Colson

The Door That Wasn’t Supposed to Open

Colson POV

I knew the rules.

The watch buzzed against my body—sharp, insistent—and I knew exactly what it was telling me.

Return to the room.

That was the agreement. The safety net. The line Amaris herself had drawn so I wouldn’t get lost in time like an i***t with good intentions and no exit strategy.

But this buzz wasn’t a reminder.

It was a warning.

I pulled the watch free and stared at it as the glass shimmered, numbers sliding out of alignment like they were arguing with reality.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I hear you.”

The sensible choice—the correct choice—was to turn around, trigger the portal, and refocus on the book. Save the future first. Feelings later.

I had never been very good at correct.

I looked back at the house.

At the warm light in the window.

At her.

Amaris moved inside, crossing the room with unhurried grace, completely unaware—or pretending to be—that fate itself was pacing outside her door with a ticking problem.

“If this goes badly,” I whispered to the watch, “this one’s on you too.”

The buzzing intensified, like it had strong opinions about my life choices.

I approached the house anyway.

I didn’t knock.

I didn’t need to.

The door opened.

No wards flared. No magic snapped at my throat. No carefully laid trap tried to peel my soul out through my teeth. The door simply opened, and Amaris stood there barefoot on the threshold, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes sharp and far too calm.

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.

Seeing her like this—free, unbroken, unscarred by the choices she would one day make—hit harder than any blade ever had. The future wasn’t burning yet. The world wasn’t ash and ruin. It would be, if Ezra got his way—but right now?

Right now, she was alive. Untaken. Standing in lamplight like destiny hadn’t decided to be cruel yet.

“Well,” I said automatically, because silence felt dangerous, “either I’m finally hallucinating or your security system is refreshingly casual.”

She didn’t smile.

But she didn’t slam the door either.

That alone gave me hope.

“You’re early,” she said, voice even.

“Story of my life,” I replied. “I tend to arrive places before I’m emotionally prepared.”

Her gaze swept over me—blood on my coat, injuries I hadn’t bothered hiding, the unmistakable aura of a vampire who’d had a very long day.

Then she stepped aside.

“Come in.”

That was… not what I expected.

I hesitated long enough to scan for illusions, subtle wards, anything that suggested this version of her was playing me.

Nothing.

Either she trusted me—or she was very confident she could end me.

Both were comforting in their own way.

I stepped inside.

The house smelled like herbs, old books, and quiet intent. No flashy displays of power. No screaming wards. Just layers of subtle magic woven so naturally into the space they felt like part of the walls.

Classic Amaris.

I turned slowly, taking it in, then looked back at her.

“You know who I am,” I said, deciding to rip the bandage off before I lost my nerve.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely. “Ezra’s errand boy.”

The words landed like a dull punch to the ribs.

Ah.

There went that fragile little bubble of hope.

I winced. “Wow. Straight for the jugular. I was hoping for ‘mysterious stranger’ or at least ‘handsome nuisance.’”

Her expression didn’t soften.

“You work for monsters,” she said flatly. “That’s not a great first impression.”

Fair.

I nodded once. “Yeah. I deserve that.”

Silence stretched between us—measured, assessing.

Then her eyes flicked—not to my face, not to my hands—but to my pocket.

To the watch.

Her entire posture shifted.

Subtle. Dangerous.

Her magic brushed against it, testing the edges, and her face went pale.

“I used forbidden magic,” she whispered.

Not to me.

To herself.

Loud enough that I heard it anyway.

My chest tightened.

The watch buzzed harder, frantic now.

“It’s warning you,” she said, eyes narrowing as she followed the movement beneath the glass. “It’s not just a recall—it’s a safeguard. And it’s… agitated.”

“Yeah,” I said dryly. “I don’t typically follow rules. Future you probably knew that.”

She sighed.

The same sigh she would give centuries later when I tested her patience and her faith simultaneously.

That familiarity nearly broke me.

“Give it to me,” she said, holding out her hand.

Not a request.

A demand.

I hesitated.

One—witches scare the hell out of me when they’re annoyed.

Two—I needed her trust more than I needed control.

I placed the watch in her palm.

She closed her fingers around it and murmured something under her breath—old words, sharp-edged and precise. Her magic flared once, controlled and brilliant.

The buzzing stopped.

Dead quiet.

“f**k,” I said. “What did you do?”

She exhaled slowly. “Bought you a little more time.”

She handed it back.

Our fingers brushed.

Just barely.

It was enough.

Warmth surged through me—sudden, vivid, spreading through my chest like I’d stepped into sunlight after years underground. It took an alarming amount of control not to grab her, pull her close, and forget the entire universe existed beyond the space between us.

For one vivid, entirely unhelpful second, my brain supplied a very specific image involving the table, gravity, and terrible decisions.

I swallowed hard.

Get it together.

Inside, I laughed at myself.

Maybe I really am just as horny as the damn furballs.

Amaris watched my reaction closely.

Interesting.

“You felt that,” she said quietly.

I forced a grin. “I feel a lot of things. Occupational hazard.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Don’t lie to me.”

I sobered. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Another silence settled—different now. Charged. Curious.

“You’re not here because the future is already destroyed,” she said slowly. “You’re here because it will be.”

“Yes.”

“And you think changing something now will stop it.”

“I’m hoping,” I replied, “to be aggressively correct.”

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded once.

“I know of the book,” she said. “Not where it is—but what it is.”

My pulse jumped. “You do?”

“I know what it costs,” she corrected. “And why it was hidden.”

I leaned forward slightly. “Then I need your help.”

Her expression didn’t waver.

“You understand,” she said, “that helping you now may make me a target sooner.”

“I do.”

“And you’d still ask.”

“Yes.”

She considered that, eyes distant, weighing futures only she could glimpse.

Finally, Amaris straightened.

“It seems,” she said, “that destiny is being particularly rude today.”

She met my gaze, something fierce and luminous igniting behind her eyes.

“If you’re going to stop Ezra,” she continued, “you’ll need more than luck and bad jokes.”

“Hey,” I said lightly, “the bad jokes are non-negotiable.”

One corner of her mouth twitched.

“Sit,” she said. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it properly.”

Hope flared in my chest—dangerous, bright, alive.

I sat.

The watch stayed quiet.

For now.

And for the first time since stepping back into the past, I wasn’t just reacting.

I was planning.

With her.

Whatever came next—the book, Ezra, the future itself—we weren’t facing it alone.

And that changed everything.