Page 81 of Impawssible Magic

But we’re each other’s mess now.

And somehow, that makes everything okay.

“We should check on Shadow.” The thought surfaces through the warm haze of contentment. “He’s still at Anouk’s.”

Aslan’s arms tighten around me briefly, then release. “You’re right. And Caius will want a formal debrief about the Preservers. There’s cleanup to do. Interrogations to run.”

“The conspiracy probably didn’t just give up because we captured one group.”

“No.” His voice goes serious. “This was a victory, but it wasn’t the end. The Preservers are bigger than Iskra and her people. The Severing that she mentioned—there’s history there. Records. Things we need to understand.”

“Cheerful morning pillow talk.”

“I could go back to telling you how I heard every time you called me murder cat.”

“Conspiracy theories it is.” I sit up, letting the sheet fall around my waist. His eyes track the movement. Darken. “Hey. Focus.”

“I am focused.”

“On breakfast. And responsibilities. And not whatever that look on your face suggests.”

“That look suggests several things.” He reaches for me, pulls me back down, pins me beneath him with casual ease. “All of which we could explore before breakfast.”

“The world is burning.”

“The world burns whether we worry about it or not.” He kisses my throat. My collarbone. The claiming mark that pulses at his touch. “It can burn for another hour.”

I should argue. Should insist on duty and responsibility and all the adult things that come with being part of a town under magical siege.

Instead, I pull him closer.

The world can wait.

Two hours later—after breakfast and another shower and the discovery that Aslan’s kitchen counter is exactly the right height for certain activities—we finally leave the cabin.

The walk back to town is quiet. Comfortable. His hand finds mine without either of us deciding it should.

The morning air is cool and sharp with pine, the path damp underfoot where the mist has thinned overnight. Pixies scatter from the path ahead of us, trailing sparkles. A brownie waves from someone’s garden—actually waves, which means the gossip has definitely spread. Great. The entire magical population of Mistvale probably knows we spent the night together.

Probably knows we did more than just sleep.

I think of Grandmother Peach saying the mist was particular about us, and find I believe it. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe it’s just choosing someone and meaning it.

Either way, I’m not running anymore.

The claiming mark throbs gently against my shoulder. His presence pulses steady in my awareness—direction, distance, the unwavering certainty of where he is.

But underneath that, underneath the magic and the claiming and the ancient mysteries, there’s a simpler truth.

I love him.

He loves me.

And for the first time in two years, I believe that might be enough.

“You’re smiling.” His voice breaks through my thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

“That I’m glad you lurked outside my shop.”