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HAZEL

T here are a lot of things I expect from tonight’s patrol: misbehaving sprites, maybe another raccoon revolution, definitely at least one injury involving glitter glue.

What I don’t expect?

Accidentally performing a borderline ancient energy exchange ritual with a vampire who glares like it’s his job and somehow makes brooding look sexy.

But here we are.

It starts with the ley-stone near the Grove path. Derek and I are doing our usual patrol circuit—me, bouncing ahead, poking at glowing mushrooms with a stick; him, trailing behind like a vampire-shaped thundercloud.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” he says, voice low and gravelly as ever.

“It’s a mushroom,” I say, poking harder. “It’s squishy. And glowing. And therefore needs to be examined thoroughly by science.”

“You’re not a scientist.”

“I dabble.”

He exhales like I’m shortening his lifespan, which, given the whole immortal thing, is impressive.

That’s when the mushroom shudders.

And the ground trembles.

“Oh, that’s new,” I mutter. The ley-stone under our feet lights up like a fairy rave. My wand pulses against my hip, a low buzz vibrating through the tether that still connects us because my life is a joke.

Derek steps toward me fast. “Hazel?—”

“I didn’t do anything!” I shout, which is probably a lie.

There’s a sudden crack , a pulse of magic like lightning turned inward, and then— boom —everything blinks .

Not explodes. Not shatters.

Just… blinks .

Like reality hiccups.

I stumble, dizzy, and reach out blindly—right into Derek’s chest. His hand clamps around my wrist at the same time, sharp and steady. There’s a jolt.

Then everything stops.

And starts again.

But different.

I’m still standing. So is he.

But something’s wrong.

Or right?

Or deeply, deeply weird.

Because suddenly, I can feel him .

Not just near me— in me . A thrum of cool, coiled energy flooding my chest like midnight wind and stone.

And under that? A pulse of mine surging into him—wild and bright and chaotic.

“Uh…” I gasp. “What the hell just happened?”

Derek looks like someone just punched him in the soul. His pupils are blown wide. His jaw is tight. “That wasn’t a mushroom.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He’s gripping my wrist harder now, like he doesn’t know how to let go. The tether between us glows white-hot for a second, then vanishes.

Just like that.

Gone.

But the connection? Still there.

Still humming under my skin.

“You feel it too, right?” I whisper, because my voice has dropped and I can’t stop it.

“Yes,” he says, and it’s not a whisper—it’s a confession.

We’re still touching.

Chest to chest. Pulse to pulse.

And I swear to every astral entity listening, I can feel his heartbeat through my ribs. Slow and deep and not at all dead like it’s supposed to be.

“I think we just did an energy transfer,” I murmur.

Derek doesn’t move. “That’s… not possible. It’s an ancient ritual. Takes hours. Incantations. Intent. It can’t just happen. ”

“Well,” I say, “welcome to Camp Lightring, where everything’s made up and the magical consequences are real.”

His eyes narrow. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Which is weird. Because I always laugh when I’m nervous. Or cornered. Or feeling… whatever this is.

But I’m not.

I’m just… breathless.

Like he’s holding me up with more than his hands.

And for some reason, I don’t want to pull away.

“Hazel,” he says, voice tighter now. “You need to let go.”

“You first.”

His hand opens slowly. Mine follows.

We step back at the same time. The space between us feels colder than it should.

But the hum doesn’t stop.

If anything, it settles.

Like it’s decided to stay.

I shove my hands into my pockets. “So. That happened.”

He nods once. “We’ll tell Thorn.”

“Cool. Love being a cautionary tale.”

I start walking.

He follows.

Silence stretches between us like a rubber band. Tense. Electric.

I break it. “You okay?”

“No.”

I glance at him. “Wanna elaborate?”

He doesn’t.

Of course.

Instead, he just says, “That magic… it was personal.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It was.”

And somehow, that’s the most honest thing we’ve ever said to each other.

Back at the cabin, we don’t talk.

We don’t have to.

He sits by the window. I sit on the edge of my bed, hands still trembling from the jolt.

And when our eyes meet across the room, just for a second, I swear the tether’s still there.

Invisible.

But real.

And maybe… permanent.