“I’m ready.”
“Are you? Because you’ve been staring out that window for twenty minutes.”
Marina turned from the glass. “I’m terrified. I’m also ready. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Bea studied her, then nodded. “Good. Terrified means you’re taking this seriously. Ready means you’re going to do it anyway.” She pulled Marina into a brief, fierce hug. “Don’t die. I’d be very annoyed if you died.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Dante appeared in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically serious. “It’s time.”
Marina reached inward, feeling for her pelt. Still at the lighthouse, still waiting. She closed her eyes and let the connection guide her, memorizing the path she’d need to take.
“Be careful,” she told them. “Both of you.”
“Careful is boring,” Bea said. “See you on the other side.”
They left, and Marina was alone with her fear.
Twenty minutes. Then the distraction would start. Then she would run.
The silence of Bea’s apartment pressed in around her. Marina paced, unable to sit still. Her skin felt too tight, her blood too hot. The selkie in her was restless, calling for the sea, for transformation, for the wild freedom of her other form.
But her pelt was at the lighthouse. Malachar had it. And until she got it back, she was trapped in this human skin, incomplete.
She thought about her grandmother, about the woman who had taught her to bake, to swim, to love the sea and the magic in her blood. Grandma Pearl had been five foot two with hands like leather and a laugh that carried three blocks. She’d sung Marina lullabies in the old selkie language and taught her recipes that were really spells.
Marina could still remember the last time she’d seen her grandmother alive. They’d been standing in the bakery kitchen, rolling out dough for morning scones, and Grandma Pearl had looked at her with those knowing sea-glass eyes. “You’re stronger than you think,” she’d said. “When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
Marina hadn’t understood then. She understood now.
And Malachar had killed her. Made it look natural. A suggestion to a doctor here. A misfiled prescription there. Old age made convenient.
Marina hadn’t known then. But she knew now. And the knowledge burned.
Through the bond, Alessandro reached for her.I’m here. Whatever happens, I’m here.
She reached back.I know.
It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was connection. And right now, connection was everything.
ALESSANDRO
The distraction was beautiful and terrible.
Alessandro stood in the town square with Estelle, their combined magic weaving an illusion so powerful it seemed to crack the air. Dragon fire and kitsune glamour, twisted together into something that looked exactly like a curse-breaking ritual.
He could feel the power flowing through him: not his usual controlled flame, but something wilder. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t trying to control the magic. He was letting it flow, trusting Estelle to shape it.
The illusion rose above the square: a column of golden light that pulsed with apparent ritual significance. Estelle’s kitsune magic wove complex patterns through his fire, creating the impression of something ancient and powerful. To anyone watching, it would look exactly like a curse-breaking ceremony.
Marina’s emotions pressed against the edges of his awareness: fear, determination, and a fierce refusal to be helpless anymore.
I love you, he thought, but held the words back. Not yet. That deserved to be spoken.
Malachar appeared within minutes.
The demon materialized at the edge of the square, his human mask slightly askew, eyes blazing with fury. “What do you think you’re doing?”
