“I’m going to plant things I won’t see bloom,” she said. “I’m going to sign a lease. I’m going to put pictures on walls and learn my neighbors’ names and just... stay.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It’s what I’ve always wanted.” She met his gaze, letting him see everything—the fear she’d hidden, the loneliness she’d pretended away, the desperate hope she’d never let herself acknowledge. “I just forgot how to admit it.”
He kissed her. Soft and sweet, nothing like the fierce claiming or the triumphant kiss in the aftermath of battle. Tender. Present. Just two people who’d found each other against impossible odds, choosing to stay.
When they came up for air, the sun was fully risen, streaming through the cracked dome of the pavilion, turning everything to gold.
“We should probably go,” Lunaria observed without moving.
“Probably.”
Neither of them did.
FORTY-ONE
LUNARIA
One week after the Convergence, the gardens were blooming again.
Lunaria stood in the heart of the Celestial Pavilion, morning light streaming through the repaired dome—new glass panels fitted seamlessly beside the original cracked ones, a patchwork of old and new that somehow made the space more beautiful than before. The orrery turned beneath her feet in its slow celestial dance, tracking the heavens with peaceful precision.
No longer a weapon. Just a garden feature now. Beautiful and mysterious and utterly hers to tend.
The restoration work had gone faster than expected. The battle damage had been surprisingly minimal—or maybe not surprisingly, given how fiercely the community had defended their home. A few trampled beds, some scorched earth where void creatures had been destroyed, the section of fence Cal had accidentally demolished when he’d gotten too enthusiastic with a roar.
Cal had offered to rebuild the fence himself. Dahlia had pointed out that bears weren’t known for their carpentry skills.The argument had lasted three hours and ended with the bears doing construction anyway, just to prove a point.
The void roses had turned crimson again, deep red petals unfurling in the morning sun. The warning bells hung silent, their work done. The fate lilies glowed soft gold whenever anyone passed, as if approving of the futures they now saw stretching out before them.
Lunaria touched the orrery’s central mechanism, feeling the thrum of celestial energy beneath her fingertips. Deia’s ring still circled her finger—she’d tried to return it to Georgia, but the panther elder had shaken her head.
“She wanted the next celestial witch to have it. That’s you now.”
The next. As if there would be more. As if Lunaria would be here long enough to see them come.
She would. That was still a strange thought, after so many years of leaving.
Footsteps on the pavilion stone. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was—the chaos magic signature was unmistakable, all swirling energy and barely contained mayhem.
“Found you.” Junie dropped onto the bench beside the orrery. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Hux said you’d be here, but I checked the cottage first anyway because I thought maybe you two would still be?—”
“We’re not always—” Lunaria felt heat climb her cheeks. “He had paperwork. A week’s worth of mayoral duties that got neglected during the whole void-entity-invasion thing.”
“Uh-huh.” Junie’s grin was insufferable. “That’s why he’s been smiling like an idiot every time anyone mentions your name. Because of paperwork.”
Lunaria couldn’t help her own smile. “Maybe a little because of me.”
“A little. Right.” Junie leaned back, studying her. “So. You’re staying.”
Not a question. But Lunaria answered anyway.
“I’m staying.”
“Like, actually staying? Not ‘staying until next season’ or ‘staying until the next crisis’ but genuinely, permanently, putting-down-roots staying?”
“I signed a lease on the cottage.” The words still felt strange in her mouth, heavy with permanence she’d avoided her entire adult life. “Five years. With an option to buy.”
