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Exhaling long and slow, she returned to studying the tiles.Black and white.No shades of gray. If only life was that simple.

Closing her eyes, she pushed away from the wall and lifted her face into the spray. Steam rolled across the enclosure, fogging up the glass. Another example of stellar craftsmanship. The house was so much more than she expected. Everything worked. The pipes didn’t groan, just delivered what they promised — hot water and the promise of a few minutes alone.

The ultimate way for any girl to start her day.

She frowned. Actually, it was coming on night now. She’d slept long, hard, and comfortably — in a strange bed that felt like home. Another anomaly to add to the sum of odd things she kept tabulating. A good night’s sleep had never been in her arsenal. Restlessness. Insomnia. Hours full of interrupted rest followed by exhaustion. Her cross to bear as she rolled out of bed in the morning. The fact she felt comfortable enough to sleep in a place she didn’t know should’ve rung alarm bells.

A sense of peace, along with relief, came calling instead.

She’d been desperate for the rest.

She needed the break.

She’d gotten both, and yet, her mind continued to spin, digging up potential problems while trying to map out future pitfalls.What ifskept cropping up, surfacing one at a time, telling her she needed to understand how to navigate a shifting landscape — along with the power she possessed and now must learn to control.

Even with Westvane lurking, her change of circumstance didn’t feel real. It felt… well… like a farce. Like a farfetched scheme cooked up for a TV show.

Tightness pulled at her chest.

The unpleasant pinch invaded muscle and bone, squeezing her ribcage, stealing her air. Inhaling past the pain, she shook off her sense of foreboding. She couldn’t hide in the bathroom much longer. Westvane wasn’t patient. He wouldn’t wait for her to get her act together. Even now, she sensed him, moving on the fringe of her perceptual field. Roaming around her house. Picking things up to examine them before putting them back down.

Rolling her shoulders to break the tension, Truly shook her head. She really wished he’d keep his hands to himself. But oh no… he wasn’t that polite. He kept snooping through family heirlooms — objects, keepsakes, her ancestral home and history. Things she had yet to see, acknowledge, or pick up herself.

His curiosity felt like an affront. Like a personal attack, one akin to an invasion.

Westvane had no right to any of her things. He was a stranger. An outsider in her world. Someone to keep an eye on, not befriend. And yet, she had offered him friendship of a kind, inviting him into her house, treating him like a trusted confidant while she stepped into a new life. Seemed like a stupid decision to make. Intuition, though, disagreed, telling her no matter how rough (or annoying), Westvane would prove useful to her in ways she couldn’t yet predict.

Raking the hair out from her face, Truly reached for the controls. She twisted both knobs, leaving sparkles of blue shimmer on brushed brass. The water slowed to a trickle and stopped. No more stalling. She needed to face her future and whatever Westvane planned tonight.

She hoped it didn’t involve her death. Or any sort of maiming, though she should probably resign herself to the possibility. With a Slayer squatting in her house, running around the outskirts of death would no doubt become the norm, if not the rule.

Though, she had to admit — abrushwith death sounded better than being the target.

Opening the glass door, Truly reached for the towel on the heated rack. As thick terry cloth settled in her hand, she stepped out and dried off. Wiping the fog from one of the mirrors, she wrapped her wet hair into a messy bun on the top of her head and started getting ready. Moisturizer went on her skin. Mascara got swiped onto her lashes. Lip balm made an appearance before she turned to her outfit.

Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tee, she swiped her socks off the bathroom counter and headed for the door. Westvane was getting restless. His aggressive energy electrified the air, occupying the house like a foreign invader — focused, impatient, snapping in the quiet. The swirl invaded her mind, raising awareness, keeping her informed, helping her pinpoint the source.

Magic — strong, unrelenting, dangerous.

She sensed the power. The rise and fall as strong as ocean tides. The push-pull undeniable, waiting somewhere deep inside her. The problem was…

She didn’t know how to access it.

The surging waves came and went, rolling in one moment, ebbing the next, staying long enough for her to notice, but not long enough for her to capture. Understanding the magic she now wielded topped her list of priorities. Controlling it hit the list next. Westvane insisted he could help her learn how. He knew about magic, after all. Their conversation in the kitchen made that plain. Less clear, though, was whether or not he possessed magic of his own. He claimed he didn’t, explaining he was an Assenta warrior, not a magic wielder. He hunted. He killed. He thrived on both activities, which didn’t bode well for her.

His mission took precedence. Nothing else mattered to him. Not her well-being… or Queen Lyonesse’s wishes. He stood in the breach, unplagued by conscience or concepts of mercy. He’d pivot when needed, change tact when warranted, sacrifice those he believed pawns, willing to throw both allies and enemies to the wolves in order to accomplish his goal.

She wasn’t stupid. Reading his intentions, understanding his aim, wasn’t difficult.

He had an agenda beyond recapturing the Wendigo. How would his tactics play out? What effect it would have on her own plans? Anyone’s guess. One thing for sure, though — she needed to figure out what he planned, and do it quickly. Otherwise, Westvane would walk all over her, and she’d end up in the crosshairs. A place Truly knew she didn’t want to be with a Slayer.

Walking through a cloud of aromatic steam, Truly moved toward the bathroom door. She breathed deep, preparing herself for a confrontation while also enjoying the scent of flowers. She loved lavender. Candles scented with lavender littered the window ledges in her apartment. How the house knew her preferred brand of shampoo surprised her, even as she accepted the quirk was something she’d never be able to explain. The magic that fueled the house embraced symbiosis, pulling her preferences out of thin air.

Everything around her matched her personality. Master bedroom done up in her favorite color scheme — check. The beauty products she preferred neatly set out on the vanity — yup. Good food in the fridge — all there. None of it her doing. If she thought about it too hard, she’d end up with a complex.

Pulling the door open, Truly exited the bathroom, stepped into her bedroom and —

“About time.” Camped out on her bed, back resting against her headboard, big boots planted on her bedspread, Westvane glanced up from a book. “Thought you drowned in there.”