“I would never.”
“And—”
Leo kissed her.
It was different from last night. Less desperate, less driven by fear and adrenaline. This kiss was slow. Deliberate. A seal on a promise, an acknowledgment of everything they’d said.
Junie melted into it, her hands finding his shoulders, careful of his healing wounds. His fingers threaded through her hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss until she couldn’t remember why she’d ever been afraid of this.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Leo’s eyes were dark with want. The kind of want that made her stomach flip and her skin flush.
“I should probably let you rest.” She managed. “You were attacked by three jackals less than twelve hours ago.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re still healing.”
“Shifter metabolism.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “I could run a marathon right now.”
“That seems like an exaggeration.”
“Maybe.” He kissed her again, softer this time. “But I’m not tired.”
They didn’t leavethe room for hours.
Not because of anything scandalous—they were both too raw, too newly exposed, for that. But they stayed in bed, talking. The kind of conversation that started with breakfast ordered throughAvine and stretched through lunch and into late afternoon, covering ground neither of them had shared with anyone.
Leo told her the rest—things he’d only ever carried alone. She listened without flinching.
Junie told him about her grandmother. The afternoon lessons at the brewing station, learning to stir counterclockwise for calming potions and clockwise for energy. The way Rosalind’s magic had felt—steady and infinitely patient, like being wrapped in a blanket made of safety. The scent of herbs that still made her throat tight with longing. The last morning, when Junie had kissed her grandmother’s papery cheek and gone to school, not knowing she’d never see her again.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Her voice came out small. “She died while I was in math class, learning long division. And then my mother fell apart, and six months later she was gone too, and I was living with my aunt and pretending I was fine.”
They talked about fear. About the walls they’d both built and the different shapes those walls had taken. About the specific terror of wanting and losing.
“I think that’s the worst part,” Junie admitted, her head resting on his shoulder. “Not the losing itself. The anticipation. Knowing it’s possible. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“It’s exhausting.” Leo’s fingers traced patterns on her arm. “I’ve spent decades waiting for everything to fall apart again. Preparing for the worst. Never letting myself hope for anything good, because hope meant vulnerability.”
“And now?”
“Now—” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Now I’m choosing to hope anyway. Choosing to want even though I might lose it. Because the alternative—never wanting anything—was starting to feel like I’d already lost.”
Glimmer had fallen asleep at the foot of the bed, scales a contented gold. Outside the window, the afternoon light was fading toward evening.
“We should probably eat,” Junie said. “I think the last thing I had was one of Dahlia’s truth pastries, and that was over twenty-four hours ago.”
“Avine will have questions.”
“Avine will have opinions. And probably champagne. She’s been waiting for this since you arrived.”
“She knew?”
“Everyone knew.” Junie laughed softly. “The only people who didn’t know were us. And we were in denial.”
Leo’s arm tightened around her. “I’m sorry it took me so long. To stop fighting. To choose.”
“I’m sorry I spent weeks convincing myself you were an arrogant ass.”
