Finn

  The first thing I noticed was the smell.

  Warm, rich, and unmistakably real food—none of Jonas’ usual questionable snacks, none of the stale leftovers I half-expected in this place. Something savory, something fresh. My stomach clenched in response, a sharp reminder that I hadn’t eaten since—hell, I didn’t even know when.

  The second thing I noticed was how much better I felt.

  The ache in my skull had dulled, the exhaustion that had dragged me under finally loosened its grip. I still felt wrung out, but at least the room wasn’t tilting when I sat up. Small mercies.

  I ran a hand over my face, inhaling slowly before pushing myself to my feet. My body protested, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. A few deep breaths, a stretch, and I was steady enough to make my way toward the kitchen.

  And that’s when I noticed the third thing.

  Laughter.

  It was soft, but real. A sound I hadn’t expected in this house, not after the last twenty-four hours. Not after what Isla had been through.

  Curious, I followed it, stepping into the kitchen doorway. Jonas and Isla were standing at the stove. Jonas was talking—rambling, more like, hands moving animatedly as he flipped something in a pan. Isla stood beside him, a wooden spoon in her hand, stirring something in a pot, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

  It wasn’t that they looked like good friends. I wasn’t sure if they ever would be. But there was an easiness there now, a truce of sorts. The sharp, defensive edge that had clung to Isla earlier was softer, her posture more relaxed. And Jonas—Jonas, who had spent years resenting the mere concept of her—was cooking with her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  That was significant.

  I leaned against the doorway, taking it in. Jonas had always been quick, too clever for his own good, but there were things he never spoke about. Things I only knew because I’d seen glimpses in visions I wasn’t meant to have.

  Athena meddling had put Jonas into this situation. He hated it. And yet, here he was. A deliberate choice.I felt something settle inside me, something I hadn’t even realized had been uneasy.

  Then, as if sensing me, Isla turned. Her eyes met mine, and something shifted in her expression—relief, warmth, something lighter than anything I’d seen from her before.

  She was glad to see me. The thought sent a strange, unexpected heat through my chest.

  “You’re awake,” she said, her voice softer than I expected. Her snakes swayed toward me, like one undulating mass.

  Jonas didn’t look over, but I saw the smirk creep onto his face as he stirred whatever was in the pan. “Yeah, Sleeping Beauty finally decided to join the land of the living. About time.”

  I ignored him, my attention still on Isla. It took everything in me to not move to her and reach out, letting her snakes twine around my arm. To not murmur kind words to them. Being a stranger to her and them is truly a form of torture.

  Something was different though.

  I wasn’t sure what it was exactly—something in the way she carried herself, the way she looked at me, the way the ever-present tension in her shoulders wasn’t quite as sharp.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, studying me carefully.

  I exhaled a quiet laugh. “Pretty sure I should be the one asking you that since you’ve been stuck with this yahoo on your own.” I motion at Jonas.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Her lips pressed together, but there was something amused in her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  And the thing was…I believed her. That was new.

  Jonas finally turned, tossing me a plate with something that looked edible. “Eat. You look like death.”

  I caught it one-handed, raising a brow. “You cooked?”

  Jonas huffed. “Excuse you. We cooked.” He nudged Isla’s arm. “Well, I cooked. She assisted.”

  Isla rolled her eyes. “I did more than assist.”

  “Fine,” Jonas conceded. “She was my very talented and slightly terrifying sous-chef. Better?”

  I shook my head, suppressing a smile as I pushed off the doorway and stepped further into the kitchen. “Not sure what’s more shocking—me waking up, or the two of you not actively trying to kill each other.”

  Isla snorted, but there was no real bite to it. “It’s been a long day.”

  Jonas shot me a look, something quiet and knowing in his gaze. “Yeah. It has.”

  I met his eyes, understanding what he wasn’t saying. This was a turning point. Not just for Isla, but for Jonas, too. And maybe, just maybe, for all of us.

  ***

  The house was quiet.

  Jonas had disappeared somewhere—probably pretending not to eavesdrop—but for the first time since arriving, I didn’t feel like I had to be on edge. The air wasn’t heavy with exhaustion or fear or the weight of what we were running from. Dinner was delicious. The conversation surprisingly flowed easily.

  But there was something here, right now. Something else lingering in the silence. Isla sat across from me at the worn kitchen table, her fingers absently tracing the rim of a ceramic mug. The tea inside had gone untouched. Mine had too.

  For a long time, neither of us spoke. I wanted to break the silence, but feared that anything I brought up would be too much.

  “Fated bonds,” Isla said, like she was testing the words on her tongue. “They’re real, aren’t they?”

  Well, looks like she went for deep as well. I lifted a brow. “You tell me.”

  She frowned, her grip tightening slightly on the mug. “I don’t know what I believe.”

  I exhaled, stretching out my legs. “They’re real.”

  Her gaze flicked to mine, searching. “Not just some legend?”

  I shook my head. “No legend. No fairy tale.” I hesitated, then added, “No accident.”

  Her fingers twitched. She knew. Of course, she knew. She wasn’t stupid. But knowing and accepting were two very different things. She looked down at the table, voice quieter. “What does it actually mean?”

  I tilted my head, watching her. “It means two people are bound together by something bigger than either of them. A pull that doesn’t break, a power that amplifies. Stronger together than apart.” I paused, then smirked slightly. “Romantic, isn’t it?”

  She stiffened a little. “Not funny.”

  I shrugged. “A little funny.”

  She shot me a glare, but didn’t argue. Instead, she exhaled sharply and said, “But it’s… rare, right?”

  I didn’t answer right away. Because rare or not, there was no avoiding the truth.

  She was already bracing for it.

  I let the quiet stretch for a beat longer before saying, “Yeah.”

  A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then, as if forcing casualness, she said, “Well, I guess it makes sense. The magic world is full of weird nonsense. Of course there are people who get magically tethered together for no good reason.”

  I hummed, noncommittal. Letting her pretend.

  She lifted the mug, took a sip of her tea. Then, too casually, she said, “I mean, it’s not like they actually have to be together, right? Just because something says they should?”

  I studied her, waiting.

  She didn’t look at me. She knew what she was doing—setting up an argument against something that didn’t care whether she agreed with it or not.

  I’d gone through this argument in my head countless times over the years, over centuries. Sometimes, I couldn’t stand the idea of being controlled by some otherworldly source, choosing my future. I understood where she was coming from.

  I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “It’s not a requirement,” I said slowly. “But it is inevitable.”

  Her fingers clenched around the mug.

  That word. Inevitable. I needed to stop using it. It doesn’t sound like a good thing. Maybe Jonas could help me figure out a prettier word for it.

  And now she was realizing—maybe for the first time—that this wasn’t just some vague, impersonal truth about magic.

  This was us.

  She swallowed. Then, carefully, “And if someone fights it?”

  I tilted my head. “You tell me.”

  Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came. She had been fighting it. Fighting the pull, the connection, the thing that hummed beneath our skin when we were close. She had felt it since the beginning—since before the beginning. She knew now that she could keep fighting, keep pretending, keep running…but it wouldn’t change anything. Finally, she set her mug down, eyes flicking up to meet mine. Her voice was quieter when she said, “That’s annoying.”

  I let out a short laugh. “Only because you hate being told what to do.”

  Her scowl deepened. “You hate it too.”

  I grinned. “Yeah. But the difference is, I’ve already accepted it.” Mostly. Usually.

  Her breath hitched. Just a little. She stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going to bed.”

  I didn’t stop her. Didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, smirking slightly as I watched her go. “Sweet dreams, elding.”

  She flipped me off over her shoulder.

  And inexplicably, I heard Jonas laugh. That little eavesdropper.