Page 17

17

MAGNOLIA

T he observatory is eerily quiet as I move through the shadowed halls, the soft scuff of my boots against the floor the only sound in the empty space. I try to keep my movements light, careful not to disturb the dusty silence that seems to cling to every corner. My arms are loaded with blankets, a few mismatched pillows, and a ratty quilt I’d scavenged from a closet that smelled like it hadn’t been opened in decades. It’s not much, but it’ll do.

I pile them all in the center of what I think might have been a break room once upon a time. The walls are lined with faded posters of constellations, their edges curled and yellowed with age. There’s a broken-down couch pushed against one wall, its upholstery torn and sagging, and a rusted wood-burning stove that looks like it hasn’t been used in years. The entire room is a study in decay, but there’s something oddly comforting about it. It’s like the place is holding its breath, waiting for something to bring it back to life.

And tonight, I hope that something is me.

I glance toward the doorway that leads to the main observatory, where Colt is rummaging through old cabinets and shelves, muttering under his breath as he searches for the filament we came here to find. My heart pounds a little harder just knowing he’s close, the sound of his voice low and gravelly in the other room. I can’t let him see what I’m doing…not yet. Not until I’ve finished setting it all up.

Because I have a plan.

My heart beats faster just thinking about it, the knot of nerves in my stomach twisting tighter. Staying here overnight with him, alone, away from the den—it’s everything I’ve been hoping for since we set out this morning. It’s reckless, it’s impulsive, and it’s probably a terrible idea. But I’ve already made up my mind.

Tonight is going to be the night.

I stare down at the little nest I’ve made in the center of the room, a mix of blankets and pillows arranged just so. It’s not much, but it feels intimate, almost cozy. The kind of space that invites closeness, that creates opportunities. I imagine us lying here together, the distance between us shrinking until there’s nothing left. The thought sends a thrill through me, my cheeks flushing with heat.

It’s not like I didn’t think it through. I did. Maybe too much. This place feels perfect, romantic in its own wild, broken way. The stars overhead, the quiet solitude of the observatory, the warmth of Colt’s presence so close—it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.

But the doubts creep in anyway, uninvited and unwelcome. What if this is a mistake? What if he doesn’t want this? What if I’ve misread every look, every touch, every lingering moment between us?

I force myself to take a deep breath, pushing the doubts away. No. Colt isn’t the kind of man who does anything halfway.

If I tell him what I want—what I really want—he’ll give it to me.

And…I’m prepared. I’ve thought about this for weeks, maybe months, if I’m being honest with myself. I even slipped into the infirmary a few days ago and stole some condoms, just in case. They’re tucked in the side pocket of my bag now, a quiet reminder that I’m ready for this. I want this.

I want him.

A soft sound in the other room makes me pause, my pulse jumping. I glance toward the doorway, half-expecting Colt to walk in and catch me standing here, blushing like a fool. But he doesn’t. He’s still in the other room, his voice a low rumble as he mutters something to himself.

I shake my head, trying to focus. The little nest is almost ready, but I fluff one of the pillows for good measure, arranging it just so. The knot in my stomach tightens again, and for a moment, I consider abandoning the whole plan. I could pretend I wasn’t thinking about tonight, about him, about what this could mean. I could laugh it off, act like this was just about needing a place to sleep for the night and nothing more.

But no. That’s not what I want.

I glance back at the blankets, at the space I’ve created, and take another deep breath. This is what I want. This is my chance. And I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers.

The sound of his boots on the stairs snaps me out of my thoughts. I look up as he steps into the observatory, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, the last rays of sunlight catching the sharp angles of his face. He glances around, his gaze landing on the nest of blankets before flicking back to me.

His brow lifts, just slightly, and his lips quirk into a faint smirk. “Only one bed?”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I stumble over my words, my carefully laid plans unraveling in an instant. “There, uh…there wasn’t much to work with,” I say quickly, gesturing at the blankets. “This place isn’t exactly well-stocked.”

He tilts his head, his smirk softening into amusement, and I swear he sees right through me. “Fair enough,” he says, his tone easy. “Looks…cozy.”

I force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as awkward as I feel. “It’s something, at least. Better than sleeping on the floor.”

He nods, stepping further into the room. I consider telling him the truth—about what I want, about what I’ve been thinking since we arrived—but the words catch in my throat.

Instead, I turn away, pretending to fuss with the blankets.

“You ready to head up the hill?” Colt asks, breaking the silence. “I figured we could check out some of the other telescopes before it gets too dark.”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, grateful for the distraction. “Just let me grab my camera.”

He waits while I dig out my old Polaroid, and then we head outside, the air cool and crisp as the last light of day fades into twilight. The observatory’s grounds stretch out before us, a maze of winding paths and scattered telescopes, their metal bodies rusted and weathered–but still standing.

We walk in comfortable silence, the crunch of gravel under our boots the only sound. Neither of us needs a flashlight; it’s one of the few perks of lycanthropy, the ability to see in the dark. The higher we climb, the more the horizon opens up, revealing a sea of stars beginning to twinkle against the deepening blue.

“This place is incredible,” I say, my voice barely louder than the wind rustling through the grass. “It feels like stepping into another world.”

Colt glances over at me. “It’s not bad,” he says. “Places like this…they’re rare now. Untouched, quiet. Feels unnatural.”

I nod, following his gaze to the telescope standing sentinel against the twilight. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” I murmur. “What humanity must have been like before the Convergence? Before everything fell apart?”

Colt is quiet for a moment, his gaze steady on the horizon. “I’ve thought about it,” he admits, his voice lower now. “A lot, actually. The way things must’ve been—the way people must’ve lived. I mean, this place?” He gestures toward the observatory, the telescopes, the winding paths that connect them all. “They built this just to look at the stars. To study them. What does that say about us?”

“That we were dreamers,” I say without hesitation, a small smile tugging at my lips. “That we wanted to understand the universe. To explore it.”

“Or that we were arrogant,” Colt counters. “Thinking we had the right to it. To everything.”

I tilt my head, considering his words. “Maybe. But doesn’t that arrogance—if that’s what it is—mean something too? I mean, the Convergence proved we weren’t alone out there. The Angels, the Infernal Legion…they came from somewhere else. But before we knew that, before the world fell apart, we still looked up at the stars and wondered. That has to count for something.”

Colt shrugs. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. “It’s hard to imagine, though. A world where people weren’t just surviving.”

I glance at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “What do you think it was like?” I ask gently. “Before the Convergence?”

He shrugs, his gaze distant. “I don’t know. Peaceful, maybe. At least compared to now. People probably took a lot of things for granted—safety, stability, freedom. Hell, even little things like running water or electricity. I bet most of them didn’t even realize how good they had it.”

I nod, my chest tightening at the thought. “My parents talk about it sometimes,” I say. “How life was before. They said there was so much…possibility. So many choices. It was overwhelming, but in the best way. You could be anyone, do anything. The world felt…infinite.”

Colt’s eyes flick back to me. “And now?” he asks. “What does it feel like now?”

“Small,” I admit. “Like everything’s already been decided for us. Like we’re just…living in the ruins of someone else’s dreams.”

Colt doesn’t respond right away, his gaze returning to the telescope. “Maybe that’s why places like this matter,” he finally says. “They remind us of what we’re capable of. What we used to be.”

“And what we could be again,” I add, my heart lifting slightly at the thought.

He looks at me then, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. “You think we’ve got it in us?” he asks, his tone soft but serious. “To rebuild? To dream like that again?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I want to believe we do.”

For a moment, neither of us says anything, the weight of the conversation settling over us. Then Colt chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Magnolia,” he says, his smirk returning. “You see the world like it’s still worth saving.”

I smile faintly, tilting my head. “And you don’t?”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “But maybe you’ll convince me.”

I feel my cheeks warm under his steady gaze. “Maybe I will,” I say, my heart thudding in my chest.

The sky darkens above us, the first stars beginning to pierce through the veil of twilight. Colt glances up, his expression thoughtful. “Looks like you’re about to get your wish,” he says, nodding toward the sky. “The stars are coming out.”

I follow his gaze, awe washing over me as the stars slowly multiply, their light filling the dark canvas above. “They’re beautiful,” I whisper, my voice filled with wonder.

“Damn right,” Colt murmurs–and when I glance back at him, I realize he’s not looking at the stars.

He’s looking at me.

“Come on,” he says. “I think we can see another planet up here.”

We reach one of the larger telescopes, its body tilted upward like it’s frozen mid-thought, staring at the heavens. I run my fingers along the cool metal, marveling at its size and the intricate machinery that still holds its shape despite the years of neglect.

Colt leans against the base of the telescope, his arms crossed as he watches me. “You ever look through one of these before?”

“Not like this,” I admit. “My parents have a small one, but it’s nothing compared to this. My dad used to set it up for us on clear nights, show us the planets and constellations.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds nice.”

“It was,” I say. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like that. Too much to do, too many responsibilities.”

“Guess tonight’s your chance,” he says, his voice low. “No responsibilities. No distractions. Just you and the stars.”

And you, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. Instead, I step closer to the telescope, tilting my head to look up at the sky. The stars are brighter now, scattering across the darkness like diamonds, and for a moment, I forget everything else.

I lean down to the eyepiece, my heart skipping a beat as I press my eye to the small glass window. The metal feels cool against my cheek, and I hold my breath, expecting to see some glittering view of the cosmos. Instead, there’s…nothing. Just a blurry smear of darkness.

“I can’t see anything,” I admit, straightening and turning toward Colt. “Either it’s broken, or I’m doing it wrong.”

Colt pushes off the base of the telescope, unfolding himself with an easy, fluid motion that sends a ripple of awareness through me. “Let me take a look,” he says, stepping closer.

He leans over the telescope, his broad shoulders and back cutting a strong silhouette against the darkening sky. I watch the way his hands move over the knobs and dials, adjusting them with practiced precision. The faint scruff along his jaw catches the moonlight, and I can’t stop staring, even as my pulse thrums in my ears.

“Try now,” he says, glancing back at me.

I hesitate, feeling suddenly hyper-aware of how close we’re standing. I can practically feel the heat of his body, the powerful scent of him making my knees feel a little weak. I step forward, leaning down again to the eyepiece, but as I do, my shoulder brushes against his chest.

“Sorry,” I murmur, straightening instinctively, my cheeks burning.

“No need to apologize,” Colt says, his voice low. “Here, let me?—”

Before I can step away, his hand moves to the small of my back, steadying me. It’s not a hard touch—barely there, really—but it feels like a brand, warm and grounding. My breath catches, and for a moment, I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.

“You’ve got to angle it a little more like this,” Colt murmurs, his voice close to my ear now. He leans over me, his chest brushing my shoulder as he adjusts the telescope again, his fingers deft on the metal controls. I can feel his warmth, the faint rasp of his breath against my hair, and it’s everything I can do not to lean back into him.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Try now.”

I press my eye to the telescope again, my hands trembling slightly as I adjust the focus. This time, the sky comes into sharp clarity—stars brighter and closer than I’ve ever seen them, like they’re within reach. And there, in the center of the lens, is a planet—a pale, glowing orb suspended in the inky blackness.

“Oh,” I breathe, unable to contain my awe. “It’s beautiful.”

“Told you,” Colt says, his hand still resting against my back. “Sometimes you’ve just got to look at things the right way.”

I glance up at him, the words catching me off guard. His eyes are on me now, not the telescope, and there’s a softness there that makes my heart stutter. His face is so close, close enough that I can see the faint flecks of gold in his irises, the way his lips part slightly as his gaze dips to my mouth.

“You, uh…you’ve got a good eye,” I say.

Colt’s lips quirk into a faint smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not the telescope that’s impressive,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “It’s the way you light up when you see something new. Like the whole damn universe is in front of you.”

The air between us shifts, thickens, and I realize I haven’t breathed in too long. His hand hasn’t moved from my back, his thumb brushing against the fabric of my dress in the faintest motion. It’s enough to send heat pooling in my belly, and I swear the world tilts slightly on its axis.

“Colt,” I murmur, his name barely a whisper on my lips.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough, hoarse, barely holding something back.

I don’t know what I was planning to say—or if I was planning to say anything at all. My head is spinning, my pulse thundering in my ears as the stars overhead blur into a soft haze. All I can think about is him, the way his body feels so solid, so steady, against mine. The way his gaze has locked onto mine like there’s no one else in the world.

“Thank you,” I finally manage, my voice trembling. “For…showing me this.”

His smirk softens into a smile. “Anytime,” he says, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before he pulls away, stepping back and breaking the spell.

The loss of his warmth is immediate, but the tension between us lingers. I straighten, brushing my curls back from my face and forcing a shaky breath as I glance back at the telescope.

“Show me another one?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the way my whole body feels like it’s on fire.

Colt’s smirk returns. “You’ve got it,” he says, stepping back to adjust the telescope again. “Plenty more stars where that came from.”

And as the night stretches on, I realize I don’t care how many stars are in the sky. I only care about the man standing beside me, looking at me like I hung the moon.