Page 43

The bridge looked the same as always—rusty rails, faded graffiti, the kind of place only teenagers and poetic souls romanticized at dawn.

Mist clung to the water below like it was trying to remember how to be a cloud again.

I waited there, hoodie pulled over my head, the morning chill gnawing gently at my sleeves.

Joy’s Elven Covet screeched to a halt beside the bridge, a flashy blur of enchanted blue that somehow still had glitter on the hood from some mysterious past adventure.

The windows rolled down, revealing Joy at the wheel, sunglasses already on despite the lack of real sun, and Shun in the passenger seat—serene as always, holding something that looked suspiciously magical in her palms.

It was the bunny.

Well, the bunny .

Just like the same one that had levitated away after the car crash. Now, it hovered over Shun’s open hand like a balloon enchanted by whimsy and trauma. She cradled it like it was normal to hold floating rabbits before breakfast.

“You’re insane,” Joy said as I slid into the back seat, her tone affectionate and already caffeinated. “What’s the idea?”

I took a breath.

“Sneak into Ethan's mansion. Through the fence.”

There was a beat of silence—brief, thick, then promptly shattered.

Joy turned halfway in her seat, removing her sunglasses purely for dramatic effect. “I’m sorry, who are you and what have you done with our socially anxious, rule-following, brunch-avoiding Clark?”

Shun raised an eyebrow. “You suggested trespassing. Voluntarily.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s a weird morning.”

“You are wearing a hoodie,” Joy muttered. “The universal sign of pre-meditated chaos.”

“I need to see him,” I added. “Ethan. I don’t know what I’m going to say. But I can’t keep running from… whatever this is.”

Joy glanced at Shun, who merely nodded as if she'd known all along this would happen.

“Alright, Romeo,” Joy said, revving the Covet dramatically. “Let’s go make questionable choices in the name of feelings.”

°*°

We stopped just outside the mansion’s hedge wall.

Ethan’s place loomed beyond, ethereal and untouchable—like the set of a haunted fairytale.

The wrought iron gates were closed, and the security lights were still sleeping.

The hedge was tall, thorny, and obnoxiously pristine, as though it was trimmed by fairy butlers with OCD.

I tethered the levitating bunny to my wrist with a string Shun offered—because apparently, she had a string for tethering magical animals. It bobbed next to me like a nervous balloon, blinking occasionally.

Joy rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. “Alright, I got this. Don’t ask how, but I was banned from three boarding schools in middle school for climbing stuff. Watch and learn.”

She scaled the hedge with the grace of a cat burglar and none of the subtlety, landing on the other side with a soft thud and a victorious, whispered “Boom.”

She peeked back over and gestured. “C’mon, nerds.”

Shun boosted me up first, the bunny tether tugging gently as I clambered over. I landed in a crouch that absolutely wasn't elegant. Shun followed a second later, practically floating down beside me like she weighed nothing.

And then… we were in.

The compound was stunning.

The kind of place that looked like it had a personality.

Trees older than most civilizations swayed gently, flowers that didn’t belong to any region bloomed like stained-glass secrets.

There were marble pathways carved with runes, and a soft breeze that smelled like saltwater and something sweeter.

It felt like stepping into a dream—surreal, unreal, but real enough to hurt.

Joy whistled. “Wow. We just broke into Atlantis.”

We all had been here before—not once—but every time it hit differently.

The house was ahead—half glass, half ancient stone, part myth, part bachelor pad. The windows shimmered with enchantments. Somewhere inside that magical stronghold was Ethan.

I hesitated.

“I don’t even know what I want to say to him,” I muttered.

“Doesn’t matter,” Joy said. “You’re already here. That counts.”

Shun pointed toward a side path. “There’s a trail that wraps around the back. Less likely to trigger magical defenses. I think.”

“You think?”

She shrugged. “Fifty-fifty.”

We followed her, weaving through the garden like thieves in an over budget fantasy movie. Birds chirped suspiciously. A koi pond whispered secrets. Even the bunny looked confused.

Well, the garden was quite deceiving—too peaceful, too still. We barely made it past the glowing fox statues when the air shifted.

"Intruders!" a sharp voice called out.

We froze.

A tall, shimmering figure emerged from behind a wall of moon-blossoms—an elf, clad in white and silver armor that glittered like it had never known dirt. His face was sharp, his brows sharper. He looked like the kind of guy who ironed his soul every morning.

“Oh stars,” Joy whispered. “It’s a guardian.”

Shun took one step back. “We should—”

The elf blew into a whistle that didn’t make a sound. The hedges responded.

“What kind of security system uses sentient shrubs?!” I yelped.

“Run!” Joy shouted.

And we did.

The elf drew his blade—not to slash, but to mark. Wherever he pointed it, the mansion’s defenses reacted. The cobblestone paths came alive, reshaping like a puzzle to block our way.

“This is so unnecessarily extra!” I wheezed, dodging a vine that lunged like a snake.

“Ethan’s window!” Shun called, glancing up. “We just need to find it!”

“How would you even know what it looks like?” I asked between breaths.

“I pay attention,” she said smugly, leaping over a hedge beast like it was just another school hurdle.

We zigzagged through the garden, dodging sentient roses and magical traps that shouted trespasser in dramatic tones. The elf didn’t tire—he ran like a judgmental wind, expression blank but determined.

“There!” Joy pointed. “Top floor, west wing—open window with messy curtains and a tragic amount of half-empty cologne bottles. That’s definitely him.”

We skidded to a halt beneath the window.

“Anyone got magic?” I asked, panting.

“I’ve got this rock,” Joy said, holding up a gloriously average stone.

She handed it to me.

“No pressure,” she said.

No pressure? We were being chased by literal hedges.

“I mean, just aim well. And maybe don’t break glass. You’ll owe him money.”

I took aim.

And threw.

Thunk!

It hit the frame.

Seconds ticked by.

Then—

The curtain fluttered.

And Ethan’s familiar, sleep-rumpled head poked out.

His gaze swept the garden, his eyes landing on me—

And the levitating bunny, who floated towards his window like a passive participant in our felony.

“Ghost boy…?” he asked, groggily.

“Hi,” I said, a bit too cheerfully for someone being chased by a magical war elf.

Ethan blinked at the bunny.

The bunny blinked back.

He reached out, calm as ever, and gently pulled the rabbit into his arms. “What are you doing—?”

“Can you please come save us now?” I yelled.

The guardian elf was closing in fast, and damn was he interested in hearing us out.

Ethan disappeared from the window.

Moments later, the front door flew open.

Ethan stormed out in sweatpants and no shirt (again), the bunny tucked against his hip like a floating handbag.

The elf snapped to attention. “These creatures have infiltrated sacred land. They must be detained—”

“They’re guests,” Ethan said firmly.

The elf narrowed his eyes saying nothing.

Ethan glanced at me, at Joy, then at Shun.

Then finally—at me again.

“What’s going on, Clark?” he asked softly.

I stepped forward.

The elf raised a glowing hand, ready to bind me in vines or justice or both.

But I didn’t care.

I looked Ethan in the eye, the weight of his gaze sending a storm through me. My heart was thundering in my chest, doing flips like it had been caught in a carnival ride. My hands were cold, my ears hot—everything inside me felt out of sync, but in the best way possible.

And then, with a breath that felt like it might be my last, I said it. Clearer than I’d ever said anything in my life.

“I want to be your mate, stupid.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The world held its breath.

Ethan blinked, and for a second, I thought I’d miscalculated. Joy made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, and Shun just stood there, shocked and waiting as curious as me for the next word from Ethan.

And Ethan?

He stared at me, still as stone, and then—he laughed.

“You break into my house,” he said, his voice thick with that same laugh, “get chased by my elf, wake me up by throwing a rock at my face—and then you confess you want to be my mate?”

“Technically, the rock hit the frame,” I muttered, trying to save a shred of dignity.

Ethan chuckled again, a soft, warm sound that made my stomach flip. “You’re ridiculous.”

I nodded, almost too proud to admit it. “Yup.”

“And brave,” he added, his gaze never leaving mine. His eyes were so intense, they felt like they could see right through me.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Working on it.”

Then, he closed the space between us, moving with purpose, until he was standing so close that the heat from his body brushed against mine. I could feel every inch of him, the pull of his presence drawing me in like gravity itself.

He stopped, just a breath away, his chest rising and falling in time with mine.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper, but it wrapped around me like a shroud.

“What?” I breathed, the words barely escaping my lips.

“That thing,” he said, his hand reaching out, fingers brushing gently against my cheek—so light, like a whisper of touch that sent a current of electricity through my skin. “The mate thing.”

I swallowed, every part of me trembling, then gathered the courage to say it again.

“I want to be your mate—”

Before I could finish it, I felt it—his lips against mine.

His lips were warm, impossibly soft, and the moment they touched mine, I felt it in my soul—a connection that was ancient and undeniable. His hand slid from my cheek to my neck, pulling me closer, the touch of his fingers sending sparks through my skin.

My hands moved to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him, the rhythm of his heartbeat pounding beneath his skin like a drum against my palm, matching mine.

It was a kiss that wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything.

It was the entire world shrinking to this one moment, this one breath, this one shared beat of our hearts.

Joy screamed, but it was distant—almost like it didn’t matter, like the only thing that mattered was this.

Shun applauded once, a sharp clap that cut through the air, but even she couldn’t hide the smirk curling on her lips.

And somewhere above us, the bunny twirled—graceful, smug, as if it had orchestrated this moment all along. The wind carried the faintest melody, like Cupid’s whistle, playful and soft. Maybe it was all in my head. Or maybe magic had better timing than we ever did.