Shower. Coffee. Review the day’s agenda while standing at the kitchen counter in a house too large for one person, surrounded by family photographs of Holts who had all found mates, raised families, died with legacies intact.
Control. Routine. The scaffolding that held his life in place.
The walk to Town Hall took him through the heart of Haven Shores, past the coffee shop where Theo and Avine were sharing a table by the window. Avine laughed at something her mate said, head tilted back, radiant with the kind of joy that came from belonging to someone completely. Theo’s hand found hers across the table with the casual intimacy of a man who knew where his heart belonged and never had to question it.
Hux looked away. Kept walking.
Leo and Junie were in the park, their argument audible from half a block away. An argument about whose turn it was to cook dinner, delivered in the affectionate sniping of two people who would die for each other and found joy in pretending otherwise. Junie jabbed a finger at Leo’s chest; Leo caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm mid-sentence, derailing her entirely.
Leo caught Hux’s eye as he passed and grinned, raising a hand in greeting. Junie waved too, then immediately returned to telling her mate why he was wrong about the risotto.
Five mated pairs in Haven Shores now. Five couples who had found what the mating surge promised—that certainty of finally being complete.
Had never once felt anything close to it himself.
Three months ago, he’d lit one of Narla’s candles. Alone, in his office, after everyone else had gone home. He’d held it in hands that had never trembled before, had focused on the flame, had waited for the magic to show him?—
Nothing.
Empty darkness. No face. No future. Just the void he’d felt his entire life, confirmed in flickering light.
He pushed the memory down. Locked it away with all the other things he didn’t let himself feel during daylight hours.
He was good at that.
Town Hall wasa converted sea captain’s mansion from the 1880s, all grand staircases and crown molding and windows that let in too much light for comfortable brooding. Hux’s office occupied what had once been the master bedroom, with a clear view of Main Street and, if you knew where to look, a distant glimpse of the Celestial Gardens’ overgrown gates.
Portraits of previous mayors lined the walls—every Holt who’d held the position staring down with expressions of competent severity. His grandfather. His great-uncle. A line of capable men who had served Haven Shores without complaint and died with their duty fulfilled.
None of them looked happy.
He settled behind his desk—mahogany, inherited from three mayors back—and pulled up the day’s schedule on his tablet.
9:00 AM: Official welcome ceremony for Lunaria Reed, celestial botanist.
The new hire. Junie’s cousin. The witch they’d spent three years trying to find, the only applicant with celestial magic strong enough to potentially restore the gardens.
Hux pulled out the welcome packet he’d prepared—talking points, historical documentation, a detailed overview of the gardens’ former glory. Fourteen forms requiring signature, each one necessary for liability purposes, property access, municipal employment standards.
Straightforward. Professional. Nothing complicated.
His phone buzzed. A text from Leo:Junie says her cousin arrived last night. Fair warning—she’s ‘a handful.’ Direct quote. Also, she apparently already went to the gardens at midnight like some kind of witch vampire hybrid.
Hux typed back: “Noted. I’ll have the forms ready.”
Leo’s response was a string of laughing emojis. Hux chose to ignore what that implied.
At 8:45, he straightened his tie—charcoal gray today, conservative—and gathered his materials. The welcome was scheduled to take place in the small garden courtyard behind Town Hall, where they’d set up a podium and refreshments. Nothing elaborate. A handshake, some photographs for the community newsletter, the formal transfer of keys and documentation.
By 9:15, Hux was standing at the podium alone.
By 9:20, his jaw had begun to ache from clenching.
She was late. Twenty minutes late to her own welcome ceremony, which he had personally organized, which several community members had taken time out of their schedules to attend. Mrs. Patterson was checking her watch pointedly. Old Mr. Cho had already helped himself to two cups of punch. Wyatt stood near the gate with Narla, the panther’s expression suggesting he found this entire situation deeply amusing.
“Sorry, sorry!” The voice came from the courtyard gate, accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps on flagstone. “I got distracted. There was this moss, and I needed to see if it was—anyway, doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
Hux turned, prepared speech already forming on his lips.
