The crowd at the Oakhaven festival parted around us like water around a stone.
A wolf and a witch, dancing in the middle of a truce celebration that felt less like a party and more like a ceasefire. But I didn't care about the eyes. I didn't care about the whispers.
I only cared about the crack in the stone.
The Null Stone at my throat was still warm from Guilermo’s touch. The tiny fissure he had created was leaking magic. my magic. It wasn't a flood, just a trickle, but it was enough. Enough to feel the rough fabric of his shirt under my fingers. Enough to smell the pine and woodsmoke clinging to his skin. Enough to feel alive.
"You're smiling," Guilermo noted, his hand firm on my back as he led me through a slow, turning step.
"I'm breathing," I corrected. "There's a difference."
"
