Page 111 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)

THORNE

Some lessons even immortals never learn. Like the futility of organizing anything in a household that included Paesha Vox.

I stood in our bedchamber, staring at the collection of mismatched items on her vanity with something between exasperation and resignation.

A hairbrush with half its bristles missing.

Three different earrings, none of which formed a complete pair.

A dagger that belonged in the weapons room.

A handful of coins that should have been in the treasury.

And, most significantly, my favorite crystal inkpot, which had mysteriously vanished from my study three days ago.

Ten years since the world had changed. Ten years since I’d given up most of my power to restore balance. Ten years of peace, of rebuilding, of finding a new purpose beyond the endless cycle of finding and losing my Ever.

Ten years of Paesha deliberately moving my shit just to watch me twitch.

“Are you reorganizing my things again?” Her voice drifted in from the adjoining bathroom, amusement evident in every syllable.

“I’m contemplating the mystery of how someone so precise in battle can be so chaotic in domestic matters,” I replied, picking up the dagger and testing its edge with my thumb. Still sharp, at least. “This belongs in the weapons room.”

“Does it?” She appeared in the doorway, wrapped in nothing but a towel, her hair dripping onto the floor in a way she knew drove me crazy. “I think it looks so decorative next to my perfume bottles. It’s fancy. Really makes the place feel special.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Until Quill decides to ‘borrow’ it for one of her increasingly elaborate pranks.”

“She’s almost twenty. I think she’s moved past the stabbing phase.” Paesha crossed the room, deliberately shaking her wet hair in my direction as she passed.

I caught her wrist, pulling her back against me despite the dampness seeping through my shirt. “She’s worse than you in that regard. And you’re making a mess.”

“You like it. It gives you something to complain about.”

“I have a list. I hardly need more material.” Despite my words, I lowered my mouth to hers, tasting mint and honey.

She melted against me for a moment before pulling away with a smirk. “Your shirt is getting wet.”

“An unavoidable casualty of loving you,” I sighed, releasing her to continue her path across the room. “Much like my sanity, my organized study, and apparently, my favorite quill.”

Her back stiffened for a heartbeat, a tell so slight that only someone who had spent years learning her every expression would notice it.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, too casually, as she dropped her towel and reached for a dress laid out on the bed.

I leaned against our broken bedpost, last night’s casualty, making no effort to hide my appreciation of the view. “Of course you don’t. Just as you had no idea about my missing cufflinks last month, or my favorite book the week before that.”

She slipped the dress over her head, the green silk settling against her curves in a way that distracted me from the investigation at hand.

“Maybe you’re getting forgetful in your old age,” she suggested, turning to present her back for me to lace her dress. “You’re what? Several millennia old now? Eighty-two thousand or something? Pretty sure you should be decrepit honestly.”

My fingers worked the laces with practiced ease. “And somehow still young enough to catch you in a lie.” I pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, smiling against her skin when she shivered. “Where is it, Paesha?”

“Where’s what?”

“My quill. The one with the golden nib that Tuck gave me.”

“Why would I take your quill, and please never say the word nib to me again.” She stepped away, moving to the vanity to begin the elaborate process of arranging her hair. “I don’t even write that much.”

“Then why did I find ink stains on your fingertips yesterday?” I settled onto the edge of the bed, content to watch the familiar ritual. “Ink that matches exactly the distinctive blue shade I had specially made in Stirling.”

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “You’re unusually observant for someone who didn’t notice another teacup was missing for three months.”

Ah, there it was. The infamous teacup, still a point of contention.

The small, porcelain cup with the chipped rim that she’d stolen from my palace in Etherium during one of her early visits to match the one she’d taken from Noctus house.

I’d searched for it for months before finding it tucked away in her chambers, filled with little trinkets she’d collected.

When I’d confronted her about it, she’d simply shrugged and said, “I liked it. It reminded me of you, pristine on the outside, a little broken on the edges.”

I’d let her keep it.

“The teacup was different,” I said, watching as she twisted her hair into an elaborate knot. “I knew exactly where it was.”

“With me.”

“Yes. With you. Where it belonged.” The words came out softer than intended, laden with meaning beyond the accepted thievery.

Her hands stilled, and for a moment, our eyes held in the reflection. Then she smirked, breaking the spell. “So sentimental. I prefer you grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.” I stood, moving to stand behind her, my hands settling on her shoulders. “I’m discerning.”

“You’re a perfectionist and you know it.” She leaned back against me, her head resting against my chest. “And meticulous. And absolutely incapable of letting anything be slightly out of place. Which is probably my favorite thing. That and the dick, of course.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to hide the damn smile. I refused to acknowledge her attempt to derail the subject. Clever little menace. “Someone has to maintain order in this chaos you call a filing system. You organized the books by color rather than subject.”

“It’s aesthetic.”

“It’s ridiculous. Tuck nearly had an aneurysm when he saw what you’d done to the library.”

“Tuck is overly dramatic about literature. And pretty much everything else. If I didn’t know he was eternally a god, I’d swear he was an actor in a previous life.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Now, about my quill…”

She sighed dramatically, pulling away to open a drawer in the vanity. “Fine. I was going to surprise you, but since you’re being such an ass…”

From the drawer, she withdrew a small leather-bound book, its cover a deep blue that matched the ink I’d been missing along with the quill and handed it over.

I opened it carefully, recognizing her handwriting that filled the pages.

Not notes or records or official correspondence, but stories.

Our stories. Tales of how we’d met in different lives, memories she’d pieced together from the voices that haunted her, fragments and dreams and the quiet conversations we’d had on countless nights.

“I’ve been working on it for months,” she admitted, a hint of uncertainty in her voice that few ever heard. “I thought… Well, you’re not technically the Keeper anymore, but these memories still matter. They’re still ours. I didn’t want them to fade.”

Something shifted in my chest, a warmth spreading through me as I turned the pages, seeing our history through her eyes. The dancer and the god. The barmaid and the scholar. The fallen queen and her shadow. A thousand lifetimes distilled onto ink and paper.

“You stole my quill to write our story?”

“I borrowed it. There’s a difference.”

“And the ink?”

“Also borrowed. I needed something that would last. Immortal or not, paper fades. I wanted something that would endure, like us.”

I closed the book carefully, setting it on the vanity before pulling her to me. “You continue to surprise me, Paesha darling.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re not very observant.” Her hands rested on my chest, fingers playing with the buttons of my shirt.

“You’re such a beautiful little liar.” I captured her chin, tilting her face up to mine. “Though I still expect my quill to be returned to its proper place.”

She rolled her eyes. “And just like that, the moment is ruined.”

“I’m simply maintaining standards.”

“You’re being fussy.” She pulled away, tapping my nose. “We’re going to be late for dinner if you keep distracting me with your obsessive need for order.”

“I’m distracting you? You’re the one who walked out here wearing nothing but a towel and an attitude.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” She glanced over her shoulder, expression smug. “You completely forgot about reorganizing my vanity.”

She had me there. “Temporary tactical defeat. The battle for household organization continues.”

She grabbed a pair of slippers from beneath the bed and slipped them on. “A battle you’ll never win. Accept defeat gracefully, Husband.”

“Never.” I offered her my arm with exaggerated formality. “But I’ll call a temporary truce for dinner. Quill will be unbearable if we’re late again.”

“She gets that from you, you know. The punctuality obsession.”

“From me? I think not.”

“She alphabetized her journals, Thorne. She lines up her boots in perfect pairs.” Paesha linked her arm through mine as we moved toward the door.

“She is your miniature in every way that matters and it’s honestly frustrating to live with Thorne Noctus and Thorne Noctus Junior with a side of Minerva, a dash of Thea’s optimism and Tuck’s know-it-all bullshit. ”

I couldn’t quite suppress my smile at that.

Quill had indeed grown into a fascinating blend of all of us, Paesha’s fierce independence, my appreciation for order, Tuck’s love of knowledge, Minerva’s dry wit, and always, always, echoes of Archer in her laugh, in the way she could charm anyone with a single smile.

She knew her power and wielded it flawlessly.

“She’s perfect,” I said simply.

“She’d be insufferable if she heard you say that.”

“As opposed to her mother, who accepts compliments with such grace and humility?”

Paesha elbowed me in the ribs, hard enough to make me grunt. “I am the epitome of grace, thank you very much.”