Mal pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to trade you to a lesser demon for a pair of socks.”
“No you won’t. Nix is adorable.”
“Nix is a menace.”
“Menace and adorable.” The imp shrugs. “Both can be true.”
I look at Mal—flustered, frustrated, and somehow more human than I’ve ever seen him. Then I look at Nix, who has apparently decided that hiding behind my legs makes me his new protector. Then I look at my studio, visible through the office window, where chaos still lingers in the form of overturned chairs and scattered props.
“I have questions,” I say finally.
Mal’s shoulders tense. “I imagined you would.”
“A lot of questions. About Nix. About you. About whatever else you’re clearly not telling me.”
“Isadora—”
“But.” I hold up a hand, stopping him. “I also have a class to reschedule, parents to reassure, and a business reputation to salvage. So the questions will have to wait.”
Relief flickers across his face, quickly hidden. “How long will they wait?”
“That depends.” I meet his eyes, letting him see that I mean it. “On whether you plan to actually answer them.”
A long pause. Nix shifts nervously, his skin cycling through colors like a small, worried mood ring.
“I’ll answer what I can,” Mal says finally. “Some things I’m... not free to discuss.”
“Not free?”
“Bound.” His hand touches the bracelet again. “It’s complicated.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
We stare at each other across the small office. The afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust motes and turning them to gold. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn honks, a reminder that the normal world continues outside this strange bubble we’ve created.
“Tonight,” I decide. “After the studio closes. You’ll stay, and we’ll talk.”
“And if you don’t like what I tell you?”
“Then we’ll figure out what happens next.”
It’s not a promise. It’s not a threat. It’s just the truth—messy and uncertain and entirely unlike the controlled life I’ve worked so hard to build.
Mal nods slowly. “Tonight, then.”
“Tonight.”
Nix tugs at my practice skirt, drawing my attention downward.
“Does this mean Nix can stay?” His eyes are huge and hopeful. “Nix promises to be good. Mostly good. Good-adjacent.”
I look at the imp and look at Mal, and I feel the foundations of my carefully ordered world shifting beneath my feet.
What are you doing? my mother’s voice demands. This is exactly the kind of chaos that destroys everything.
But for once, I don’t listen.
