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Chapter

Thirty-Two

WRATH

Morning came with a clarity I hadn't experienced since before...anything, really. The fog of exhaustion had lifted, leaving behind a strange, heightened awareness that made even the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams seem significant. I sat up gently, surprised to find my body less painful than expected. Sore, yes, but functional—like I'd run a marathon rather than torn open ancient wards and scorched half a forest.

The manor was unusually quiet as I made my way downstairs, dressed in soft leggings and an oversized sweater I'd found laid out for me. The grand staircase creaked softly beneath my feet, the sound echoing through the empty entrance hall. Where was everyone?

I followed the scent of something sweet and cinnamon-laced to the kitchen, expecting perhaps coffee and solitude. Instead, I found a very unexpected gathering.

Kiva sat perched on a stool at the center island, feet swinging as she devoured a pancake tower with goblin-like enthusiasm. Beside her was a dryad girl with bark-flecked freckles and hair like moss and petals, delicately spooning fruit from a bowl.Across from them sat a selkie girl in human form, eyes ocean-deep and hair still damp, nibbling daintily at a scone. And next to her, a boy incubus with curling black horns and mismatched eyes leaned back smugly, a piece of bacon dangling from his fingers like a trophy.

"You're awake!" Kiva called with her mouth full.

The others turned to look at me with varying degrees of curiosity. The dryad gave a polite nod, the selkie offered a shy smile, and the incubus smirked like he knew all my secrets.

"I am," I said, making my way to the coffee. "And very confused."

"Breakfast club," the incubus boy said smoothly. "We meet every morning. Attendance is mandatory if you want syrup."

"I made the pancakes," Kiva added proudly. "Mostly. Sloth helped. But he's not here. He's meditating. Or pretending to."

I poured a cup of coffee and took a seat among them, feeling oddly at peace.

"So. Introductions?"

"This is Lark," Kiva said, gesturing to the dryad. "She came from the forest near Venice. And that’s Sula," she added, pointing to the selkie. "She washed up on the coast last week. We’re pretty sure the sea sent her."

"And I’m Nic," said the incubus, offering a mock bow. "Short for Nicodemus. Please don’t call me that."

“Jib,” said the goblin shortly, going back to his breakfast. But his eyes held respect, thanks, and warmth.

"Wrath," I said simply. They didn’t blink at the name.

"We know," Nic said. "We felt it."

"Felt what?"

"The change," Lark said softly. "When you woke up. The garden whispered."

"The sea whispered too," Sula murmured. "It said you're like the storm before spring."

"And you made the wards go boom," Kiva said cheerfully. "Which was awesome."

I took a sip of my coffee, hiding my smile behind the mug.

Breakfast continued in a pleasant blur—syrup and laughter, crumbs and sticky fingers. I passed the butter. Nic stole my toast. Sula offered me sea-salted honey, which was somehow both weird and amazing. Lark shared dried apricots she'd foraged herself.

This wasn't just breakfast. It was a glimpse of something I hadn’t dared hope for: family. A patchwork one, made of strays and survivors and children who’d seen too much—but family, nonetheless.

And somehow, I was part of it.

I didn't know what the rest of the day would bring. I was worried about Lust and needed to check on him. But for now, the smell of coffee, the sound of laughter, the warmth of a kitchen full of strange and wonderful children.

It felt like home.

I settled onto the stool beside her, sipping the perfectly brewed coffee. "So they left you all alone?"