Page 50 of Impawssible Magic

Aslan. Of course, it’s Aslan.

He’s leaning against the wall next to Whisperwind Charms, arms crossed. The mist curls around his feet like a living thing. He looks like he’s been there for hours. He looks like he hasn’t slept.

Something in my chest turns over at the sight. This man—this intense, guarded, impossibly stubborn man—spent his night standing in the cold waiting for me. Not because I asked. Not because he had to. But because he couldn’t stand not knowing I was safe.

“You didn’t bring a guard.” His voice is worn thin. Not angry—just tired.

“I had three witches and a lot of wine.” I stop a few feet away. “Sorry. I forgot to text.”

“I know.” Something eases in his expression—a loosening around his eyes, a fraction of held tension gone. “I could tell you were... somewhere safe. That was enough to keep me from breaking down Anouk’s door.”

I blink. “You could tell?”

“Not thoughts. Not specifics. Just... awareness. That you were okay.”

I should be unsettled. Someone knowing where I am without my permission.

Instead, I feel... safe. Which is terrifying in its own way.

“Anouk told me about Dorothea.”

He goes very still. The amber of his eyes catches the streetlight, reflecting it back like a cat’s.

“What did she tell you?”

“That you loved her. That you lost her. That you nearly died trying to save her.” I take a breath. “That you’ve been wearing armor ever since.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny. Just watches me, waiting.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel inadequate. “For your loss. And for—” I gesture vaguely at the space between us, at whatever this is. “For being another complication you didn’t ask for.”

Something shifts in his expression. The armor cracks, just a little.

“You’re not a complication.” His voice is low. “You’re...”

He doesn’t finish. Maybe he doesn’t have the words. Maybe he doesn’t trust them yet.

“Come inside.” I move toward my door. “It’s cold. And there might be leftover pancakes.”

He follows me in. The shop is dark, quiet, crystals humming their greeting as we pass.

Nosy rocks.

At the foot of the stairs, I turn back. He’s standing in the middle of my shop, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Thank you.” I mean it. “For waiting. For worrying. For being here even though I forgot to text.”

“Where else would I be?”

The question is simple. The answer isn’t.

I climb the stairs without another word. At the landing I pause, listening to him settle on the couch below. The familiar shift of weight, the small sounds of a person making themselves at home in a space that was never meant for them.

It occurs to me that I’ve stopped wishing he wasn’t there.

I fall asleep to the sound of him breathing. Twelve feet below me. Close enough to hear. Close enough to feel.

For the first time in years, I sleep without nightmares.