There are mornings I wake and, for a heartbeat, forget which version of myself I’m meant to be.

In that breath of unawareness, I am unbound—no masks, no magic, no expectations. Just me. Just Mira.

This morning was not one of those.

“Seven hells and a firestorm,” I muttered, heat prickling at my fingertips as my temper and magic tangled together. Sparks flared in protest, skittering across my skin in tiny bursts of gold before fading into the still air of my bedroom.

The mirror reflected every part of me I needed to erase. My dark, star-flecked eyes—Mother’s most despised reminder of my father—glinted stubbornly back. My crimson-gold hair, wild and luminous as a banked flame, refused to lie flat. My pointed ears peeked through the strands as if mocking the very idea of concealment.

The glamour waited on the edge of my magic, ready to be called, but never eager. It was always harder when I was late, harder when I could taste panic in my throat—sharp and metallic, like the tang of struck copper.

I closed my eyes, inhaling until the air settled deep in my lungs. The power stirred, warm and volatile, coiling like smoke. I willed it to obey, to smooth my edges into something safer, something ordinary.

The magic slid over my skin in a shiver—cool at first, like dipping into moonlit water, then hot as it settled, wrapping itself tight. My reflection blurred, colors bleeding and reshaping until the girl in the mirror wore human-green eyes instead of constellations. My hair dulled to a softer ginger, each strand tamed into polite waves. The sharp points of my ears softened, curved. Even my freckles shifted, becoming the sort humans found charming instead of otherworldly.

Bit by bit, the dangerous truth of my fae blood vanished beneath the lie.

“Better,” I breathed, smoothing the pleats of my charcoal-grey uniform skirt.

The clock on the wall, all ornate filigree and gold inlay, declared I was fifteen minutes late. First day of junior year, and I’d be walking in late enough to draw every pair of eyes. Exactly the kind of attention I couldn’t afford.

I snatched up my satchel and bolted for the door. My heels struck the marble with sharp, echoing clicks, ricocheting off walls inlaid with veins of gold. The grand staircase spilled before me in a sweep of black marble steps, its banisters carved into curling flames. Stained-glass windows spilled jewel-colored light across the polished floors, warm in hue but cold in truth.

From the street outside Ravenrest Heights, Emberhall looked like a stately mansion—respectable, enviable. Only those who passed the wards and walked its halls saw the truth: a palace of impossible proportions, every inch dripping in opulence.

And yet, to me, it was a mausoleum.

Every chandelier sparkled, every wall gleamed, every vase overflowed with enchanted blooms that never wilted—and still the air felt stale, preserved. The rooms were vast but empty, the corridors long enough to swallow voices. The only footsteps I heard were my own, echoing too loudly, reminding me how alone I was in this gilded cage.

I was almost to the front doors when her voice cut through the silence, sharp enough to still my stride.

“Mira.”

The word landed like a hook in my spine. I turned, slow and unwilling, the leather strap of my bag creaking in my grip.

Seara Firebrand stood in the archway, framed by carved stone and sunlight. Crimson silk clung to her in a gown edged with molten gold thread, her copper hair a perfect cascade over her shoulders. Her amber eyes—warm in hue, cold in truth—locked on me with unblinking precision. Even at a distance, her presence pressed against my ribs, heavy as the heat before a lightning strike.

“Mother,” I said, careful to keep my voice level. “I’m running late—”

“You’ll spare a moment.” The command was smooth, threaded with steel. She stepped closer, each movement a deliberate, predatory grace. “Tonight there’s a ceremony at court. Your attendance is required.”

The words landed heavy. Tonight was supposed to be the Student Council Welcome Gala—the one I’d planned all summer. The one I’d promised myself I’d enjoy, just for once, without the court’s shadow over me.

“But the Gala—” I started, keeping my tone calm even as the embers inside me flared hotter.

Her eyes narrowed, the amber hardening to burnished metal. “You’re a princess of the Unseelie Summer Court. Not a human child playing dress-up at meaningless parties.”

“It’s not meaningless,” I said, jaw tightening. “I’ve worked hard on this—”

“Your human frivolities bore me, Mira.” The dismissal was sharp enough to draw blood. “You will fulfill your duties to this family and this court first. If you spent half as much effort remembering your lineage as you do hiding it, perhaps you’d have something worth showing for your efforts.”

The humiliation hit like a slap, quick and hot, flooding my skin with heat I didn’t dare let show. This wasn’t the first time she’d cut me down, but it still found the soft places. She’d perfected cruelty into an art form.

I straightened, chin lifting just enough to mimic dignity. “Of course, Mother. As you wish.”

Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer, searching for something—or ensuring I’d broken enough to comply. “Try not to embarrass me again today.”

She turned, the whisper of her gown’s hem as sharp as the words she left behind.

I stayed frozen until the sound of her heels faded, until the palace swallowed her whole again. Only then did I turn and push through the heavy front doors.

As the heavy estate doors shut behind me, I drew in a deep breath of the cool morning air. It rushed over me in a bracing wave, cutting through the lingering weight of my mother’s words. Something in me shifted—small, instinctive—a quiet ripple that left the air faintly altered in my wake. I steadied my breathing until the tightness in my chest loosened.

By the time I reached the gates, my expression was flawless again—shoulders squared, smile bright, the perfect image of a girl with nothing to hide. The mask settled into place long before the eyes of Ravenrest Heights Academy would find me, long before anyone could guess what had been left behind inside those gilded walls.

I stepped onto Ravenrest Heights Academy’s sprawling campus thirty minutes later, the sun already climbing higher in the pale blue sky. The school loomed ahead—a gothic-modern masterpiece of polished stone and sweeping glass, every line precise, every arch deliberate. Ivy curled down carved walls like nature’s own filigree, and the manicured lawns looked more like the work of magic than groundskeeping. At the center, the clock tower stretched above it all, elegant and cold, its gilded hands ticking toward judgment.

Exactly like the people who studied here.

Late as I was, I didn’t hurry. Instead, I let my heels click with deliberate confidence across the cobblestones, head high, gaze steady. If you’re going to be late, you may as well look like you meant to be. Inside, my pulse was a drumbeat, quick and sharp, but no one needed to know that. Masking was second nature by now—an instinct honed over years of practice—until even I sometimes forgot what it felt like to simply exist without it.

Here, I wasn’t Princess Mira Firebrand of the Unseelie Summer Court. No crowns, no titles. Just Mira Quinveil—daughter of Elias Quinveil, a rising star in Dominveil politics. Everyone knew my father, admired him, speculated about how he’d gotten his daughter into one of the most exclusive schools in the city. Pulling strings was the popular theory. They knew I came from money—old money, the kind you can smell in the way someone walks—but not that kind of money. Not palace money. Not fae court money. I’d made sure of that.

“Mira!”

Ashlyn’s voice cut through the hallway hum, her honey-blonde braid swaying as she waved me over. Student council treasurer. Polished, friendly, the kind of girl parents trusted immediately.

“Nice of you to join us,” she teased, her smile warm enough to draw a real one from me.

“Fashionably late,” I said, breezing past with a wink. She laughed, and just like that, the moment folded into the hundreds of others I curated so carefully. Small exchanges. Safe ones. The version of me they could see.

They knew me as the vice president of the student council, cheerleader, and occasional chess champion—the girl who could run a Model UN debate one day and organize a charity gala the next. Someone who belonged in every room she walked into. No one realized how many hours went into building that image, or how much of it was armor.

From the corner of my eye, movement caught my attention—Cassie Fairborn, standing across the hallway with her friends. Her posture was perfect, shoulders square, every line of her uniform crisp like she’d stepped out of an ad campaign. Sunlight from the high windows lit the honey-blonde waves of her hair, catching like spun gold. Even from here, my Fae senses caught the faintest edge of her perfume—bright citrus and something clean, cutting through the usual tang of hallway sweat and coffee.

She didn’t just look at me—her gaze pinned me. Those icy-blue eyes had a way of peeling, layer by layer, like she expected to find something rotten underneath. And when her mouth curved into that infuriatingly small smirk, the air between us tightened.

That smirk dragged me back to last spring—biology presentations, the classroom stifling with heat. I’d stood at the front with my neatly written notecards, only to discover she’d switched them. Out of order, sentences cut in half, one card replaced with good luck, Quinveil in her perfect handwriting. My stumble had been all she needed. Her laugh hadn’t been loud, but it didn’t have to be. Everyone had heard it anyway.

I shook the memory loose before it could dig deeper.

It was the kind of smirk that made it impossible to tell if she wanted to beat me at something or pin me against the nearest wall. Which was exactly why it got under my skin.

I held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary before turning away—not because I’d lost, but because I knew she’d hate that I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

My heels struck marble as I turned toward the alcove tucked just inside the main hallway. The espresso kiosk steamed with the scent of coffee and cocoa—a tiny luxury in a place already overflowing with them.

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

“Gods, yes,” I breathed, and she slid my iced mocha across the counter. The first sip was a relief—cold, sweet, grounding.

“Running late today, Miss Quinveil?”

I pivoted to find Professor Adair behind me, coffee in hand and amusement in his expression. Young for faculty, effortlessly likable. The kind of man who noticed more than he let on.

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

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

The mention was a knife twisted too gently to draw blood. The gala I’d spent my summer perfecting—the one my mother had just barred me from—flashed in my mind like broken glass. I smoothed it over with a shrug.

“Everything’s under control,” I said.

“I don’t doubt it.”

When he left, I lingered a moment, the chatter and laughter of the hallway threading around me. Students passed, tossing me waves or clipped greetings. I returned each with precision: approachable but untouchable. Enough to be liked. Never enough to be known.

A slow breath eased past my lips. Something in me shifted—small and instinctive—and I knew the air around me had changed, even if no one here could name why. My smile stayed in place, practiced and perfect, as I headed for my locker. Ravenrest Heights had its gleam, its prestige, its pecking order—and I fit in exactly how I wanted to.

They saw the girl I let them see. The rest was mine alone.

By the time lunch rolled around, I’d survived half the day with my mask intact—barely. Classes blurred into a parade of forced smiles and careful glances, every second spent making sure my glamour didn’t so much as twitch.

Now I stood in line at the courtyard café, watching steam curl from the espresso machine as the barista slid a second iced mocha into my hand. The cold seeped through the cup, grounding me. A ritual, a shield, maybe even a crutch—but one I wasn’t about to give up.

Lunch at Ravenrest Heights Academy was less a break in the day and more a stage performance.

The courtyard café shimmered under the midday sun, its marble tables polished to a mirror sheen, the air perfumed with espresso, truffle fries, and expensive cologne. Laughter and gossip wove through the space like silk, punctuated by the occasional clink of crystal water glasses—because of course this place served water in crystal.

I’d barely stepped into the lounge when the atmosphere shifted. A ripple moved through the crowd—quiet conversations faltering, heads turning, postures straightening as if on instinct.

Cassandra Fairborn had arrived.

She swept in like she owned the place—because in a way, she did. The Fairborn family’s wealth was old, untouchable, the kind that could rewrite rules and make people forget they’d ever existed. Cassie wore that legacy like a second skin. Golden-blonde waves framed her perfectly symmetrical face, sunlight catching on strands as though it bent to flatter her. Every line of her posture radiated control. Precision. Power.

Her gaze skimmed the room, hawk-sharp. Then it landed on me.

That was when her mouth curved—just slightly, just enough to make my stomach twist in the most infuriating way imaginable.

“Mira Quinveil,” she said, voice carrying easily over the chatter, pitched with that bright edge of false warmth that only existed to draw blood.

The crowd hushed, leaning in.

Cassie crossed the space like a predator, her heels clicking in perfect rhythm. The faintest breeze of her perfume reached me first—citrus sharpened with ice, undercut with a floral note too clean to be soft. It clawed at my senses, slamming into the fragile wall of my glamour.

The magic cinched tighter, like an iron corset around my ribs. Holding it was suddenly work, sharp enough to sting.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” she said, eyes flicking to the mocha in my hand before pinning me in place.

I shifted my weight to one hip, tilting my head as if it were effortless. “Hello to you too, Cassie. I didn’t realize you were keeping track of my schedule.”

A ripple of laughter stirred the nearest tables.

Her smirk deepened. “Someone has to. You missed the pre-event planning meeting this morning. Let me guess—you were too busy polishing your halo?”

I let the silence stretch, slow and deliberate, before taking a sip of my drink. “Maybe if you actually contributed something meaningful, Cassie, I’d bother showing up.”

Amusement sparked in her eyes—the dangerous kind, glass-edged. “Look who suddenly got claws. Tell me—do they give trophies for most iced mochas consumed, or is that just another cry for attention?”

Bigger laugh this time. The heat under my skin wasn’t embarrassment. It was anger begging to be weaponized. “I don’t know,” I said sweetly. “But if they did, I’m sure you’d be first in line to buy your way in.”

The air around us went knife-sharp.

Her smile stayed, but her gaze cut deeper, colder. She leaned in—close enough that her perfume wrapped around me, close enough that the glamour constricted across my skin until it hurt.

“Careful, Quinveil,” she murmured, pitched perfectly for the crowd to hear. “You might fool them”—a flick of her eyes across the silent, waiting audience—“but not me. Everyone knows the only reason you’re here is because Daddy pulled strings. Must be exhausting, pretending you belong.”

The words sank like steel. Practiced. Precise.

For a second, my hold slipped—the glamour twitching, sparking against my skin as if it wanted to unravel. My breath caught, every nerve screaming not to falter, not to let anything crack.

Instead, I smiled. Slow. Bright. Razor-edged. “See you at practice, Cassie.”

I pivoted before she could answer, my steps measured, grip on my mocha so tight the cup nearly split. I didn’t look back, because if I did, I might see that same smirk—and I wasn’t sure if I hated it, or hated how much I noticed it.

By the time I slipped into the cooler hush of the hallway beyond, my pulse was still hammering, my glamour clamped down so hard it felt like armor digging into bone.

And still, maddeningly, I could taste her perfume on the back of my tongue.

Forcing my focus elsewhere, my trembling fingers found the delicate silver bracelet circling my wrist—Naomi’s bracelet. Its frost-patterned etching caught the faint light, always cool to the touch no matter the temperature. A gift given when everything had felt too heavy to carry, offered without fanfare, but with the quiet force of someone who saw more than I wanted them to.

“You’re always running headfirst into things,” Naomi had said, violet eyes soft but steady. “Maybe this will help you keep your footing.”

Naomi was my anchor—solid and unshakable in a way that didn’t demand, didn’t suffocate. I could almost see her now, standing across from me in her worn jacket, short white hair rumpled, arms folded as she met my gaze without flinching. Her voice, low and sure as winter wind, echoed in my head:

“If they ever make you doubt who you are, Mira, remember—the brightest flame burns inside you. It doesn’t matter if they see it. Fire doesn’t ask permission to exist.”

I traced the bracelet’s lines, letting her words sink in, steadying the pulse still racing from that… encounter. My breathing slowed, the hot burn behind my eyes cooling until the edges of the world felt sharp again.

“I am fire, contained in glass,” I murmured, just for me. “I burn but do not break.”

A tiny flame curled to life at my fingertips, a heartbeat of warmth and light I could control when everything else felt frayed. I let it dance—then snuffed it out, watching the last ember fade like a sigh.

My scent shifted subtly—not the acrid bite of humiliation, but salt and fading warmth, like the ghost of a storm long passed.

With a deep breath, I pushed away from the wall. My mask slid back into place, seamless and sure, but Naomi’s words stayed rooted beneath it. Even when the world tried to corner me, I wasn’t powerless. I wasn’t alone.

And if Cassie Fairborn thought she could keep getting under my skin… well. She’d just have to find out how dangerous it was to play with fire.

The school day dragged like slow torture, every class a test of patience and endurance under the careful mask I’d perfected over the years. Teachers droned, notes blurred, and the ticking of the clock became a steady, taunting pulse in the back of my skull.

But it wasn’t the assignments or lectures that had me on edge. It was her.

Cassie’s voice kept sliding back into my thoughts at the most inconvenient moments, silk wrapped around steel, every word dripping with calculated precision. I’d see her from across the quad between classes—laughing too brightly with her friends, turning her head just enough for sunlight to catch in her hair, blue eyes darting briefly my way before flicking elsewhere like I was a footnote.

Infuriating.

The fact that she lingered in my mind at all felt like a defeat in itself. Every time her name threaded through my thoughts, I shoved it away—only for it to return, uninvited, with the scent of her perfume and that impossible smile.

By the time the final bell rang, I felt brittle, every forced smile and perfectly-timed laugh from the day like hairline fractures in a sheet of glass. I packed my books slowly, methodically, as if moving too quickly might shatter me completely.

Still, under it all, one truth burned steady and unwelcome: for someone I couldn’t stand, Cassandra Fairborn had a way of taking up far too much space in my head.

And I hated her for it.

Escaping into the polished sanctuary of my car—a sleek black sports coupe my mother had deemed appropriately dignified—I sank into the leather seat and exhaled a slow, unsteady breath. The moment the engine purred to life, the sound vibrated through my palms, a grounding hum after a day lined with edges too sharp to ignore.

Cassie’s voice still clung to the inside of my skull, threaded with that infuriating, perfect sweetness she wielded like a blade. I could still see her as she’d leaned in—hair catching the light like spun gold, eyes bright as frost under morning sun—looking at me like she knew every last one of my secrets. Like she could unmake me with nothing more than a smile.

I hated her.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself as I shifted into gear and eased out of Ravenrest’s gated lot.

The district unfolded around me in clean lines and calculated beauty—towering gothic facades polished to perfection, wrought-iron fences gleaming beneath careful upkeep, manicured gardens manicured enough to look like they’d been grown with rulers. The kind of place where every window sparkled, every hedge stood at attention, and every brick whispered old money.

Most people driving these streets saw nothing more than that.

I saw more.

Behind the stone and glass, my fae senses caught the thin shimmer of concealed wards, pressed tight and invisible to human eyes. The faint pulse of magic where gates had been spelled to recognize bloodlines. The subtle ripple of glamour that softened the too-sharp corners of certain buildings, disguising their true, sprawling size. Humans might notice an odd warmth in the air or a trick of the light—but they’d dismiss it. They always did.

I passed a familiar street corner where, once, I’d caught the flicker of a fae sentry’s shadow, too fast for mortal vision. Tonight, it was empty—at least to human eyes—but I still felt the faint prickle along my skin, like static waiting to spark.

Leaving Ravensrest Heights meant watching its grandeur fade, replaced by the quieter, older charm of Silverlake Row. Ivy clung stubbornly to weathered brick buildings, and the air here smelled faintly of tea and rain on stone. To a human, it was quaint; to me, the air was threaded with the ghost of ancient enchantments, worn so thin they were more memory than magic. I rolled the window down slightly, letting the cool breeze pull some of the tension from my shoulders.

But I didn’t linger.

Silverlake Row gave way to the tighter streets of Grimwall Hollow, where elegance surrendered to grit and shadows. The buildings leaned closer here, their facades marked with peeling paint and graffiti, their alleyways full of eyes that watched from behind curtains. My mother would be appalled if she knew how often I came here—and maybe that was part of why I did.

Parking behind a weathered tenement, I stepped out and took the long way toward the Howling Moon Tavern. The glamour clung to me like a second skin, but each step made it itch more, my true self pressing harder against its cage. The alley was empty, save for a sagging fire escape and the rustle of paper caught in the wind.

I hesitated, then let it go.

The glamour peeled away with a faint shiver through my bones. My hair tumbled free in molten waves of red, gold, and silver fire; my starlit eyes caught the low light, silver flecks flaring like constellations. My pointed ears emerged with a soft ache, and the air itself seemed to shift around me—cooler, clearer, sharper. My magic stretched like a waking cat beneath my skin, fire curling lazily in my veins.

Here, in this shadowed slice of the city where no one was looking, I could breathe.

Here, Cassie Fairborn’s voice didn’t reach me—

—or maybe it did, but softer, dulled by distance, like the echo of a storm already passed.

The Howling Moon’s back door groaned softly as I pushed it open, the familiar shimmer of its threshold brushing over my skin like the whisper of a ward recognizing me.

And, as always, it was different.

The bar that yesterday had been a burnished stretch of oak carved with thorny roses was now a sweeping curve of dark stone, the surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl that caught and fractured the lamplight into shifting constellations. The chandelier—if you could call it that—hung like a cage of bottled lightning from the rafters, its pale arcs flaring each time someone laughed too loudly. Where there had been a sunlit alcove yesterday, there was now a sunken lounge with cushions the color of midnight and a fire pit sunk in the center, its flames a deep, unnatural sapphire.

It never failed to make me pause, just for a moment. The Howling Moon didn’t change so much as it remembered differently each day, reshaping itself on some whim of old magic. I’d stopped wondering how or why a long time ago. Now I just let the corner of my mouth tilt up in private acknowledgment, like greeting an old friend wearing a new coat.

The air wrapped around me warm and spiced, laced with the resinous tang of warding smoke and something sweet I couldn’t quite place—cherries, maybe, or burnt sugar. Beneath it all was that undercurrent I could never explain to anyone who wasn’t Fae or close enough to magic to feel it: a wild, unpredictable pulse, like a heartbeat pressed against the walls.

“Mira!”

Naomi’s voice carried from our booth, low and steady but threaded with that quiet note of welcome she rarely wasted on anyone else. She was half sprawled against the leather bench, one arm slung along the backrest, short white hair catching the lightning light from above. The frost-mark tattoos along her forearm caught the glow, the patterns shifting with the flex of her fingers as she shuffled a deck of Veil cards.

Kess was perched on the table’s edge beside her, amber eyes glinting with mischief as she grinned at me. “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, my smile tugging up without permission. I slid into the booth beside Naomi, who passed me a mug without looking up from her cards. The ceramic was warm against my palms, and the smell—dark cider, laced with something bright and citrusy—made my shoulders loosen instantly.

Kess dropped into the seat across from us, stretching out like she owned the place. “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 of cider, letting the heat seep into me. “Shadowbrew. Remind me again, is that the one that makes you see everyone’s aura or the one that makes you think you can dance?”

“Yes,” Kess said, deadpan, and Naomi snorted into her cards.

Naomi didn’t look up from her Veil cards, but one of her white brows ticked upward. “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 said, leaning back until my head bumped the booth wall. “And, for the record, if smugness was a crime, Kess would’ve been executed years ago.”

Kess tipped her mug toward me in mock salute, amber eyes bright with feline amusement. Dark hair spilled from a loose braid, streaked with faint gold strands that weren’t dye so much as the telltale shimmer of her panther heritage slipping through. She wore her leather jacket open over a faded tee, boots scuffed from nights prowling streets most people avoided. Kess carried herself with the easy danger of someone who could pick a fight or start a party with equal skill—and wasn’t picky about which.

“Careful, Quinveil,” she said, sipping her drink. “That’s awfully bold talk for someone who came in here looking like a kicked puppy. What’d Cassie do this time—compliment you through gritted teeth?”

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

Naomi actually looked up for that, violet eyes glacial but faintly amused. “That’s practically a threat.”

“That is a threat,” Kess said, grinning. “So… do we hex her car, or are we still pretending to be civilized this week?”

“Civilized,” Naomi replied, voice even, her cards whispering softly as she turned another.

Kess groaned. “You’re no fun.”

Naomi was the opposite of Kess in almost every way—solid where Kess was mercurial, steady where Kess was quick to pounce. Her hair was a cropped, snowy white that caught the low tavern light like frost on glass, and her build was broad and powerful, muscle carved from years of Winter Court training and the natural strength of her Frostclaw bloodline. Polar bear shifters were rare even among the shifter kin of the fae, and Naomi carried that heritage in the way she moved—controlled, deliberate, every motion conserving energy until the exact moment she chose to strike.

Between the two of them, they were the only ones who could keep pace with me—and the only ones who never asked me to be less.

I slouched forward, wrapping both hands around my mug. “Why do you both assume I’m here because of Cassie? Maybe I just wanted to spend time with my two favorite lunatics.”

“Mm-hmm,” Naomi murmured, unconvinced.

Kess smirked. “Sweetheart, you only come here this early when someone’s pissed you off. Usually someone blond, rich, and terrifyingly good at holding a grudge.”

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugged upward despite myself. “Fine. She said some things.”

“Some things,” Naomi repeated, her tone making it sound like a diagnosis. “Which means she hit a nerve, and you don’t want to admit it.”

I groaned. “Sometimes I hate how well you know me.”

Kess leaned in, her grin all sharp edges. “You love it. It’s why you keep us around. That, and my devastating good looks.”

Naomi snorted. “Devastatingly questionable, maybe.”

Kess clutched her chest in mock offense. I laughed—loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh I didn’t have to bite back here. It sank into the tavern’s shifting walls, which tonight had taken the shape of a sprawling lodge, firelight pooling in the corners, the scent of spiced cider mingling with faint woodsmoke. Tomorrow it could be something entirely different, and no one but us would think twice about it.

I stretched one boot out to nudge Kess’s shin just hard enough to make her flinch. “You two are exhausting.”

“And you’re welcome,” she shot back without missing a beat.

I hooked one arm over the back of the booth and let myself sprawl, ankle bouncing under the table with restless energy. “You know,” I said, pointing vaguely toward Kess’s drink, “if you keep drinking that mystery cider, one day you’re going to wake up in the Dusk Court with a new tattoo and no explanation.”

Kess grinned, teeth flashing. “Bold of you to assume I’d mind.”

Naomi didn’t look up from her cards. “Bold of you to assume the Dusk Court would want you back.”

Kess gasped, clutching at her chest again. “Wow. Betrayed in my own tavern.”

“Technically not your tavern,” I said, my tone drifting into sing-song. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling us about the shapeshifting walls and the way it smells like your perfume on Wednesdays.”

Kess’s grin turned sly. “Maybe the tavern just likes me better.”

“Impossible,” I countered, leaning forward. “The tavern changes for me.”

“Yeah, it changes to warn everyone you’re coming,” Kess said, deadpan.

Naomi didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “She has a point.”

I threw my hands up. “Unbelievable. The two people who are supposed to be my support system have officially joined forces against me.”

“Joined forces?” Naomi asked, finally looking up from her cards. “Sweetheart, we were a united front long before you got here.”

“That’s a terrifying thought,” I muttered, but my grin betrayed me.

The fire in the hearth popped, casting molten light across Naomi’s pale hair and Kess’s gold-streaked braid. Around us, the tavern murmured with low conversation, the kind of hum that was impossible to replicate anywhere else. My gaze snagged on the little things—how the beams overhead had shifted into carved driftwood tonight, etched with constellations I recognized from both the mortal sky and the Veil. How the air carried a faint undercurrent of wild magic that stirred the tiny hairs at my nape.

I probably talked too much here—words tumbling out faster than I could catch them, thoughts skipping topics mid-sentence without warning—but neither of them ever blinked. They just kept pace, throwing jabs or listening in that easy rhythm we’d built over years.

I reached across to steal a fry from Kess’s plate—something that looked suspiciously like it had come from the mortal realm but hummed faintly with enchantment. She slapped at my hand too late, muttering something about thieves while Naomi just slid her plate toward me without a word.

“You see that?” I said, gesturing between them with the stolen fry. “That’s the difference between love and betrayal.”

Naomi arched a brow. “You’re confusing love with enabling.”

“Semantics,” I said through a mouthful of fries.

Kess shook her head, laughter bubbling out of her. “Gods, you’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning back again with a satisfied sigh. “And yet, here you both are.”

The hours blurred in the way they always did here, stitched together by clinking mugs, half-serious dares, and the kind of laughter that left my ribs aching. The Howling Moon had that effect—time bent around it, the outside world shrinking to nothing more than a distant hum.

Then I felt it.

A low, resonant chime, threading through the air like a note only I could hear. It reverberated in my bones, soft and insistent, tugging at something deep in my chest. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was impossible to ignore—my court’s summons, subtle enough to pass unnoticed by anyone without fae blood, yet heavy with command.

My grin faltered.

Naomi noticed instantly, her violet eyes narrowing. “You’ve got that face.”

“What face?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light, but my fingers were already tightening around my mug.

“The one you get when duty comes calling,” Kess said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “And before you say anything, we both know it’s never optional.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, ‘optional’ isn’t really in my mother’s vocabulary.”

Neither of them pushed. That was the thing about Naomi and Kess—they didn’t ask me to explain the parts of my life that cut too close to bone. They just made space for me to breathe while I still could.

I drained the last of my cider, savoring the warmth, the way the tavern’s magic seemed to wrap tighter around me like it knew I didn’t want to go. Here, I was allowed to be the messy, restless, sarcastic version of myself without the weight of titles and expectations. Here, the fire under my skin didn’t have to be tamed.

But the bell rang again—sharper this time—and the warmth began to thin, slipping through my fingers like water.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I said, though we all knew I couldn’t promise that.

Naomi gave a short nod. “We’ll keep your seat warm.”

Kess smirked. “And your fries safe. Probably.”

I laughed despite myself, sliding out of the booth. My glamour would have to go back on before I stepped outside, before I crossed the boundary where this world ended and the other one reclaimed me.

One last glance at my friends, at the shifting tavern that felt more like home than any gilded palace, and I turned toward the door.

Two worlds.

One where I couldn’t breathe behind my glamoured mask. One where I had to suffocate behind a false smile.

And peace in neither.