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Delilah laughed softly, grabbing her basket of charm tools and slipping a kiss to Wren’s temple before following Junie out the back.

Missy Harrow was exactly where Delilah expected her to be—planted at the base of the old warded gazebo like a general overseeing her troops. Her dark curls were bound in a sleek braid wrapped in silver cord, and she had the fierce look of someone who’d wrangled magic students and town council egosbefore breakfast. Delilah had learned spellcraft from her as a teenager—Missy had run the town’s charm circles since before Delilah could write her name in moon sigils.

And now, like nothing had changed, she greeted Delilah with a dry smirk and a half-chewed sprig of clover between her teeth.

“About time,” she drawled. “We’ve got three dozen ward rings to charm and not enough hands.”

Delilah settled cross-legged beside her on the embroidered picnic cloth, fingers already reaching for the thistle thread and star-grass. “Don’t tell me you started without me.”

“I’d rather tie protection charms with wet string than do the whole set solo,” Missy muttered. “Where’ve you been?”

Delilah glanced up, hesitating.

Junie filled the silence. “She and Rollo met with the council this morning.”

That drew Missy’s eyes like a hawk spotting prey. “And?”

Delilah exhaled. “We told them everything. Garrick’s return. The corrupted sigils. Rollo’s attack. The spreading sickness in the land.”

Junie added, “They listened. Nodded. And said they’dhandle it.”

Missy snorted, spitting the clover to the side. “Of course they did.”

“They don’t want to disrupt the ceremony,” Delilah murmured, focusing too hard on the knot in her charm loop. “Said the town needed the unity. The magic of celebration.”

“Unity doesn’t mean silence,” Missy muttered. “It means honesty. Trust. That’s what makes the Pact strong—not pretending danger isn’t knocking on the ward lines.”

Delilah didn’t argue. She couldn’t.

The weight of secrecy pressed on her chest. The knowledge that Garrick still slithered unseen, twisting the land with every shadowed step, made her want to scream.

But she focused on the charms.

Knot by knot. Sigil by sigil.

They worked in a rhythm, the three of them. Missy handed off ring bases. Junie chanted the soft protection spells. Delilah threaded her magic through like weaving a tapestry.

Their shoulders brushed. Their laughter returned in fits and starts. For a while, it felt like old times.

Almost.

“Rollo okay?” Missy asked quietly, not looking up.

Delilah’s hands stilled for a breath before resuming. “He’s healing. Slower than normal.”

“The poison?”

“Still lingering. But he’s stubborn.”

“He always was,” Junie said with a small smile, nudging Delilah with her elbow. “You two always fit best in the middle of a mess.”

Delilah’s smile was tight but sincere. “He’s trying.”

They all knew what that meant.

Trying to be brave. Trying to be honest. Trying to love without fear.

Delilah wasn’t sure either of them had quite figured it out yet—but they were trying together.