“The stone has interesting taste,” I observe.
“The stone has been reading my Spotify history,” Rianne admits. “I may have used the library computer for personal purposes.”
“Scandalous.”
“I’m a rebel.”
We sit there, her hand still in mine. She’s warm—human temperature, human fragility. Tonight that might change. If we succeed, if she chooses, the bond will alter both of us in ways we can’t predict.
“Six hours,” she says softly. “Six hours until we try again.”
“Are you ready?”
“No. But I’m willing. That has to count for something.”
“It counts for everything.”
Keith clears what might be his throat. “KEITH HAS STARTED THE COUNTDOWN PRESENTATION!”
“Already?” Rianne checks the clock. “It’s only six.”
“Keith believes in thorough preparation! Slide one: The Importance of Punctuality in Magical Ceremonies!”
We have six hours until midnight. Six hours for Rianne to choose joy over fear. Six hours to practice what we already know—the breathing, the rhythm, the mechanics.
But more importantly, six hours for her to decide if she’s ready to truly be seen. And six hours for me to accept that I want her to choose me, not just the bond.
Keith interrupts: “Keith suggests a brief practice session! Breathing Exercises for Magical Synchronization!”
Rianne laughs. “Seventeen slides on breathing?”
“Keith is thorough!”
She squeezes my hand once, then stands, pulling me up with her. “Okay. Let’s practice. Let’s do this right.”
And for the first time since this began, I believe we might actually succeed.
RIANNE
Four hours until midnight, and my cat is teaching shadow creatures to play poker.
Mister Poofypants the Third pushes chips across the table with one massive paw, his eyes glowing steady green. He’s definitely twenty pounds now. When Carl shows his hand—a pair of threes—Poof reveals a straight flush and Carl sighs.
“Carl’s cryptocurrency cannot handle this level of defeat.”
“You have cryptocurrency?” I ask.
“Carl is modern! Carl also lost it all to a cat.”
“Poof,” I say carefully, watching him collect his winnings. “When did you get so... big?”
The cat looks at me with glowing green eyes. He’s definitely doubled in size since Tuesday.
“Your cat is also adapting,” Stenrik observes.
“To what? Shadow cat? Corporate cat?”
Mister Poofypants the Third meows. It sounds suspiciously like he’s saying “middle management.”
