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DELILAH

T he town hadn't changed.

Not really.

Flower boxes brimmed with wild pansies, and store signs swung with a rhythm only Celestial Pines seemed to understand.

But walking through it again, Delilah felt like a shadow version of herself—one stitched together from old heartache, half-healed grief, and a thin thread of growing hope she didn’t quite trust.

It’d been two days since she’d collapsed in the woods.

Two days since she woke in Rollo’s arms, safe but shaken.

She could still remember the way his fingers brushed the hair from her cheek, his voice low and raw like he’d clawed through his own ribs to speak to her. That kind of tenderness was dangerous.

So today, she needed normal. Or at least Celestial Pines’ version of it.

And that meant coffee.

The Spellbound Sip stood like a warm beacon, the brass teapot windchime over the door dancing in the breeze. Delilah pushed open the door, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and cloves wrapped around her like an old shawl.

“Back from the brink and already craving gossip?” Nico Voss called from behind the counter, grinning over the rim of a floral teacup. His midnight-blue lipstick matched the sparkle in his eyes. “Our girl’s got spunk.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “Our girl needs caffeine and a day without unsolicited opinions.”

Junie Bell, clumsy as a colt and still trying to master enchanted espresso wands, spun toward her with wide eyes. “You didn’t die, right? ‘Cause Rollo looked like a whole bear stormed the woods after you fainted.”

Delilah blinked. “...Hi, Junie.”

“Hi! I made your mood tea already. It’s Lemon Mist. You’re radiating flirtation or panic—it’s hard to tell.”

Nico leaned in. “Personally, I think it’s both. But mostly panic. That’s a girl who’s been near Rollo Steele and lived to tell the tale.”

Delilah took the cup without comment, settling into the window seat with a view of the fog-draped pines. She sipped. The tea fizzed gently on her tongue—bright and citrusy with an edge.

She hated that it was accurate.

“Y’know,” Nico said, gliding over and plopping into the opposite chair, “he never stopped checking in on the apothecary. Always stopped by for herbs. Real quiet-like. Didn’t ask for you, but his eyes did.”

Delilah stared into her tea.

Junie, carrying a tray of enchanted almond croissants, added, “And Wren always pretended not to notice, but she left his order notes right where he could see your old handwriting.”

Delilah’s throat tightened. “Why are y’all telling me this?”

Nico tilted his head, tone softening. “Because you left like you’d been burned clean through. And if you’re back, really back, we figure you deserve the full weather report.”

“I’m not here for Rollo.”

“No, but you’re here. And he’s part of this town, same as you.”

Delilah didn’t answer.

The truth was, she’d left because of him. Rollo had broken her heart with quiet .

She’d been all in—young and wide-eyed and certain that the stars had stitched their souls together. She gave him everything. Her loyalty. Her laugh. Her secrets.

And he?

He pushed her away like he was scared of catching fire.

Said he wasn’t ready. Said fated mates were myths shifters clung to when they didn’t know how to build real relationships. Said love should come after logic.

She’d stood in the garden behind the apothecary and begged him to look her in the eye and say it didn’t mean anything. And he couldn’t.

But he still left.

And she couldn’t stay in a town where every corner smelled like memory.

So she packed her bags, left Wren a note, and boarded the midnight carriage to Salem.

“Some things,” Nico said gently, “are worth forgiving.”

Delilah shook her head. “And some things are worth remembering.”

The bell over the door jingled again, and Delilah glanced up instinctively.

Not Rollo.

Just Cassian Drake, the vampire tavern keeper, humming a low tune and carrying a box of donated blood muffins.

“G’morning, darlings,” he crooned, nodding to them.

Delilah watched the town move around her—people waving from across the street, enchanted bicycles floating past, a broomstick delivery witch zipping overhead.

Life kept turning in Celestial Pines, even when hearts stopped.

“I should go,” she said, standing.

“Back to Wren’s?” Nico asked.

Delilah nodded. “And the sanctuary.”

He raised a perfectly shaped brow. “You sure it’s not the bear and not the bunnies pulling you back?”

Delilah said nothing.

She stepped into the misty morning, the lemon mist still clinging to her lips like a dare.

Her heart softened—for a second. Then she remembered the garden. Remembered him pulling away from her touch like it burned. And the softness turned to stone again.

Rollo might’ve changed.

But she wasn’t ready to find out what that meant.