Chapter 7
762 Words
Chapter Seven
Sage
I left the office with my head high and my shoulders loose, but the second the elevator doors closed, I exhaled hard through my nose.
Kade was still under my skin. Not in the way that pissed me off. In the way that stuck. Like a warning. Like a challenge.
I didn’t know which was worse.
As I stepped out into the night air, my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket—smooth black glass edged with faint glowing runes, like most in the city. Everyone had one. Crystal-core powered, magic-capable, borderline sentient on a bad day. Mine didn’t talk back, which is why I hadn’t smashed it yet.
Nate: Dinner or death? Choose wisely.
I smirked, thumbs tapping back. Depends. What’s for dinner?
Nate: Grilled chicken, roasted everything, two bottles of wine, and me, shirtless. Your favorite.
Nate: Also: flowers. I’m in a mood.
I slid onto my bike, keyed the glyph lock, and sped off into the glow of Wraithbourne’s ever-humming streets.
The city was alive with magic, both old and wired into its bones. Traffic blurred past in streaks of enchanted metal and elemental engines. Billboards shimmered with glamour-charm ads. Streetlamps flickered with rune-light. The air tasted like smoke and lightning.
By the time I pulled up to Nate’s high-rise, I could already hear music drifting from the balcony—smooth, low-beat, something jazzy and spell-tempered.
I didn’t knock. Never needed to.
The door swung open with a soft chime, and there he was—barefoot, robe half-tied, curls wild, eyes glowing faintly with magic and mischief. A trail of blooming flowers drifted behind him like they were pulled into orbit.
“There she is,” he said, pulling me into a hug that smelled like sage, lemon balm, and Nate. “You look like you haven’t punched anyone in at least five hours, and that’s deeply concerning.”
“I didn’t need to. My words did all the damage.”
He grinned. “Ah, verbal evisceration. My second favourite kind of violence.”
He stepped back and flicked his fingers through the air. A spray of white wisteria bloomed instantly behind my ear, delicate and perfect.
“Much better,” he said. “You were giving government agent, now you’re giving dark forest queen who hexes misogynists for breakfast. Iconic.”
I dropped my bag, kicked off my boots, and collapsed on the couch.
He handed me a wine glass already half full. “Tell me everything. Start from the top. Don’t you dare skip the part where you made a grown woman cry.”
“She earned it.”
“Obviously. But I need the full quote.”
I gave him the highlights. The mission. The blood magic. The cheater with the fake lashes and fake loyalty. His laughter echoed through the apartment more than once.
“And your boss?” he asked, refilling both our glasses. “Kade, right?”
My stomach tightened slightly. “What about him?”
Nate raised an eyebrow, curls bouncing. “Oh, you know. Just wondering if he’s hot or, like, emotionally repressed with a tragic past and a jawline that could cut glass.”
I sipped. “He’s… complicated.”
“Complicated like paperwork or complicated like you’d risk it all to kiss him in an elevator?”
I glared at him. He wiggled his brows and handed me a roasted carrot. “You’re deflecting.”
“He’s my team lead.”
“Not an answer.”
“I don’t have time for that kind of mess.”
“But you’d make time if it crawled into your bed, shirtless, growling commands.”
I choked on wine. “Nate.”
He cackled and threw a pillow at me. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. But I am putting it on the record: if you don’t climb him, I will.”
“He’s not your type.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t have a type. I have a standard, and it’s called beautiful and broken.”
I laughed, the tension from the day finally bleeding out of me.
This was why I came here.
Not because he made food. Not because he decorated his flat like a sun-kissed greenhouse.
But because Nate never asked me to be softer than I was. He never asked me to shrink, or lie, or explain the way my power sat under my skin like wildfire waiting to be called. He just handed me a drink, made things bloom, and reminded me I wasn’t alone.
Even on days like this.
Especially on days like this.
- Writer
