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Jaslyn’s magic is something else entirely.

It’s not just the raw power. It’s the precision, the way she wields it like an extension of herself. Watching her now, I’m struck by how much I underestimated her when we were younger. This isn’t the girl who used to struggle to keep her magic in check, who once accidentally sent a tree up in flames. This is a woman in control, focused and sharp, with a level of skill that’s downright intimidating.

Not that I’ll admit that out loud.

We’re deep in the northern part of Red Arrow’s territory, where the trees grow dense and the shadows stretch long. Jaslyn is kneeling on the forest floor with her hands hovering over a set of alarm stones that we’ve been using to monitor demon activity. The stones are simple enough, enchanted to alert us with energy when something crosses their threshold. But they’re no match for what she’s doing now.

“Pass me the quartz,” she says without looking up.

I reach into the pouch slung across my chest and pull out a chunk of rough, cloudy quartz. She snatches it without a word, placing it carefully at the center of the arrangement. Her fingers twitch as she murmurs something under her breath, and I feel the air shift, crackling faintly with energy.

The stones begin to glow. Softly at first, then brighter until they’re pulsing in unison. Jaslyn tilts her head, studying them like she’s listening to something I can’t hear. Then, with a flick of her wrist, the light stabilizes, and the magic settles into a steady thrum.

“That should do it,” she states, standing and dusting off her hands.

I cross my arms, nodding toward the stones. “What’d you change?”

“They’re linked now,” she explains, brushing a stray strand of reddish-brown hair out of her face. “If one gets triggered, the others will amplify the signal and carry it back to the main ward line. You’ll get a warning faster, and it’ll be harder for anything to slip past unnoticed.”

I let out a low whistle, impressed despite myself. “Not bad.”

She arches a brow. “Not bad? You do realize I just saved your pack from another potential ambush, right?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Kismet.”

Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile, and she turns away before I can catch her expression. “Come on,” she says. “We’ve got more ground to cover.”

Before she gets too far, I step up beside her, and my curiosity gets the better of me. “How’d you learn to do all this, anyway? Last time I saw you, you were struggling just to control a spark.”

Her expression tightens for a fraction of a second, so quick I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching her so closely. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

I wait, sensing there’s more. When she glances at me and sees I’m not letting it drop, she sighs. “Malcolm. He had me working in a… well, let’s just call it what it was: a sweatshop for witches. He used witches to mass-produce charms, potions, trinkets. Whatever he could sell. Most of the witches he brought in were experienced, people who’d been at this their whole lives. I was… not.” She hesitates, brushing her hands off on her jeans before continuing. “I had to pick things up fast if I wanted to keep up.”

“And if you didn’t?”

She shrugs, but the motion is too casual, too forced. “Then he made sure I regretted it.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides, the image of her—barely more than a kid, forced into that hellhole—rattling around in my mind. “I didn’t know,” I say quietly, though the words feel hollow even to me.

“Of course you didn’t.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, not cruel, but it still stings. “Anyway, the witches there didn’t have much choice but to teach me. If one of us failed, we all paid for it. I learned by watching them, by practicing when no one was looking. After a while… it just clicked.”

She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but I can hear the undercurrent of pride in her voice. Yet, it’s buried under something heavier—bitterness, maybe. Regret.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” I say, and the words are low, almost guttural. “None of it.”

Her gaze snaps to mine, and for a moment, there’s something raw and unguarded in her eyes. But then she laughs, a sharp, humorless sound. “That’s the thing about survival, Gray. It doesn’t care about should or shouldn’t. It just is.”

She turns away again, starting toward the next marker without waiting for me to follow. I trail after her, and my thoughts are a storm of guilt and anger. Whatever I expected her answer to be, it wasn’t that.

But one thing’s clear: Jaslyn Kismet is stronger than I ever gave her credit for. And she learned that strength the hard way.

We move through the forest, falling into a rhythm that’s surprisingly natural. Jaslyn leads the way, her magic flowing around her like a second skin. Every now and then, I catch her glancing at the trees, her green eyes narrowing as if she’s sensing something just out of reach.

She stops suddenly, holding up a hand. “Here. This spot’s weak.”

I look around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. “How can you tell?”

“It feels… thin,” she explains, frowning. “Like the boundary here is stretched too far. If anything’s going to break through, this is where it’ll happen.”

I trust her judgment, even if I can’t feel what she does. Jaslyn steps forward, kneeling once again to draw a circle in the dirt. Her movements are quick and precise as her fingers trace symbols that glow faintly as she works.

“What’s that?” I ask, crouching beside her.

“A reinforcing sigil,” she replies without looking up. “It’ll bolster the ward line and keep it from collapsing under pressure.”

“Pressure like… a demon?”

“Exactly.”

She finishes the sigil and places a small charm at its center, an iron medallion etched with runes. Her magic flares again, bright and sharp, and the sigil pulses before fading into the ground.

“There,” she says. “That should hold.”

I glance at the spot, still unable to see or feel anything different. “How long will it last?”

“A few weeks, maybe longer if the energy doesn’t get disturbed. I told you I know what I’m doing.”

I smirk. “Never said you didn’t.”

She starts walking again, and I follow, letting the quiet stretch between us. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, though. If anything, it feels… steady. Like we’re finally starting to figure out how to work together without snapping at each other every five minutes.

Still, I can’t help but notice how different she is out here. She’s not the guarded, defensive Jaslyn I’ve been dealing with since she came back. Out here, she’s in her element—confident, capable, and utterly unshakable.

“Why are you staring?” she asks suddenly, not breaking stride.

“Just making sure you’re not about to set the forest on fire,” I reply smoothly.

She snorts. “That was one time.”

“Four, actually.”

She spins to glare at me, but there’s no real heat in it. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today or I’d hex you for that.”

“Generous? Is that what you call it?”

She rolls her eyes and turns away, but I catch the faintest hint of a smile before she does.

We spend the next few hours moving from one weak spot to another, reinforcing ward lines and upgrading traps with her magic. Each time, I’m struck by the sheer precision of her work. She doesn’t just rely on brute force or flashy displays. Everything she does is deliberate, planned, and efficient.

By the time we reach the southern edge of the territory, the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon. Jaslyn stands at the edge of a clearing as she surveys the area.

“This is the last one,” she says quietly.

I nod, watching as she steps forward and kneels once more. Her hands move steadily, drawing a complex sigil in the dirt that glows brighter than the others. The air hums with magic, and for a moment, it feels like the forest itself is holding its breath.

When she finishes, she stands and looks at me, her expression unreadable. “That’s it. The ward line’s secure.”

I take a step closer, nodding toward the glowing sigil. “You’re sure it’ll hold?”

“It’ll hold,” she says firmly. Then, after a beat, she adds, “As long as no one does anything stupid to disrupt it.”

“I’ll make sure the pack knows not to mess with your handiwork.”

“Good,” she responds, brushing past me. “Because if they do, it’s their funeral.”

As we make our way back through the forest, something changes between us, though I can’t pinpoint what. Jaslyn hasn’t so much as glanced my way since we left the last ward site.

“Are you going to ignore me the whole way back?” I finally ask when I can’t take it anymore.

Her pace doesn’t falter, but she throws me a look over her shoulder—cold and dismissive. “Why? Is it bothering you?”

“Yes,” I reply bluntly, lengthening my stride to catch up to her. “And it should bother you, too. What’s your problem? I thought we had a nice day out here.”

“My problem?” She whirls around so fast, I almost run into her. Her green eyes blaze with fury, and I can feel the anger rolling off her in waves. “You’re asking me that after everything?”

“I’m asking because you won’t talk to me. What the hell did I do this time?”

She lets out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms. “What haven’t you done, Gray? That’s the real question.”

I run a hand through my hair, trying to keep my temper in check. “If you’re angry, say it. Tell me what’s going on instead of shutting me out.”

Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step closer, her voice low and trembling with suppressed rage. “You want to know why I’m angry? Fine. Let’s talk about it.”

“Finally,” I mutter, but the glare she shoots me makes me regret it instantly.

“You banished me, Gray,” she says, her voice cutting like a blade. “Without so much as a second thought. Without even bothering to ask me what happened.”

I blink, caught off-guard by the raw pain in her tone. “You lost control of your magic,” I say slowly, carefully. “You killed—”

“Don’t,” she snaps, holding up a hand to silence me. “Don’t you dare say his name like you actually care about what happened.”

My jaw tightens, but I hold my ground. “I had to protect the pack. It wasn’t an easy decision—”

“Stop lying to yourself,” she cuts in. “It wasn’t about the pack. It was about saving face. You didn’t even try to find out what caused me to lose control, did you? You just saw the aftermath and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.”

“That’s not fair,” I argue. “I did what I thought was best at the time.”

“For who? You? The pack? Because it sure as hell wasn’t what was best for me.” Her voice cracks, and the sound slices through me. “You didn’t even ask, Gray. Not once. You didn’t ask why I snapped, why my magic went wild. You didn’t care.”

“I cared,” I protest. “I cared more than you realize.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?” she demands, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you see what was happening to me? Or were you too busy playing the perfect alpha to notice?”

“Notice what?” I demand. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She shakes her head. “You really didn’t see it, did you? All the times they laughed at me, whispered behind my back, pushed me around like I was some pathetic joke. Your precious pack, your friends—they made my life a living hell, and you didn’t even notice.”

“Who?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous. “Who did that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, turning away from me.

“The hell it doesn’t,” I say, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around to face me. “I knew they would tease you sometimes, but I didn’t realize it was that bad. If they were tormenting you, I need to know who.”

“Why?” she demands, yanking her arm free. “So you can storm back there and play the hero? It’s too late, Gray. You can’t fix this. You can’t undo what they did, or what you did.”

Her words leave me reeling. I thought I’d prepared myself for her anger, for the consequences of my choices, but this… this is something else entirely.

“Jaslyn, tell me who it was. Please.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then she shakes her head, and her expression hardens. “You think knowing their names will make you feel better? Will it ease the guilt? It won’t. And I’m not here to make this easier for you.”

Her words sting, but I can’t blame her. She’s right—this isn’t about me. It’s about her, about the pain I failed to see, the pain I caused.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

She freezes, and her eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, meeting her gaze. “I was nineteen. Barely old enough to call myself a man, let alone an alpha. My father had just died, and suddenly I was supposed to hold this entire pack together. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Everyone was looking at me like I had all the answers, like I could somehow fill the void he left. And I—” My throat tightens, but I push through. “I was drowning, Jaslyn. Trying to balance a grieving pack, my own loss, alliances, threats. I was in way over my head.”

Her expression doesn’t soften, but there’s a hint of something in her eyes. Understanding? Pity? I can’t tell, and I don’t deserve either.

“That doesn’t excuse what happened,” I admit. “But maybe it explains why I didn’t notice. Why I failed you. You weren’t just another member of the pack to me, Jaslyn. You mattered. But I was so caught up in trying to keep everything from falling apart that I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”

She studies me for a moment, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. “Do you really think that changes anything?” Her voice is quieter now, but no less cutting.

“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t. I just… I need you to know that it wasn’t because I didn’t care. I cared too much, and I was too young and too stupid to handle it.”

Her shoulders drop slightly, but her walls don’t come down. “You had an entire pack depending on you,” she says after a long pause. “And I was just the expendable witch who couldn’t get her magic under control.”

“That’s not true.” My voice is firm, desperate. “You were never expendable.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, coming from the man who threw me out like I was nothing.”

The words sting, but I don’t flinch. I’ve earned them. “You’re right,” I say softly. “I made a mistake. A huge one. And if I could go back and change it—”

“But you can’t,” she interrupts, her tone as sharp as a blade. “You can’t undo any of it. You can’t take back the years I spent scraping by while your pack thrived without me.”

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy and unyielding. She takes a step back, her expression unreadable. “You want to make this right? Start by letting me do my job. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

“Jaslyn—”

“No,” she cuts me off. “I don’t want your apologies, Gray. I don’t want your guilt. I just want you to stay out of my way.”

She turns and walks away before I can say anything else, her steps quick and deliberate as if she’s afraid I’ll try to stop her.

I don’t. I just watch her go before I follow silently, giving her space but staying close enough to remind her that I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere this time.

Even if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll prove to her that I’m worth trusting. That I’m not the same man who banished her all those years ago.