“For what it’s worth,” Cal’s voice crackled through the tablet speakers, “I didn’t believe in any of this fate stuff until Dahlia literally fell into my arms during a panic attack. Sometimes the universe has a weird sense of timing.”
“The universe and I aren’t on speaking terms.”
“Then maybe it’s time to start the conversation.” Theo’s quiet authority cut through the noise. “You’ve spent your whole life managing everyone else’s problems, Hux. Maybe it’s time to let someone manage you for a change.”
The words burrowed somewhere beneath his ribs. Uncomfortable. True.
Lunaria Reed. The way she hadn’t blinked at his carefully constructed presence—just bulldozed right through it.
She wasn’t afraid of what she’d find underneath. That’s what made her dangerous.
His lion made a sound of pure want.
Inappropriate. Completely inappropriate.
“I need another beer,” Hux said.
Beck slid one across the table without comment.
The gathering wound down over the next hour. Delos provided a dramatic recreation of his window escape that had even Aero’s lips twitching. Cal signed off when Dahlia’s training session started, grumbling about French bakers and their ungodly hours. Beck started closing up, turning chairs onto tables with the practiced efficiency of someone who’d grown up in this place.
Hux was gathering his jacket when Aero materialized beside him. For a dragon, the ancient storm creature moved with unsettling silence.
“A word.”
It wasn’t a question.
Hux followed Aero to a quiet corner near the emergency exit. The dragon’s dark gaze was unreadable, his face carved from the same ancient stone as the cliffs that overlooked Haven Shores.
“The celestial witch.” Aero’s voice dropped low enough that not even wolf ears would catch it. “Her magic is old. Older than most witches practice now.”
Hux’s spine stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Celestial magic draws power from the stars themselves. From the movements of heavenly bodies, the alignment of cosmic forces. It’s not unlike dragon magic in that respect—ancient, vast, connected to things beyond mortal understanding.” Aero’s gaze was steady. “If she’s restoring those gardens...”
“What?”
“Something used Haven Shores once before.” The dragon’s voice dropped further, a low rumble barely audible. “I was present during the last Convergence—120 years ago. I watched the ley lines spike in a pattern I had never seen in eightcenturies. Every celestial current through this location flared simultaneously, then went dark for three days.”
The hair on Hux’s arms stood up. He remembered his father’s warning. The way Isandro’s face had gone blank when he’d mentioned the celestial witch.
Some things are better left buried.
“What caused it?”
“I could not determine it then.” Aero’s ancient gaze was steady. “But I know what the pattern indicates. Something was feeding through the ley line network—not on magic, not on life force. On potential. On futures that had not yet formed. I have seen void entities before. This felt different. Deliberate. Anchored to something in this town rather than passing through it.” He paused. “The gardens went silent the same week. I always believed that was connected.”
“The gardens were built as a warning system,” Hux said slowly.
“Among other things.” Aero met his gaze. “I came to Haven Shores specifically because of that Convergence. I have been watching this location for over a century, waiting for the pattern to repeat.”
Ice formed in Hux’s gut.
“You think it’s repeating.”
“I think danger has been waiting.” Aero straightened, the moment of confidence apparently over. “Be cautious, Hux. With the gardens. With the witch. With whatever doors she’s about to open.”
He walked away before Hux could respond, leaving the mayor standing alone in the quiet corner of the brewery.
