Isla

  I slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame and leaned against it, pulse hammering in my ears. The snakes were restless, shifting sharply along my shoulders and neck. Viper hissed, unease rippling through me; Poppy curled closer to my jaw, warm and uselessly soothing. This was bad. Really bad. He’d seen too much, knew too much, and oracle or not, no one had the right to waltz into my space and insert themselves into my life. But he had. And now he had my number—my real one—because apparently even my attempt at a fake couldn’t stick. In all the years since the curse, I’ve never had friends. I had a sick feeling that was going to change whether I liked it or not.

  Viper coiled tighter against my neck, judgment practically radiating off her scales. “I know,” I muttered, dropping my hands. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let him in.” Noodle, bold as ever, flicked her tongue toward my cheek like she was disagreeing with me. “Don’t start,” I snapped, pushing off the door. “You’re the one who keeps moving toward him like he’s some kind of snake whisperer.” She didn’t respond—obviously—but I could feel the smugness anyway.

  I paced the perimeter of the couch, thoughts churning. This wasn’t just bad; it was dangerous. Poseidon. Finn. The way he looked me in the eye without flinching. He wasn’t afraid of anything. I’ve met oracles before—some shifty, some genuine, like any other magical class—and I’m not exactly clear on the mechanics of visions, but after tonight? I was interested in spite of myself. “Nope,” I said aloud, fists clenching. “Not happening. He’s not my problem. None of this is my problem.” Except it was.

  The keychain glinted from the counter, a little slab of defiance under the kitchen light. I hesitated, then crossed to it. The Medusa head stared back at me, the words beneath unapologetic: Petrify the Patriarchy. A laugh punched out of me, sharp and unexpected. “Idiot,” I muttered, picking it up. The weight was solid, the engraving smooth under my thumb. It was stupid. It was childish. It was perfect. My mouth twitched despite myself, and I hated how much I loved it—because I did. I set it down carefully and folded my arms tight across my chest.

  He was too much. Too bold, too persistent, too… everything. And yes, fine. He was hot. Whatever. Tall, dark hair, sharp jaw, the hint of scruff, and those infuriating eyes like he could see straight through me. The way he handled Noodle like an old friend. My stomach twisted, half irritation, half something I refused to name.

  “This is fine,” I told the room. “Totally fine. I’ll ignore him and he’ll get bored.” The snakes did not agree. Their silence was a vote of no confidence. I sighed, dragged a hand through my hair, stared again at the keychain—mocking and comforting all at once. “That’s exactly what I don’t need,” I muttered. “A funny, hot stalker with a hero complex.”

  My phone buzzed. I froze, eyes snapping to the screen beside the keychain. No. It couldn’t be. I unlocked it anyway.

  Unknown Number: Just making sure this isn’t another wrong number.

  Me: Stop texting me.

  Unknown Number: Great! So it works.

  Me: I’m serious. Leave me alone.

  He didn’t text again for a while. Good. The silence let me pretend I didn’t need anyone swooping in to play hero, least of all an oracle with a perfect smile and a bad habit of invading my space. Noodle, however, kept flicking her tongue toward the door like she expected him to materialize out of the hallway.

  I forced myself into chores—cleaning the kitchen, triaging emails, reorganizing my bookshelf for the third time this month. I was halfway through pretending to care about a Netflix series when my phone buzzed again.

  Unknown Number: Do you like Thai or Italian?

  Me: I’m not eating with you.

  Unknown Number: You misunderstand.

  Me: No, I don’t. Do. Not. Bring. Me. Food.

  I tossed the phone on the couch and paced. He wouldn’t actually show up. He wasn’t that bold.

  Twenty minutes later, someone knocked.

  The snakes stirred as one. Viper hissed; Noodle’s curiosity buzzed bright at the base of my skull. “Absolutely not,” I said to the door. The knock came again, louder. I yanked it open with more force than necessary. Finn stood there with a paper bag and that maddening calm.

  “I told you not to bring me food,” I snapped.

  “I didn’t,” he said, voice steady.

  I eyed the bag. “What’s that, then?”

  “Food,” he said, lips twitching. “For the snakes.”

  I stared. “They don’t eat.”

  He shrugged and edged inside—close enough to set the bag on the counter, far enough to give me room. “They feed off your energy, yeah? Which means technically, if I bring you food, I’m feeding them.”

  The sheer audacity stole five seconds of language from me. “You can’t just show up whenever you feel like it.”

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  “Technically, I can, Obviously your wards don’t mind me.” he said, unpacking containers of steam and basil and garlic. My stomach betrayed me with a low, traitorous growl.

  I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Poppy nuzzled my jaw; irritation didn’t budge. Another thought jabbed me—how had he gotten past my wards again? He slid one container toward me. I’d need to contact my guy that handles my wards and make sure they are still secure.

  “I got Thai. Figured it was safe.”

  “I’m not eating with you,” I said, arms crossed.

  “That’s fine,” he replied, mildly. “But you should eat.”

  I hated him. I hated the way he ignored boundaries and made himself at home like the door was a suggestion. I hated how good the food smelled and how my hand moved toward it before I could stop it. The snakes settled as I took a bite—less tension in Viper’s coils, a little more warmth from Poppy. “Ridiculous,” I muttered around the fork.

  He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching—steady, not predatory, like he was taking a reading. “Feel better?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied, taking another bite. The quiet hum of the city threaded through the room. His eyes kept finding mine, unhurried and annoyingly patient. It got under my skin.

  “You’re not eating,” I said, not looking at him.

  “You said you didn’t want to eat with me,” he said, tone infuriatingly reasonable. “You’re eating, so I figured I’d wait.”

  I set my fork down with a sharper clink than necessary. “You’re being facetious.”

  “Thoughtful,” he corrected, mouth tipping almost—but not quite—into a smile.

  I scowled and shoved a second container at him. “You insisted I eat. I insist you do the same.”

  For a beat he just watched me, unreadable, then pushed off the counter and took it. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He ate like he was trying not to spook me. The snakes’ energy smoothed another degree. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

  We ate in silence, the room filling with the small domestic sounds I pretend I don’t miss—utensils, soft hisses, the kettle’s faint tick from cooling. It should’ve been awkward. It wasn’t. That unsettled me more than anything. I caught myself glancing at him too often. He met my looks easily, as if time wasn’t a resource for him at all.

  “What?” I snapped finally.

  “Nothing,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

  “You’re staring. It’s weird. You’re weird.”

  “Probably,” he agreed with a shrug. “You’re not used to having company, are you?”

  “I’m not used to you,” I shot back. “And I’m not sure I want to be.”

  “You’re going to get used to me,” he said, voice low and certain.

  The snakes rustled like static. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like a creep.”

  “I’m an oracle,” he said, leaning back. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “So I don’t get a choice?”

  “I’m not here to take choices from you.” He dragged a hand through his hair, eyes flicking over my face like he was calibrating the words. “Our futures are—” He cut himself off, steadied. “That’s not what this is about.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “Keeping you safe, no matter what you think of me.” His gaze softened without losing intensity. “And being tired of waiting.”

  The words hit like a thunderclap. “Tired of waiting for what?”

  He didn’t answer. Tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Expand on that,” I pushed. “Now.”

  “No,” he said simply. “Not yet.”

  The snakes shifted—not fear this time, but a prickle of recognition I didn’t want to interrogate. Thena’s faint hiss sounded more question than warning. I swallowed the retort rising in my throat and veered. “What are their names?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “My snakes,” I said, cool again. “You knew Thena’s name earlier. So—who are the others?”

  His jaw ticked; hesitation flickered and vanished. Gotcha. Noodle tilted toward him, tongue tasting the air like she wanted to hear it too.

  “Freya,” he said after a beat. “Viper—though you call her Vipes. Poppy.” He looked to the little albino curled near my jaw. “And Noodle, obviously.”

  I kept my face still, but the snakes shifted at the sound of their names. “Who else?”

  He exhaled, the composure slipping just enough to show the cost. “Basil. Blue. Willow. Enid. Opal—”

  “Okay.” I cut him off before he could list all eighteen that I currently had. They all had names. The number fluctuates; the lowest I’ve ever sat at was ten, but I’ve had over fifty at once at times. Lately I hover between fifteen and twenty. When I hit ten, it’s always the same ten—my mainstays. He’d just named them. My pulse thudded. “How do you know all of that?”

  “I told you,” he said, lips flattening. “Oracle.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one you’re getting.” For the first time since he crossed my threshold, he looked vulnerable.

  I paced, the snakes moving with me—Vipes humming a steady warning line under my skin while Noodle flicked happily toward him like she’d adopted an oracle. “Fine,” I said, turning back and leveling my gaze. “You’re an oracle. What does ‘protecting me’ mean? Standing outside my door all night? Dropping cryptic doom and bailing?”

  “Any future where I don’t stay tonight ends badly,” he said, voice going far away for a breath. The look in his eyes made my stomach dip—like he was watching something break. He blinked it away and pasted on an easy smile that fooled exactly no one.

  The snakes stirred again, unease buzzing at the edges of my thoughts. Viper coiled tight; even Freya lifted her head. I turned to the counter and drew a slow breath. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Then don’t call it babysitting,” he said. “Call it a friend hanging out.”

  “A…friend,” I repeated, flat. “We’re not friends.”

  “Speak for yourself,” he said, maddeningly calm. “Maybe all this quality time will make friends of us yet.”

  I wanted to throw him out. I wanted peace, quiet, a night without the threat pressing against my skin. But he wasn’t wrong. And if Poseidon is close, more help isn’t the worst thing I could accept. The snakes shifted again; Poppy pressed warm beneath my jaw; Viper’s tension ticked like a metronome. I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I’d wake with more snakes. It always happens when the danger is more than a shadow.

  “Fine,” I said at last. “You can stay. One night.”

  He straightened almost imperceptibly. “I’ll take the couch.”

  “No,” I said. “You’ll take the door. If you’re staying, you’re staying because I don’t feel like waking up with twenty new snakes and a Lake Michigan-sized migraine. You’re here for my safety, not your comfort. Don’t get ideas about playing house.”

  His mouth twitched like he was swallowing a smile. “Noted.”

  “Good,” I said, turning away before he could say anything else infuriating. “I need a minute. And don’t touch anything.”