Elisabeth has already gone to rest.

  I stay a while longer, staring at the ceiling of the room. The high ceilings feel even higher now.

  This isn’t the time for that.

  I get up abruptly, feeling the lingering effects of the alcohol. I leave the room anyway. I head toward his office, but when I arrive, it’s empty.

  I turn back toward my room.

  All that’s left is to sleep—and hope the courage is still there tomorrow.

  When I open the bedroom door, that’s when I hear it.

  “Elena?”

  Lorcan is standing behind me. He looks like he just stepped out of the shower. He’s wearing a T-shirt, his hair still wet. I can feel the floor tilt slightly.

  “Have you been drinking?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I manage. “I was with your mother. Talking.”

  “Of course.” He exhales faintly. “I’d recognize that chardonnay anywhere.”

  A short laugh slips out of me.

  “It helped,” I say. “Thinking.”

  Lorcan lifts his glass of whisky—empty except for the ice—and gives it a small shake.

  “Trust me. .”

  Silence crashes back into place.

  “Were you looking for me?” he asks.

  I swallow. Nod. I clench my fists slightly and avoid looking at him.

  Lorcan sighs—and smiles faintly.

  “Get some rest,” he says. “We’ll talk more calmly tomorrow.”

  I nod.

  He turns to leave.

  And then—

  “Lorcan.”

  He stops. He doesn’t turn around right away.

  “I want to ask you something.”

  Now he turns. Really looks at me. Alert. Focused. Like he’s bracing for bad news.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Are you free tomorrow?”

  Lorcan raises an eyebrow. This clearly isn’t what he expected.

  “For now,” he says.

  “Good,” I say. “I want… a date.”

  “A date?”

  “Yes. The full , if you will.”

  He blinks.

  Several times.

  He looks genuinely confused. Shrugs slightly.

  “Elena, you’ve already lived the ‘Kestrel experience.’ Three times.”

  “No,” I say. “I lived emergencies.”

  He frowns slightly.

  “I almost died. Too many exorcisms. Melted ice cream. Threats of memory erasure,” I list. “Those weren’t dates. At best, they were damage control. I know you can do better.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He goes quiet.

  I take a step closer. I don’t touch him—but I can almost feel his breathing.

  “I want a real date,” I add. “One that doesn’t start with ‘don't block the view.’ One that doesn’t end with suffocation—or erased memories.”

  Something changes in his expression.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer honestly. “But I want to do it anyway.”

  The silence stretches for another second.

  “I want to know if this life can have one normal day,” I add.

  Lorcan exhales. Smiles.

  “Alright,” he says. “A date. No Council. No protocols. But I can’t promise no demons.”

  My lips curve despite myself.

  “So… that’s a yes?”

  “That’s a concession,” he corrects. “Don’t get used to it.”

  “Never,” I lie.

  He nods once.

  “Tomorrow,” he says. “Now get some rest.”

  He turns and walks down the hallway.

  I close the door slowly and lean my back against it, letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  I said I was going to rest.

  Judging by the way my heart is racing, I don’t think I’ll sleep.

  It feels like I crossed another Threshold.

  And I’m still not ready.

  I wake up to the smell of warm bread.

  And coffee.

  I blink a few times, still trapped in that ambiguous zone where the body is awake but the mind keeps replaying conversations it never said out loud.

  My heart isn’t pounding like last night—but it isn’t calm either.

  Still in pajamas, I head downstairs, following the scent like an invisible thread.

  The Kestrel kitchen is… alive.

  There’s food for far too many people on the table. Different kinds of bread, fruit cut with surgical precision, eggs, something that looks like homemade pastries, and a pitcher of juice I don’t recognize.

  Elisabeth is standing there, immaculate, moving through the kitchen almost as if she’s floating.

  “Good morning,” she says without looking at me. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I think so…”

  “Good. Sit.”

  I obey.

  She pours me coffee. Black. Strong.

  “I have a feeling you’ll need energy today,” she adds.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s optimism.”

  I’m certain she knows what’s happening.

  We eat in silence for a few seconds. Elisabeth watches me without making it obvious—like she’s evaluating something I don’t quite understand yet.

  “Tell me,” she says at last. “Do you have clothes for today?”

  I swallow.

  “Yes… well. More or less.”

  “That usually means ‘no.’”

  “I left some things at my apartment,” I admit. “Nothing serious. Just… what I’d wear on a normal date.”

  Elisabeth stands and pours herself a glass of wine, as if the hour doesn’t matter.

  “Do you need help?” she asks, smiling.

  I blink.

  “To go get my clothes?”

  “Or if you’d like to choose something from the dressing room. There might be something in your size.”

  There probably is. The pajamas I’m wearing—ones Elisabeth lent me—fit surprisingly well.

  “I wouldn’t mind looking,” I say, shyly.

  She leads me down a side hallway I hadn’t seen before. It ends in a dressing room.

  It’s enormous.

  Clothes, shoes, accessories—everything organized by function and color.

  “Choose whatever you like,” she says. “Or choose nothing. That’s also an option.”

  I freeze.

  “Is this part of the ‘Kestrel experience’?”

  “This,” she says, “is the Elisabeth experience.”

  We both laugh.

  There are dozens of elegant outfits, casual ones, shoes of every kind, accessories that look simple until you get closer.

  They’re all beautiful.

  But they’re not mine.

  “I really appreciate it, Mrs. Elisabeth,” I say. “Your clothes are beautiful. But I’d like to go get my own.”

  She smiles. Clearly pleased with the answer.

  “Excellent,” she says. “Let’s go get them.”

  Traveling with Elisabeth is very different from traveling with Lorcan.

  Lorcan’s car is a restrained beast, always on the edge of reminding you what it can do.

  Elisabeth’s car is agile. Confident. It doesn’t need to hide—or prove anything.

  Still, it’s impossible not to notice where Lorcan got his love for speed.

  “By the way,” I ask, “where’s Lorcan? He didn’t come down for breakfast?”

  Elisabeth smiles as she takes a corner faster than she probably should. Thankfully, the car handles it perfectly.

  “He’s been staring at his wardrobe since he woke up.”

  I can’t help laughing at the mental image.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. He looked concerned.”

  “That’s… normal?”

  “For someone who’s never been on a date,” she says, “yes.”

  We arrive at my apartment. Elisabeth doesn’t get out.

  “I don’t want to ruin your moment,” she says. “I’ll wait here.”

  I nod.

  Inside my apartment, I take longer than necessary in front of the mirror.

  I choose carefully.

  Nothing flashy.

  Something that feels like me.

  Jeans. Blouse. Jacket. Light makeup. Practical hair. Bag.

  I can’t help glancing at the couch—and remembering my brother’s words from yesterday.

  “No,” I think. “Not now.”

  A few minutes later, I return to the car. Elisabeth looks at me with renewed attention.

  “You look beautiful,” she says.

  Before starting the engine, she pulls something from her pocket and hands it to me.

  It’s a simple necklace. A dark, polished stone on a discreet silver chain.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  She gestures for me to turn around. I expose my neck as she fastens it.

  “Consider it a small witch’s favor,” she says lightly.

  “Mrs. Elisabeth—”

  “It’s not an amulet,” she says before I can ask. “No protection. No promises. Nothing like that. It’s just a reminder.”

  She finishes fastening it.

  “It’s always your choice,” she says. “Even when you need a little push.”

  The obsidian is cold against my skin.

  Heavy.

  Real.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Elisabeth nods, satisfied, and puts her glasses back on.

  “Alright,” she says, starting the engine. “Let’s see if my son is ready for what he promised.”