Page 226 of Prophecy Gone Wrong

"That was a prophetic relic of cosmic significance."

"And those aremy tongs."

I pressed my hand flat against the window glass for a moment, watching them. Watching all of it. Horrace had given up on the butterfly and was now gently herding the pup awayfrom the grill and its heated argument, a task he'd taken on without being asked, because that was just who he was. Rook watched amused.

The Oracle's mark on my forehead had faded almost entirely over the years, just a faint silvery line now, visible only in certain light. The blue prophecy markings had quieted too, settling into something soft and steady rather than the flaring, reactive chaos of the early days. They were part of me now the way freckles were part of some people, present without demanding attention. I still had no magic of course. I liked it that way.

I turned slightly sideways and looked down.

I'd known for three weeks. I'd been carrying it quietly, until the perfect moment.

I rubbed my thumb across the fabric, slow and wondering.

Outside, the pup finally succeeded in stealing Zane's tongs. The resulting chaos pulled all three of them into the yard. Milo fell out of his lawn chair laughing. Fenric's tablet slipped from his hand into the grass. Zane threw his head back, his laughter carrying across the yard and through the window glass, and the afternoon light caught the silver in his hair in a way that made my chest ache with something that had no name excepthome.

I pressed my palm flat against my stomach.

Hello,I thought.

Horrace, from across the yard, went very still.

All twelve eyes turned to the window. Found me.

His colors shifted, slow and certain, into the particular gold he reserved for things he considered sacred.

"I know," I told him quietly, through the glass, though he couldn't possibly hear me.

He trilled once, soft as a secret.

Above us, the ordinary sky stretched out in every direction, full of nothing more dramatic than clouds and birds and the late-turning leaves of autumn. No tears in reality. No shimmer at the edges of things. No sense of held breath.

Just an afternoon in a yard where four men I loved were arguing about tongs and losing a game of chase to a puppy.

I tilted my face up toward the kitchen ceiling, toward the sky beyond it, toward whatever was listening.

Thank you,I thought.For all of it. Even the ferret.

My knee ached with the turning season, same as always. Damn thing.

I smiled.