Page 13

LYRA

T he glowstones at The Spellbound Sip shimmered in shades of amethyst and indigo, casting lazy, pulsing light across the café’s old stone walls.

Music drifted through the air—half-charmed and half-chaotic—as the town’s first-ever karaoke night kicked off with a slightly off-key dryad duo warbling an old moonfolk lullaby.

Lyra sank into the plush booth beside Calla , her shoulders finally starting to relax for the first time in days.

A mug of cinnamon-laced cider warmed her hands.

The scent of baked apples and piney rosemary twined with the hum of background spells, everything cozy and just a little bit wild—the perfect recipe for forgetting that your boss was emotionally constipated and your life might be turning into a magical rom-com with extra brooding.

“I needed this,” she said, tilting her head back. “You have no idea.”

Calla smirked over her glass of sparkling potion wine. “Oh, I have every idea. You practically teleported here.”

Lyra groaned. “Don’t tempt me. I almost did.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Calla said. “The last time you blinked mid-emotion, we lost half the potted plants.”

“They attacked me first.”

“They were orchids.”

Lyra grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Calla, ever the perceptive cousin, leaned in, voice softer now. “Still thinking about him?”

“No,” Lyra said immediately. “Yes. Maybe. Definitely.”

Calla reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “He’s an idiot.”

Lyra sighed. “A handsome, complicated, emotionally repressed idiot.”

“That’s the worst kind.”

Lyra sipped her cider and let the warmth anchor her. “I told him off. Stood my ground. Thought I’d feel better.”

“And you don’t?”

“I feel… raw.” She shrugged. “Like I set a boundary and now I’m standing on the wrong side of it, watching him pretend it doesn’t matter.”

“He’ll come around,” Calla said. “Or he won’t. Either way, you’re still you. That’s the part that matters.”

Lyra nodded, letting the words settle. For once, she wasn’t in the mood to chase understanding or make excuses. Tonight, she just wanted to sing.

She leaned back and scanned the crowd. Familiar faces filled the café—Petra dancing barefoot in a corner with glowing bangles on her wrists, Amos the vampire arguing with the enchanted jukebox, and Delia sitting alone at the counter pretending to read a ledger while very clearly judging everyone’s song choices.

Just as she started to smile again, the door creaked open—and the air changed.

Jace walked in like he didn’t know how.

Tall, commanding, visibly uncomfortable in a space where magic fizzed through the air like soda bubbles. His dark shirt stretched across his shoulders, his jaw sharper than usual, and his expression… unreadable.

Lyra’s heart did something traitorous.

Calla’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, well. Look who the Veil dragged in.”

“Don’t,” Lyra whispered, suddenly feeling like she needed to fan herself with a coaster.

“I’m just saying,” Calla said, “when a man who never leaves his office shows up at karaoke night, there’s usually a reason.”

Lyra didn’t reply.

Because he was walking toward them now.

Not storming. Not brooding. Just… moving. Steady and unhurried. Like he belonged. Even though he clearly didn’t believe he did.

“Evening,” he said when he reached their table, voice lower than usual, like he wasn’t sure if he was interrupting or trespassing.

Calla, bold as ever, waved a hand. “Pull up a chair, Alpha. We don’t bite.”

He hesitated.

Calla winked. “She might. I’m polite.”

Lyra nearly choked on her cider.

Jace didn’t look at her. Not directly. But his voice was smoother than she expected when he said, “I’ll buy your next round. Least I can do for interrupting girls’ night.”

“You’re definitely interrupting,” Calla said. “But we’ll allow it.”

Lyra couldn’t stop watching him.

Not when he flagged down the server and ordered their drinks like it was something he did all the time. Not when his hand brushed the back of her chair briefly, and her magic flared in her fingertips, hot and startled.

He didn’t say anything else. Just sat nearby, posture alert but not defensive.

Like he was trying.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Probably both.

An hour later, the café buzzed with music and laughter. Lyra nursed her second cider—more spice than bite—and found herself watching the small stage more than usual.

“I should go up there,” she muttered.

Calla perked up. “Do it.”

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Lyra chewed her lip. “I could charm the mic a little. Give the song a little… sizzle.”

Calla smirked. “Chaos witch karaoke. The crowd’s not ready.”

Lyra set her drink down and stood. “Well, I didn’t come here to blend in.”

As she stepped onto the stage, murmurs rippled through the room. She heard someone whisper her name, caught Milo darting between tables like a smug little shadow.

She felt Jace’s gaze land on her.

Heavy. Intense. Like his eyes had weight and heat and memory.

The lights dimmed slightly, magic tuning itself to her presence.

The mic hummed with her touch.

She sang.

It wasn’t flashy. Not loud. But it was real.

Low and smoky, a melody spun from stardust and half-healed hearts. The kind of song that wound its way through bone and breath, curling in the chest and refusing to leave.

She weaved a little magic into it—just enough to stir the air, to let her voice shimmer and bend. She saw Petra wipe her eyes. Delia’s ledger dropped to the table. Even Amos stopped fiddling with the jukebox.

Jace looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Just watched her like she was a spell he didn’t understand but desperately wanted to.

And when the last note faded, and the lights came back, and applause burst like bubbles around her.

He was still staring.

And Lyra, though not wanting to admit it, was pleased with herself and happy her chaos affected him that much.