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Every time he shut his eyes, he saw her. Heard that near-breathlessoh starsas she’d stumbled into him. Felt her hands on his chest.

He growled to himself, sharper than the misty wind whipping through the pines.

By mid-morning, the fog still hadn’t lifted, and tensions ran high. The magic in the air was twitchy. Prickly. Like the forest knew something was coming and didn’t want to share.

Jace stalked through the lower hall of Moonfang Keep, a fresh report in his hand about a shifting anomaly near the eastern grove. The second this week.

He found Lyra in the archive room, again. Always the damn archive. Scrolls spread like confetti, sleeves pushed up, a smudge of ink on her nose.

He stopped in the doorway, heart betraying him with a thump he refused to acknowledge.

“Ravenshade.”

She looked up, startled. “Morning, boss man.”

He ignored the flutter of amusement in her tone.

“You’re behind on last week’s incident categorization. Delia says the reports are still untagged.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You’ve got three stacks of unprocessed files and half of them are floating.”

She glanced up. “They like hovering. It’s a comfort thing.”

“Magic shouldn’t comfort paperwork,” he snapped, stepping further in. “This isn’t a hobby. You’re not here to cast glitter spells and charm tea kettles. You were hired to organize, not enchant.”

Her smile faded. “Well, good morning to you too.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like being cold to her. But the alternative which is getting closer, was worse.

Much worse. It would distract him and he didn’t need that. He didn’t need or want her chaos in his life. He had enough to deal with as is.

She huffed, gathering the floating scrolls with a flick of her fingers. “You know, if you ever need to talk to me like an actual person instead of a magical hiccup, I’m all ears.”

“Just do your job,” he muttered, and walked out before her wounded look could root deeper into his chest.

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes later when he felt it.

That pull.

Thatsnapin his gut like a rubber band stretching too far.

She was in danger.

He didn’t think. Didn’t question it.

He just ran.

Jace found her in the courtyard behind the Keep, crouched near the southern wardstone, arms up as a sudden gust of wild magic crackled around her. Something had snagged the edge of her aura—maybe a ward backlash, maybe a residual pulse from the mist—and it was lashing out.

The force shoved her backward, sending her sprawling into the grass.

He was at her side before she hit the ground.

“Lyra!” His voice was sharp, but his hands were steady—already checking her over, cupping the back of her head, scanning for blood.

She blinked up at him, dazed. “You—how did you?—?”