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“Now, have you been practicing?”

“Yeah. Not that I’ve gotten any better.”

Which I guess isn’tentirelytrue. A week ago, I couldn’t control this weird magic inside me at all—but after another instance of blowing out all of Lachlan’s lights and one unfortunate near-setting of his rug on fire…we decided I had to trysomething.

“Show me,” he says.

I sigh as I step away from him, flexing my palm and trying to grab hold of that feeling that always seems to take me whenever somethinghappens with my magic. It feels almost like a well that’s being fed water—so full that it overflows and bursts into a physical manifestation. Like my body simply can’t contain it any longer.

I close my eyes and try to poke at that feeling, imagining it as anactualwell. Imagining that it’smefilling it with water to the brim. I start to feel that humming warmth under my skin after a moment or so, and there is a lick of excitement in my belly that still hasn’t lessened with every instance of this, coaxing that energy higher, stoking it, filling my well.

I imagine that water pouring over the stone edge of the well in my mind, directing it to somewhere more specific. Somewhere small. Somewhere that I can control it. The heat rushes through my body and gathers in my palm, and when I let my eyes drift open, a tiny flame flickers there.

I smile as I watch it, peeking up at Lachlan, looking for acknowledgment of my success.

“That’s a fancy party trick,” Lachlan chuckles.

I narrow my eyes. “Would you like me to set your ass on fire with my party trick?”

“No, no,” he says, grinning. “I take it back. You’re definitely all powerful.”

“Whatever.” I close my palm and make a fist, letting the flame sputter out. “Could be useful someday.”

“Aye, it could,” he says, more serious now. He pulls me back into him, pressing a kiss to my hair. “You’re incredible, Key. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

I feel a swelling sensation in my chest that is almost painful, clinging to him.

I don’t know how to tell him that with every day that passes, every day that I know him a little more—I grow more and more afraid. Itseems nonsensical to me that the idea of losing him would feel so detrimental after such a short time, but it’s there, regardless of reason. Every passing day with no answers feels like a loss. Even with mornings spent in his bed—the nights spent alone are almost haunting in their loneliness. Like a reminder that the deeper I let myself fall into this thing we’re doing, the more painful it will be if I inevitably lose him to his curse.

“How do you do this?”

He pulls away, looking confused. “Do what?”

“Go through every day not knowing what’s ahead? Aren’t you terrified?”

His brow furrows, a serious frown passing over his features before he looks away altogether, staring at nothing. “Aye, sometimes,” he says. “But I can’t dwell on it. It would drive me mad. It’s better that I keep going as if the answer is out there. Even if some days are harder than others.” A smile touches his lips when he looks back at me, his eyes softening. “Lately, it’s been a bit more bearable.”

I bury my face in his shirt, colliding with him so roughly that he lets out a quietoofas I wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m scared,” I admit. “I shouldn’t be scared, right? You hated me a few weeks ago.”

“Och.” He pushes his fingers into my hair, forcing my head back so I have to look up at him. “It’s like you said. I don’t think I ever hated you, Key. Not really. I think it was just easier to pretend that I did.”

I turn my cheek, resting my face in the crook of his neck. “What are we going to do?”

“Tomorrow? We’re going to finish searching the attic. Next week? I can’t say for sure.” I feel the ghost of his lips at my hair, his wide palm cradling my head. “But right now…I think we’re going to go get a drink.”

“It’s one in the afternoon,” I remind him.

He snorts. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of a night out on the town.”

“Don’t remind me,” I grumble into his T-shirt.

“Come on, princess,” he chuckles. “Let’s get a pint. We’ll feel much better after.”

“Says you.”

“Well, at the very least, maybe it’ll get you to stop talking to the cows.”

I trudge after him when he leaves me, following him toward the barn entrance and wondering how in the hell he can be so calm. Part of me worries it’s an act, that he’s projecting this easy attitude to try and bring me some semblance of peace. The thought of that threatens to make me want to yell at him, but then again, I don’t want to waste time arguing with him. Not when he’s obviously dealing with this in the best way he can.