Kinship.
“I’ll have a preliminary restoration report on your desk by the end of the week.” She stood, tucking her pen back behind her ear. The sunflower had given up the ghost at some point during the signing, drooping sadly against her hair. “Try not to faint from excitement.”
“I’ll brace myself.”
Another almost-laugh. “See you around, Mayor Clipboard.”
She turned and walked toward the gate.
The restof the day passed in a blur of meetings and paperwork that Hux couldn’t quite focus on. His mind kept drifting back to her dirt-marked skin. To the way she’d looked at him when she asked if it had to be him—knowing the answer and finding it unexpectedly interesting.
Mayor Clipboard. He should have been offended. He was offended. He was also, despite every logical reason against it, fighting the urge to smile.
Get a grip.
By evening, the office had emptied. His assistant had left an hour ago, and the building had settled into the particular quiet of after-hours—creaking floors, humming electricity, the distant sound of the harbor.
Hux sat at his desk, paperwork completed, schedule reviewed, everything in its proper place. The portrait of his grandfather stared down from the wall, stern and competent, the quintessential Holt mayor.
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
The candle sat where he’d left it three months ago, half-burned, wick blackened from that single use. Narla’s craftsmanship was evident in the elegant shape, the subtle shimmer in the wax that spoke of the magic woven into its making. Half-burned. Unanswered.
His phone rang. The screen showed his father’s name.
“Dad.” He closed the drawer, pushed back from his desk. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight.”
“I heard the new botanist arrived.” Isandro Holt’s voice was careful, measured. The tone he used when discussing family matters, when navigating the invisible minefields of Holt history. “The Reed girl.”
“She’s... unconventional.” That was one word for it. Several others came to mind, most of them unprintable and several of them uncomfortably close to complimentary.
“She’s a celestial witch.” A pause, heavy with a feeling Hux couldn’t identify. “A powerful one, from what I understand.”
“Junie vouches for her. Says she’s one of the strongest in their family.”
“The gardens.” His father’s voice shifted, tightening around the edges. “They’ve been dormant since Deia passed. If this Reed woman has the power to wake them...”
“That’s what we’re hoping for. The restoration could be significant for the town.”
“Be careful, son.” The words came out rougher than Isandro probably intended. “Those gardens hold old memories. Some things are better left buried.”
Hux frowned. His father sat on the Elder Council and had been involved in Haven Shores governance for decades. He knew the gardens’ history as well as anyone. But an edge in his voice suggested more than historical concern.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” Too quick. Too defensive. “Just... keep an eye on the situation. Report anything unusual.”
“Unusual how?”
Silence stretched across the line. When Isandro spoke again, his voice had the careful neutrality of a man choosing each word with surgical precision. “The gardens were more than just decorative, Hux. They served purposes that most people have forgotten. If Ms. Reed is as powerful as her cousin claims, she might uncover things that... complicate matters.”
“What kind of things?”
“Old things. Council matters.” His father’s breath came heavy through the phone, the words physically difficult to produce. “I can’t—just be careful. Please.”
The line went dead.
Hux stared at his phone, the unease that had been prickling at him all day crystallizing into genuine alarm. His father was many things—formal, distant, burdened by a family legacy that had shaped every Holt for generations—but he wasn’t the type for cryptic warnings.
