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And he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let her go.

5

LYRA

Lyra believed that magic was a lot like baking—best done with a wink, a little chaos, and a whole lot of butter.

So when she’d spent her Sunday morning whipping up a fresh batch of enchanted muffins for the Moonfang Keep staff, she hadn’t expected anything more than a few raised eyebrows and some appreciative chewing. Maybe a happy sigh or two. Certainly not a surprise office enchantment that made Amos think he could speak French. (He could not.)

Milo, naturally, blamed her.

“You infused the batter with emotional frequency,” he said, perched on the back of her desk chair like he paid rent. “Did youwanteveryone to hallucinate their deepest cravings?”

“They weren’t hallucinating,” Lyra said, brushing a stubborn strand of hair from her cheek as she wiped down the breakroom counter. “They were just... emotionally aligned with baked goods. That’s all.”

“Petra cried into a blueberry scone because it reminded her of her high school boyfriend.”

“She said it was cathartic!”

“Delia tried to resign.”

“She always tries to resign,” Lyra muttered, then sniffed. “Besides, Jace didn’t even eat one.”

“Didn’t stop him from glowering like you’d cursed the coffee pot.”

“He glowers by default.”

“True. But that glower had layers.”

She rolled her eyes and flicked a tea towel at him. “You’re as dramatic as a haunted ouija board.”

He jumped to the floor with a haughty flick of his tail. “And yet, I’m rarely wrong.”

By mid-afternoon, the muffins were mostly gone, and so were most of the staff. The Keep had gone quiet in that lazy, late-day way buildings did when the sun started to stretch golden fingers through the windows and everything felt like it could nap. Lyra hummed as she floated through the archive corridor, levitating a few unsorted scrolls with a flick of her fingers.

“Moonfang Muffin Incident: Minor Chaos, Maximum Flavor,” she whispered, pretending to write headlines in her head.

She rounded the corner to the far study nook, planning to drop off the last of her mood muffins on the table by the windows, when her toe caught on something.

“Milo!”

The cat darted underfoot at exactly the wrong time, sending Lyra stumbling forward with a startled gasp and scrolls flying in all directions. She crashed hard into a solid wall of something warm and immovable.

Arms caught her before she could slide to the ground.

Strong arms.

Warm hands. One on her waist. One at her back.

And just like that, she wasnose-to-chestwithJace Montgomery.

“Oh stars,” she breathed, dazed.

He didn’t speak at first. Just held her there, gaze locked on hers, and the rest of the world spun off its axis.

Her heart banged against her ribs.

His eyes were storm-dark. Focused. And too damn close.