead flared when someone near the bar shouted a toast. The mother-of-pearl in the counter flashed like stars under water. A group of shifters in the corner argued over a Veil card game with the solemn intensity of diplomats negotiating a treaty, except with more swearing.

For a little while, nothing needed to be solved, then the chime rang through my bones and I went still, it was not loud and no human would have heard it and most fae in the tavern would not have either, but my blood recognized the summons before my mind did, a low resonant note threading through my ribs and tightening around my heart.

Naomi’s cards stopped moving, Kess’s smile faded. “No.” The chime sounded again, sharper this time.

My mug was still warm between my hands. Naomi’s shoulder was still solid against mine. Kess was still across the table, eyes bright with anger she could not spend on my behalf. The tavern still smelled like cider and smoke and safety.

None of it mattered.

Mother was calling.

I slid out of the booth before either of them could say the thing that would make leaving harder. Kess’s hand twitched like she might reach for me, then curled around her mug instead. Naomi stood, not fully blocking my path, just close enough that I had to look at her.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

It was not a question, and I nodded once because anything more would come out wrong as the chime rang a third time and I turned toward the back door.