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“There’s a trinket shop a few blocks down. Run by an old conjurer who claims to enchant everything personally. Love charms, lucky talismans, even curses—if you ask nicely.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “And why, exactly, would we want any of those things?”

“You never know,” he said with a shrug. “Could be useful at the Ball. Or in your next illicit research mission. Besides, some of the pieces are beautiful—enchanted hairpins, pocket watches that run on moonlight, music boxes that play songs only you remember. Very you kind of magic.”

I exchanged a glance with the others. There was something about the way he said it—mischievous but sincere—that made it hard to say no.

“It does sound like the perfect place to waste coin on something I don’t need but will treasure forever,” Bethany admitted with a smirk.

I smiled into my cup. “Lead the way, Leander, but if I come out with a hexed necklace that sings in the middle of the night, I’m sending it straight to your dorm.”

He raised both hands, mock-offended. “I’d expect nothing less.”

We finished our drinks slowly, each of us reluctant to leave the cozy warmth of the café—but the pull of magic, mischief, and good company was stronger. As we gathered our things and stepped back out into the glinting winter sunlight,

I glanced back through the fogged windows. The warmth of memory, of laughter, of shared silence lingered behind the glass. I tucked the feeling away like something fragile and precious, to keep close.

The snow crunched beneath our boots as we turned toward the next street.

The bell above the trinket shop door chimed with a soft, melodic ring as we stepped inside.

Warmth wrapped around me immediately, cozy and fragrant—sage, old paper, and something faintly citrus.

The shop was far larger than it appeared from the street—stretching deep into shadowy alcoves and rising levels with iron-wrought staircases and narrow balconies.

Golden light spilled from low-hanging orbs, casting gentle glows over dark wooden shelves and glinting off countless objects nestled like secrets in velvet-lined displays.

A music box played faintly somewhere in the back; the tune both familiar and impossible to place.

“This place is unreal,” Bethany whispered, her eyes already roving over glass cases filled with crystal pendants, rune-stamped rings, and tiny vials of glowing dust.

We began to explore, fanning out instinctively between aisles of curiosities and wonders.

Each shelf seemed to hold its own story—compasses that spun toward emotion instead of north, quills that whispered as they wrote, mirrors that shimmered with different reflections depending on who looked into them.

It was the sort of shop in which you could lose hours. Or yourself.

As I passed a tall cabinet filled with antique hair combs and enchanted gloves, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye—familiar silhouettes emerging between rows of display shelves.

Bethany spotted them the same moment I did and leaned in with a smirk. “Fancy seeing you all here.”

Across the aisle, Samael looked up from where he stood near an ornate glass counter. He held a curious amulet between his fingers—black stone wound in delicate silver wiring, pulsing faintly at its center like a heartbeat.

He met my gaze, and something in his expression shifted—surprise flickering into something warmer, more knowing. He inclined his head slightly in greeting.

Vivienne was further down, poised before a lit cabinet filled with delicate porcelain figurines—dancers, foxes, pale-faced ladies in flowing gowns.

She didn’t look up, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned closer to the glass, as if appraising the artistry with far more interest than necessary.

Edric and Julian stood near a stack of worn leather-bound books, both of them dressed in their usual layers of effortless elegance.

Edric had a tome half-open in his hand, but he wasn’t reading. He glanced up and gave me a dry little smile, one brow arched in silent acknowledgment. Julian followed his gaze and offered a mock salute before returning to whatever inscription had caught his eye.

The energy in the room shifted—not tense, exactly, but aware. There was history here. Layers beneath the surface that none of us had forgotten.

“Small world,” I said under my breath.

“Smaller town,” Lydia replied, though there was amusement in her voice. She stood beside me, studying a case of enchanted brooches that changed color depending on the wearer’s mood. Her reflection in the glass was calm. Controlled.

Bethany, emboldened as always, took a step toward the counter. “That’s a dangerous-looking trinket,” she said lightly, nodding to the amulet in Samael’s hand. “Planning to curse someone, or just collecting suspicious jewelry for fun?”

Samael glanced down at it, then up at her with a lazy smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Then his eyes slid back to mine, holding.

“You always have such dramatic taste,” Bethany added with mock fondness, already drifting to the next shelf with a swirl of her cloak.

Vivienne finally turned, one porcelain figure still in her hand. Her eyes raked across our group, cool and assessing, before she replaced the figurine with care and turned back to the shelf. “This shop was better before it got crowded.”

Edric didn’t look up from his book. “The shop was always like this, Vivienne. You’re just easier to irritate on an empty stomach.”

Julian chuckled quietly beside him.

I took a slow breath and let it out, not letting Vivienne’s sharpness dig in. She was rattled, still, beneath her polished exterior. I could see it in the set of her shoulders, the rigid stillness of her hands.

Samael stepped away from the counter, carefully setting the amulet down. “Little raven,” he spoke softly, with a voice just meant for me. He offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, like he wanted to say more but knew this wasn’t the place.

“Sam.” I returned the nod, my heart giving one traitorous little thud. The memory of last night—his kiss, his warmth, the feel of his hand against my throat—rose unbidden. I buried it quickly.

Around us, quiet conversation drifted through the air—soft and unhurried. Magic shimmered beneath the surface. The music box played on, delicate and haunting, as incense curled toward the ceiling like smoke chasing memory.

For a brief moment, it all felt suspended. As if this strange little shop existed outside time, outside tension, outside rivalry and secrets.

Then Bethany called to me from across the room, holding up a velvet choker threaded with silver filigree and a single blood-red stone.

“Elle, this is screaming your name. And possibly your future descent into villainy.”

The moment cracked, laughter stirring the air again.

I turned toward her, grateful for the shift. Whatever animosity lay between our groups—for now—it could wait.

There were trinkets to explore, dresses to daydream about, and a Ball waiting at the edge of tomorrow.

I wandered toward a narrow alcove lined with suspended charms—silver crescents, glass moons, tiny, feathered pendants that shimmered with barely-contained enchantments. The flicker of warm candlelight danced across them, casting little glints of light across my skin.

From beside me, I felt his presence before I saw him.

Samael brushed past just close enough that his sleeve ghosted against my wrist. Not accidental. Not overt. A whisper of touch that sent a ripple of awareness down my spine.

I didn’t look at him.

Not immediately.

I kept my eyes on the display, fingers lightly tracing the edge of a sun-shaped locket, my heart a slow thunder in my chest. When I finally turned my head, his gaze was already on me—dark and steady and so full of quiet want it made me forget where I was for a heartbeat too long.

“You’d look good in obsidian,” he murmured, his voice low enough that no one else would hear.

I smirked, still facing the trinkets. “Trying to dress me now?”

“No,” he said, and I heard the heat behind the smile in his voice. “Quite the opposite actually.”

I turned away before I could let him see the color rising in my cheeks, pretending to study the charms with sudden fascination.

Somewhere across the room, Bethany snorted at something, drawing my attention.

She stood near Edric now, a ring balanced between her fingers—set with a stone that shimmered blue one moment, stormcloud gray the next.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding it up to the light, tilting it back and forth. “Too bold?”

Edric looked up from the book in his hands, one brow arched. His eyes flicked to the ring—then lower, tracing the curve of her hand as if committing it to memory.

“Bold suits you,” he said, softer than expected. “But then again, so does dangerous.”

Bethany’s lips parted—caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath. “Are you calling me dangerous, Ashford?” she asked, voice pitched low.

He smiled then, slow and deliberate, the kind of smile that said he very much knew what he was doing. “Only when you wear sapphire.”

Her blush was instant—just a flush across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks, but it was enough. She looked down quickly, setting the ring back into its velvet slot with more care than necessary.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Maybe I’ll get it, then.”

Edric didn’t look away. “Maybe you should.”

On the opposite side of the shop, Lydia and Leander stood shoulder to shoulder at a glass display of music boxes.

One played the faint, lilting melody that had filled the room since we arrived.

Lydia leaned forward slightly, her expression soft, and Leander nudged her with the gentlest pressure of his elbow.

“That’s the one,” he said, pointing to a box etched with moon phases and cherry blossoms. “It looks like you.”

Lydia arched a brow, amused. “Quiet and full of secrets?”

“And something about it makes me want to stay a little longer,” Leander added.

She ducked her head, smiling, but her fingers brushed lightly against his as they moved to examine the same piece. Not by accident.

Not at all.

I looked away from them, warmth blooming in my chest that had nothing to do with Samael or the glint of candles on gold.

Vivienne’s sharp voice cut through the gentle atmosphere. “This shop has terrible lighting,” she declared, inspecting a jeweled hairpin under one of the enchanted lanterns. “Half the pieces are overpriced. The rest are just… tacky.”

Samael didn’t respond. Neither did Julian or Edric. Vivienne’s tone was too familiar to require one.

Her gaze flicked to me as she set the pin back down with pointed delicacy, as if daring me to say something.

I didn’t.

I didn’t need to.

Across the shop, a clear, resonant chime rang out.

We all turned toward the entrance, where Professor Blackwood stood in a sleek charcoal cloak, her silver hair pinned back in a twist of understated elegance. She held a small bronze bell in her hand, the sound still hanging in the air like mist.

“Time to return,” she said, her voice as smooth as the bell’s final echo. “Let’s not give the Headmistress a reason to cancel future excursions.”

Groans and muffled laughter followed as students began collecting their purchases, wrapping scarves and buttoning coats. The mood turned to one of pleasant urgency—warm cheeks and clutched paper bags, the scent of magic and spice lingering on cloaks as we filtered out into the winter light.

As I stepped toward the exit, I felt a hand brush gently along the small of my back—just enough to guide, not to hold. Samael passed by with nothing more than a glance, but the meaning was clear in the soft curl of his smile and the warmth still tingling where he touched me.

Then we were outside again, boots crunching through snow, the charm of Mistholm still clinging to us like the scent of enchanted incense.

Tomorrow would be the Ball.

Tonight, I would dream of amulets and firelight—and of shadows I was no longer sure I wanted to chase away.