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And for now… that mattered.

By noon, laughter rose over the market booths. Kids darted around with chalk in hand, drawing sigils on cobblestones. The Spellbound Sip handed out lemon mist iced teas and warm blackberry scones. Even the town’s stone fountain glittered, enchanted with glimmer-moss that made the water sparkle like starlight.

It felt like Celestial Pines again.

Almost.

After their charm batch was complete, Delilah walked home alone. The breeze had picked up, tugging petals from the blossoming moonvine along the fences.

She paused near the eoutskirts of the sanctuary.

The trees still whispered. The land still felt raw, wounded in places.

But she’d bound one of those wounds with her bare hands. And Rollo was resting just beyond that line of trees.

She pressed a palm to the sanctuary gate, murmuring a soft blessing. “Keep him safe.”

Then she turned back toward the apothecary, heart a little lighter.

By dusk, the town shimmered.

The ceremonial firepit crackled at the center of the green, encircled by hand-dyed quilts and enchanted wind chimes that rang without breeze. The Council stood in simple robes, masked as tradition demanded, offering nothing but smiles and words of hope for spring’s blessings.

Delilah stood outside of the crowd, wrapped in Wren’s shawl, her hair woven with wildflowers Missy had tucked in earlier.

She didn’t feel whole. But she felt steady.

And when she saw Rollo approaching, one arm bound tight across his ribs, Junie’s arm slung protectively around his waist like a human crutch, she almost laughed and cried at the same time.

He looked like hell. But he was upright. And his eyes were on her.

She stepped forward. And he smiled, slow and warm, like he didn’t see the crowd or the fire or the ceremony blooming around them.

Just her.

28

ROLLO

The firelight danced across the green, golden and soft like it had nowhere else to be. Children squealed, chasing glowing beetles under the spell-charmed lanterns, and the scent of sage and baked cinnamon apples clung to the air.

Rollo stood on the outer edge of the crowd, one arm pressed gently against his side, the gauze beneath his shirt still holding back the ache. The poison had been slow to bleed out, stubborn as its caster, but Delilah’s magic had done what no poultice or potion could—stitched him together from the inside out.

He spotted her through the crowd.

And for a second, the whole town blurred.

Delilah stood near the offering tables, dressed in deep forest green that shimmered in the light like dew-soaked moss. Her hair was half-pinned, wild curls caught with starflower clips and little silver crescent moons and wildflowers woven in her hair. The dress hugged her waist and flared at the hips, a scattering of tiny crystal beads sewn along the hem like stardust.

She looked like every bloom that had ever opened in spring.

His feet moved before his mind caught up.

When she turned and saw him, something in her eyes softened. She crossed the space between them with quiet grace, the hem of her dress brushing the grass, and took his hand without a word.

“Hi,” she said, voice low and close.

He swallowed hard. “You’re... you’re beautiful.”