Page 34

Dahlia

Airports were weird.

Too many people. Too much noise. Nowhere to sit without someone’s suitcase bumping your leg or a baby shrieking like a banshee at gate nine.

Which is probably why Silas, with a grin and a flick of his wrist, said, “Good news—we’re not flying commercial.”

We followed him past the main terminals, through a discreet security checkpoint that absolutely should’ve required more ID than it did, and out onto a private runway.

There, gleaming like an overcompensating credit card ad, sat a sleek black jet with silver accents and leather seats visible through the windows.

“A friend owed me a favor,” Silas said, like people just lent out private planes the way most people lent out lawn chairs. “He’s terrible at poker. Excellent at laundering favors.”

Kieran looked like he wanted to punch something out of sheer principle. “You really are allergic to doing things normally.”

“I consider it a strength.”

The cabin was small but luxuriously appointed. Leather seats, rich wood paneling, soft lighting, and a stocked bar at the back. The only other person onboard was a silent, competent-looking pilot who nodded once before locking himself in the cockpit.

I slid into one of the seats beside Kieran and immediately pulled my legs up underneath me. He dropped down beside me, tense but trying not to show it. His fingers found mine. Didn’t let go.

Silas plopped across from us, legs stretched out like he owned the plane. Which, knowing him, he might.

“Gods,” he said, grinning. “Private air travel. The only way to fly.”

“You would’ve hated TSA,” I told him. “Too many questions. Not enough dramatic exits.”

He winked.

We took off smoothly, the roar of the engines quieter than I expected. Once we leveled out, Kieran finally let himself lean back a little. Not relaxed. But less ready to throw himself out the emergency exit.

Silas cracked a drink from the bar, tossed Kieran a sideways look, and said far too casually, “You’ve gone soft.”

Kieran didn’t blink. “I’d burn the world to keep her warm.”

Silas actually shut up for a second.

It wasn’t a threat. Wasn’t even romantic. It was Kieran—fierce and quiet and absolutely, irrevocably mine.

After a moment, Silas took a sip of his drink. “You were always the serious one. The golden boy. Mom adored you.”

Kieran’s jaw tightened. “She adored your games until they got us all killed.”

Silas winced, but didn’t argue. “Yeah. I wasn’t great at consequences.”

“You still aren’t.”

“And yet,” Silas said, waving his glass, “here we are. On a plane together. Like a family vacation, if the family was cursed and the vacation involved ancient death traps.”

Kieran groaned. “Remind me why we’re not throwing him out mid-flight.”

“Because he knows where we’re going,” I reminded gently.

“Regrettably,” Kieran muttered.

Silas leaned back and smirked. “Good thing I packed snacks,” he said, smug again. “You still like honey almonds?”

Kieran stared at him.

Silas shrugged and tossed a small bag into his lap. “Old habits die hard.”

I watched Kieran’s fingers tighten around the bag. He didn’t open it. But he didn’t throw it away either.

Progress. Or something like it.

Eventually, Silas rummaged around in a leather satchel and pulled out a battered notebook, two pens, and something that glowed faintly around the edges.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s plan.”

Kieran sat up straighter. I turned toward them, our knees bumping beneath the narrow table.

“First stop,” Silas said, flipping open the notebook, “my villa.”

“Of course you have a villa,” I said.

“Tucked into a cliffside. Spectacular view. Possibly a ghost in the pantry.”

Kieran gave him a look. “You’re insufferable.”

Silas beamed. “We’ll grab supplies, check the wards, and make contact with Lysandra.”

“The one who might help unbind him?” I asked, nodding toward Kieran.

Silas’s grin faded a little. “Yeah. Old blood. Brilliant. Temperamental. Keeps messenger crows instead of a phone.”

I stared. “Crows.”

“She says they’re more reliable than people.”

“She’s not wrong,” Kieran muttered.

“Do you think she’ll actually help?” I asked.

Silas shrugged. “She’ll ask for something. But if anyone knows how to undo a Rite that’s supposed to be permanent, it’s her.”

Kieran didn’t answer. Just squeezed my hand beneath the table. I squeezed back.

We stayed there, huddled in the warm glow of the cabin lights, as Silas started sketching out routes, contingency plans, and supply lists.

My world used to be quiet. A little cottage. A sleepy town.

Now I was flying across the world with two ancient sorcerers, planning a magical jailbreak from a curse no one had ever survived.

And weirdly?

It felt right.

Kieran leaned close, pressing his forehead to mine for just a second.

“We’ll figure it out,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “Just wish I knew how much time we had to do it.”

Silas looked up from the notebook, his tone unusually serious. “Then let’s not waste any of it.”

And for once, all three of us agreed.