“You two look about five minutes from collapsing. Give us the short version, then go home. We’ll follow up later when you’re upright and capable of sentences.”
Goldie and Splice nodded, weary gratitude flickering between them.
A police cruiserferried them back to Greymarket, its interior humming with quiet runes and the faint smell of stale coffee. Neither of them spoke. Shell shock sat between them like a third passenger, heavy and unyielding.
When the car rolled to a stop at the front steps, McCutchen gave them a brief, weary nod from the driver’s seat. “Get some rest,” he said, voice rough with sincerity. “We’ll follow up tomorrow.”
Goldie managed a thin, grateful smile. Splice only inclined his head, the motion small and stiff, and they stepped out into the cool night air.
Greymarket Towers rose before them, tall and still. When they stepped inside, the lobby greeted them like a hushed chapel. The usual creaks and whispers of the old building had softened to a low, sleepy hum. A lamp flickered overhead, then steadied, glowing warm and constant, as if reassuring them and welcoming them home.
Goldie drew in a breath, shaky but grounding. Splice didn’t speak, but the brush of his fingers against hers said enough.
From the far hall, Mr. Caracas shuffled into view in his robe and slippers, balancing a tray with a microwaved Salisbury steak and a sweating glass of milk. He gave them a genial nod, entirely unbothered by the fact that it was the middle of the night or the gravity weighing on their shoulders.
“Go see your god, plant-boy. You too, Sparkles.” He grunted and shrugged. “Don’t panic, he’s all right. Just going back to sleep. Place feels back to normal again.”
The ancient tortoise cryptid squinted at them both, something like pride flickering briefly behind his wrinkled eyes. “You did good,” he said simply.
Then, as if nothing world-altering had happened, he disappeared down the hallway, humming the theme toMurder, She Wrote.
Goldie blinked after Mr. Caracas, his humming fading. For a heartbeat, the heaviness in her chest eased. Then the weight of his words settled.
Just going back to sleep.
“If he’s settling,” Goldie whispered, her voice barely steady, “then… what does that mean now?”
For us?The thought rose sharp and unwelcome. If Mycor slept… would Splice fade too?
She didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, she reached for his hand and squeezed hard, as if she could anchor him to the floor.
“I don’t know,” he said, swallowing hard.
Don’t go. Stay with me.The words burned on her tongue, but she couldn’t speak them.
Goldie nodded once, decisive despite the tremor in her chest. “Then let’s go find out.”
Hand in hand, they crossed the quiet lobby and slipped into the atrium.
The air changed the moment they stepped inside. The raw, heavy grief that had once clung to the space was gone, washedclean. What lingered now was a deep, restorative quiet that settled into Goldie’s bones like a balm.
At the koi pond, Mycor sat waiting. Not a shadow of a god unraveling, not the hollow-eyed husk she’d braced herself for. He looked up as they entered, and when his smile broke across his face, Goldie’s heart leapt.
He looked good. Better than good. The light filtering through the ivy-covered ceiling glowed a gentle, healing green, dappling the bark of his skin. The blossoms woven through his antlered crown, once withered and brown, now unfurled fresh petals, tender and newly pink.
Goldie’s breath caught. Her feet carried her forward, and then she was in his arms, throwing herself against him with the kind of reckless relief she couldn’t hold back.
The god caught her easily, folding her close and smiling down at her. One hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against the curl of her jaw. “Beautiful one. Golden flower,” he murmured, voice low and resonant. “I thank you for what you have done.”
The words sank into her, warm and weighty. For all the mythic grandeur wrapped around him, the look in his eyes was filled with gratitude, affection, and love.
Goldie let out a shaky laugh, the corners of her mouth curving despite the ache in her chest. “Well. It was a pleasure, big guy.”
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth, soft and lingering. His lips tasted faintly of rain and sap, cool at first, but warming as he returned the touch. Her pulse fluttered in response, a spark of the heat they’d shared shimmering through the quiet.
When she drew back, she brushed her thumb along his jaw, smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re adorable when you get all grateful. Might make a habit of it.”
Mycor’s eyes gleamed, amused and fond, and he bent to kiss her again, this time slower, savoring. The blossoms threading through his antlers trembled as though stirred by the same current running through her veins.
