Page 15

HAZEL

“ T his is not a date,” I announce, stepping into the ley grove like I’m entering battle.

Derek just raises a brow and keeps walking, calm as a storm you don’t know is coming until it’s already wrapped around your ribs.

“It’s not a date,” I say again, louder, just in case the birds or the universe or my stupid heart didn’t hear me the first time.

“We’re on assignment,” he says, barely glancing at me. “Which is the opposite of a date.”

“Exactly,” I say, tripping over a tree root. “Glad we agree. Completely unromantic. Full business mode.”

He smirks. The bastard.

Thorn gave us the mission this morning, in that annoyingly neutral tone he uses when he knows he’s throwing gasoline on a fire and pretending it’s rain.

“Ley lines have been fluctuating in the eastern quadrant,” he said, tapping a rune-marked map. “You two will recalibrate the anchors and stabilize the flow. It requires attunement, cooperation… and trust.”

Then he looked at me.

Then he looked at Derek.

And then he smiled.

I swear, that man lives for this.

Now we’re here, deep in the heart of the woods where the trees lean toward each other like they’re whispering secrets, and the air tastes like charged sugar and old magic.

The first anchor stone is buried under a layer of moss and tangled roots.

I drop to my knees and start clearing it, pulling back vines with practiced fingers. Derek crouches beside me, unrolling a scroll with a diagram of the runic sequence we need to reactivate.

His thigh brushes mine.

Just lightly.

But it’s enough to send my brain into a full system crash and reboot.

Don’t look. Don’t react. Be cool.

So obviously I blurt, “Do you mind , you’re practically on top of me.”

“You’re kneeling in the exact center of the activation radius,” he replies, not looking up. “If you want me to move, pick a better spot.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll just magically intuit your invisible vampire boundaries next time.”

His mouth twitches.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

We work in silence for a while—him etching stabilizer glyphs into the ground with his usual deadly precision, me threading energy through the cracked anchor using a quartz-tuned binding charm I may or may not have improvised on the walk over.

“You’re humming,” he says after a minute.

“What?”

He looks at me. “You’re humming. Off-key.”

I pause.

Then start humming louder, just to spite him.

He exhales. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” I say, flashing a grin, “you keep saving me.”

His eyes lock on mine.

Something flickers there.

“Hazel—”

A sudden pulse beneath us cuts him off.

The ley line flares.

Light shoots up through the glyphs, bathing the grove in a wash of blue-gold energy. It lifts my hair like I’m underwater, makes my skin buzz like bees are dancing under it.

“Stabilize it!” I shout.

“I am! ” he barks, hands pressed to the earth.

But it’s not enough.

The line won’t settle.

The anchor’s too fractured. It needs dual-channeling. Simultaneous magical infusion from both sides.

I grab his hand.

His head snaps to me.

“Don’t argue,” I say. “Just trust me.”

Our palms press together.

His energy rushes up my arm like frostfire—cool and intense, perfectly controlled.

Mine surges forward like it always does—wild, bright, a little chaotic.

But together?

They click.

The ley line settles with a thrum that feels like a heartbeat. Steady. Alive.

We don’t move.

His hand is still in mine.

His chest is too close.

And when I look up, I see it again.

That thing he hides behind the scowls.

The want.

I swallow. “Derek…”

“Don’t,” he says.

But his hand tightens on mine.

I step closer anyway.

“You can’t keep running,” I whisper.

“I know.”

His voice is hoarse.

Our foreheads almost touch.

Almost.

Suddenly, a bird shrieks above us and we break apart like teenagers caught necking behind the potion shed.

I pretend to dust myself off.

He clears his throat.

“So,” I say, trying to sound casual. “One anchor down. Two to go.”

He nods, still looking a little wrecked.

“Still not a date,” I mutter.

But my heart doesn’t believe me.

And I don’t think his does either.

The sun’s going down by the time we finish the last anchor.

It bathes the forest in that honey-colored light—the kind that makes everything feel too still, like even the leaves are holding their breath. We’re standing at the final grove, shoulders brushing as we pack up the charm tools and anchor stabilizers in silence.

Not awkward silence.

Just… full.

My fingers keep brushing his. He doesn’t pull away.

I don’t either.

He rolls the map back into its scroll tube, movements slower than usual. He’s been quieter since that flare-up at the second anchor—since our magic synced like two puzzle pieces that had been waiting for the other this whole time.

I bite my lip.

He turns toward me, expression unreadable.

And suddenly my chest is tight.

Because I’ve almost lost him once.

And I don’t think I could handle it again.

“Hey,” I say, too fast, too light. “So, hypothetically, if I said something absolutely unhinged and emotional right now, would you pretend you didn’t hear it?”

His brow furrows. “Hazel?—”

“I’m not saying I will. Just wondering if we have a pact in place for that kind of situation.”

He studies me. Sharp. Quiet.

“You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to.”

And that makes it worse.

Because it’s kind. And patient. And him.

And the words are right there, I’m scared to lose you. I don’t know how to care about someone and not fall apart when they leave.

But I can’t.

So I force a crooked smile and say, “Good. Because I was totally going to say you’re growing on me like magical mold and that I hate it.”

He exhales a laugh. Just one.

But it’s real.

And when we turn to walk back to camp, he doesn’t say anything else.

But his hand brushes mine again.

And this time, he doesn’t pull away.