Page 29

AUTUMN

T he bell over the door at The Spellbound Sip gave a soft chime as Autumn stepped inside, hugging her coat tighter around her frame.

It was warmer than she expected with its steamy windows, low golden light, the scent of sage and citrus steeping in the air like memory. The walls hummed with enchantment, just beneath the music of ceramic mugs clinking and chairs scooting on the tiled floor.

And laughter.

So much laughter .

It wrapped around her like a hug she didn’t know she needed, and all at once, she wanted to leave. To run. To disappear into the fog outside before she could feel too much again.

Instead, she walked toward the corner booth by the window—her booth. The one Nico had once enchanted to make your tea taste like whatever emotion you were pretending not to feel.

She sank into the cushions and glanced around, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Everywhere, couples filled the little shop.

Nerissa stood behind the bar with Walin, and Walin, who still hadn’t figured out he was magical, was clearly trying not to blush every time their hands brushed over the pastry trays.

Across the room, Markus and Rowan shared a book between them, leaning in close enough to whisper but never quite touching.

At the fireplace, Rollo and Delilah of all people were playing chess, and somehow still making it look like foreplay.

Autumn curled her hands around the mug that had already appeared in front of her—no order placed, no words needed.

The drink was dark red. Smelled like plum and pepper and something just a little too sweet.

“Truth tea,” Nico’s voice said behind her, soft as velvet and twice as smooth.

She didn’t look up.

“Thought that booth had been looking a little lonely.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

They snorted and slid into the seat across from her anyway, brushing non-existent lint from their maroon blazer. “Oh, honey. That was the most aggressively false ‘fine’ I’ve heard all week—and I once watched Cassian try to pretend he didn’t cry during a Hallmark movie.”

Autumn stared into her tea. “I told him I was leaving.”

Nico’s brows lifted. “Ah.”

“He didn’t stop me.”

“He wouldn’t,” they said gently. “That’s not who he is.”

“I thought that meant he didn’t care.”

“And now?”

She didn’t answer.

She looked up and saw them again—Nerissa and Walin laughing over steamed milk. Rowan sliding a note into Markus’s book. Rollo catching Deliliah’s smirk like it was a gift.

All these people. All these little moments. And all at once, it hit her.

She hadn’t run from Dorian.

She’d run from happiness.

From the idea that she could want something and actually have it. That she could choose a life that didn’t revolve around pain. Around ghosts. Around always waiting for the other shoe—or the ceiling—to drop.

Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden, and Nico’s expression softened.

“You know,” they said, “love doesn’t make you weaker, Autumn. It roots you.”

“I’ve never been rooted,” she whispered.

“Then plant yourself somewhere good. Somewhere true. ”

The rose garden Dorian planted for her came to her mind as she took a long sip of her tea. The flavor curled on her tongue, bittersweet and bright, like new beginnings steeped in regret.

“I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“You don’t,” Nico said. “You just go back. Tell the truth. Let it be messy and honest and real.”

Autumn looked out the window.

The fog had lifted. Sunlight was breaking through, scattering gold across the street like breadcrumbs.

She stood, setting a few bills on the table beside her mug.

Nico didn’t say anything—just winked as she passed.

She let the cold kiss her cheeks, let her breath fog the air in small, uneven clouds.

The town around her moved slow, like it knew not to rush her—just shop signs swaying gently, the distant clink of glass from the Everglen Market stalls, and the occasional crow overhead that sounded more like commentary than warning.

Autumn stood at the end of the street, hands deep in her pockets, staring at nothing.

She didn’t head back to the inn.

She didn’t head anywhere in particular.

Her feet carried her forward, not with purpose, but with instinct. One block. Then another. She didn’t need answers yet. She needed space. A moment. A breath that didn’t belong to Dorian’s world or hers or anyone’s ghosts.

She didn’t know where she was going.

But she knew it wasn’t time to go home yet.

Not until her heart had caught up with everything else.