Page 28

RYDER

I t’s been three days since the rift closed.

The lake’s been still.

Too still, if you ask Torack. He says the water’s holding its breath, like it doesn’t quite trust us yet. Like it’s waiting to see what we do next.

I get that.

I’m kind of waiting on myself too.

But this morning, I make a decision.

Not because I’m pushed.

Not because I’m cornered.

Because for the first time in my life… I want to stay.

Not guard.

Not patrol.

Just be here.

And build something.

With her.

Callie.

She’s back at the main dock right now, trying to wrangle three campers and a boat that somehow got filled with glitter. Jason claims it was “an act of divine expression.” I don’t ask questions.

I find her after the kids run off for lunch, crouched beside the toolshed, elbow-deep in a busted solar light.

“You got a sec?” I ask.

She glances up, wiping sweat off her brow with the back of her hand.

“Depends. You offering lunch or sarcasm?”

I crouch next to her. “Neither. Something better.”

She blinks. “Better than food? Who are you?”

I pull a folded piece of paper from my back pocket and hand it to her.

It’s a sketch.

Crude, hand-drawn. I’m not an artist. But the idea’s there.

A platform. Modular. Anchored just past the swim zone. Solar-rigged. Weatherproof. Fully charm-compatible.

Her brow furrows. “Is this… a floating workshop?”

I nod. “For you.”

Her mouth falls open slightly.

“I’ve got the materials,” I say. “Some of the old deck boards are still good. And I can enchant the stabilizers myself. I figured if you’re staying”

“I am, ” she says fast. Then blushes. “I mean… yeah. I’ve been thinking about it.”

I let that sink in.

She looks at the sketch again, then at me.

“You want to build this for me?”

“No,” I say. “ With you.”

She stares a beat longer.

Then launches herself at me, arms around my neck, laughter in my ear.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says.

“You’re the one who keeps showing up in my plans,” I mutter.

She pulls back just enough to kiss me, hard and sweet.

Then grins. “So… we’re staying, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, heart thudding.

“We’re building. ”

And somehow, that word feels more sacred than any vow I’ve ever made.

Later that night, we sit on the cabin steps, side by side.

The camp is quiet.

Kids tucked in.

Lake asleep.

Stars so thick it looks like the sky’s been dusted with powdered sugar.

Callie leans into my shoulder, barefoot, her hair damp from the lake.

She’s humming under her breath.

I clear my throat.

She stops humming.

“You okay?” she asks.

I nod once.

Then glance at her.

“I’ve been thinking…”

Her brow rises.

“Dangerous habit,” she teases.

I smirk. “Yeah, well. I’ve been thinking about… my place. This cabin.”

She eyes me. “You’re not leaving.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not.”

She nods. “Good.”

“But it feels… different now. Big.”

She blinks. “Are you telling me you’re scared of your own furniture?”

“I’m saying,” I cut in, heart thudding like it’s trying to warn me, “I don’t want to sleep in it alone anymore.”

Her breath catches.

I hold her gaze.

“I want you here. With me. Not just sometimes. Not just for the magic storms and half-broken ward lanterns. Always. ”

She doesn’t speak.

So I keep going.

“I’m not proposing. Yet. Not tonight. But this” I gesture between us, the cabin, the stars. “This is my home. And it’s yours too, if you want it.”

She stares at me for one long, gorgeous moment.

Then grins like the damn sun just rose behind her eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says.

And when she kisses me, it feels like the start of something we never thought we’d get.

Peace.

Together.

The next morning, I’m hauling a crate of old rope out to the docks when I hear footsteps behind me, heavy, deliberate.

Torack.

The man moves like a myth and talks like a riddle, so when he actually clears his throat and stops right next to me, I brace.

“You staying?” he asks, no preamble.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He studies the lake a long time. “Didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t either,” I admit.

He grunts. Not disapproving. Just thoughtful.

“You’re not just muscle,” he says. “Never were. Took you long enough to see it.”

I wait.

He turns toward me, expression carved from stone but eyes sharp.

“This camp’s more than a refuge. It’s a future. And you” he jabs a finger gently against my chest “you’re part of that. I need you to help shape it.”

I nod again, slower this time.

“Thanks,” I say. “For trusting me with it.”

He nods back, once.

Then walks off without another word.

And somehow?

That says everything.

Torack walks off.

But he doesn’t head back toward the admin wing or the ward archives.

He veers toward the garden path behind the mess hall.

Julie’s there, sleeves rolled, hair braided back, holding two mugs of something that’s probably bitter and old and strong as hell.

She hands one to him without a word.

He takes it.

They don’t speak.

They just stand there , side by side, sipping and watching the early morning light rise over the lake.

It’s small.

Still.

Unremarkable to anyone else.

But something about it hits me deep.

The ease of it.

The knowing.

A partnership that doesn’t need constant fire to burn bright.

I breathe out slow.

Because I want that.

Not someday.

Soon.

With her.

With Callie.

The girl who flipped my schedule upside down, covered my clipboard in glitter, and tethered me back to life with a kiss.

I head toward the cabin.

And start drawing up new plans.

Not just for the workshop.

But for us.