THE RING felt both weightless and impossibly heavy on Mailah’s finger.
She couldn’t stop looking at it—the way the blue gem caught the fading sunlight, the way the silver band settled against her skin like it had always belonged there.
Every small movent of her hand sent tiny refractions of light dancing across the walls of the sunroom, creating patterns that seed almost magical.
Which was fitting, given the circumstances.
"You’re staring at it," Grayson observed, his voice warm with amusent.
"You’re noticing staring at it," Mailah countered, finally tearing her gaze away from the ring to look at him. "Which ans you’ve been watching stare at it."
"Guilty," he admitted, pulling her closer until she was tucked against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. "Though I’m allowed. I spent weeks trying to find the right one."
Mailah’s head snapped up. "Weeks? You’ve been planning this for three weeks?"
"Longer, actually," Grayson said, looking slightly sheepish. "But the ring took weeks to make. I wanted sothing that would..." He paused, searching for words. "Sothing that would feel like you. Strong but delicate. Beautiful but practical. Unique."
Her heart did complicated acrobatics in her chest. "You designed this for ?"
"Well, I had help," he admitted. "Dr. Morrison knows a jeweler who works with enchanted stones. The gem is actually a fragnt of crystallized starlight—it’s supposed to provide protection against manipulation."
Mailah stared at the ring with new appreciation. "You got an engagent ring that doubles as armor?"
"I got you an engagent ring that reflects both worlds we live in," Grayson corrected. "Beautiful enough for any human occasion, powerful enough to keep you safe in mine."
"That’s..." Mailah felt tears prickling at her eyes again. "That’s possibly the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for ."
"Don’t cry," Grayson said, though his voice was rough with emotion. "You’ll ruin the mont I’ve been rehearsing for weeks."
"You rehearsed?" Mailah laughed through her tears. "What, in front of a mirror?"
He hesitated, gaze flicking away. "Theoretically."
The ntal image of Grayson practicing proposals made Mailah laugh outright. "I would have paid good money to see that."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the afternoon light shift and change through the windows. Outside, the estate grounds were peaceful, the gardens perfectly maintained, the walls secure. It was easy to forget, in monts like this, that danger lurked beyond those walls in the form of pain-feeding demons and supernatural politics.
The peace in the sunroom felt almost unnatural—like the world had paused just long enough for them to breathe. But peace, Mailah knew by now, rarely lasted long in her world now.
Grayson’s arm was still around her, heavy and reassuring, but his gaze had turned distant. That faraway, calculating look—the one that said his mind had shifted sowhere dangerous. Sowhere that didn’t belong in a sunroom full of flowers and fading light.
She tilted her head to look up at him. "You’re thinking too hard again."
He blinked and gave a small, guilty smile. "Caught."
"What is it this ti? Conspiracies? Another ’mysterious disturbance’?" she teased, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with her fingertip.
His eyes softened, but there was a flicker of sothing—unease, maybe—behind them. "Sothing like that."
"Grayson," she said gently, "don’t go cold on now. You just proposed."
His gaze snapped back to her, the tension easing as a reluctant smile curved his lips. "Ah yes, my shining mont of vulnerability. I should enjoy my humiliation while it lasts."
"You an my shining mont of saying yes to a man who thinks vulnerability is a weakness."
He huffed a laugh. "A temporary weakness."
Mailah rolled her eyes and nestled closer. "I’m beginning to think Mrs. Baker was right—you do need more sunlight."
"I was in the sunroom," he said flatly.
"Mm, yes," she murmured against his shoulder, "but you were brooding in it. That doesn’t count."
By the ti they left the sunroom, the sky outside had turned the color of peach tea—soft, glowing, and impossibly calm. Mailah clutched his hand, the ring catching the light with every step.
"You’re thinking about sothing again," he said as they walked down the hallway toward the main foyer.
"I am," she admitted, squeezing his fingers. "Sothing normal."
"That word still sounds like an insult."
Mailah smiled up at him, the corner of her lips lifting. "Then it’s perfect for today."
He glanced down suspiciously. "Perfect for what?"
"You’ll see."
********************************************************************
Mailah stood by the stairs, already dressed, her hair caught up in a loose knot, a scarf looped around her neck.
"Are you sure she’ll be all right alone?" Mailah asked, glancing toward the hall that led to Elin’s room.
Grayson nodded. "Elin has survived under worse circumstances than an empty house," he said lightly, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his tone.
Mailah crossed her arms. "I’m not leaving her here without protection. You said Varrow’s creatures can find cracks in wards. What if—"
Grayson raised a hand. "I anticipated this."
He took out his phone and dialed a number without looking at the screen. His expression remained neutral when the call connected.
A smooth, velvet voice answered, low enough that even Mailah felt it hum through the space.
"You still know how to summon , I see," said the man on the other end.
Grayson’s lips curved faintly. "You still know how to answer when I do."
A few minutes later, the front doors opened soundlessly.
The man who entered did not look like soone summoned. He looked like soone who belonged to the night itself — tall, sleek, and unhurried, with an elegance that carried a dangerous undertone.
His coat was long and black, trimd with faint tallic threads that caught the light when he moved. His hair was dark with a faint blue sheen, and his eyes were a shade of storm-grey that seed to shift when he blinked.
Mailah’s first thought was that the supernatural world must have a factory sowhere that produced these infuriatingly perfect people.
"This is him?" she whispered to Grayson.
"Lucien Vale," Grayson confird. "Old acquaintance. He deals in shadow wards and protection."
Lucien inclined his head slightly, a courtly gesture that sohow didn’t feel archaic on him. "And you must be Mailah," he said, his voice smooth as wine. "The mortal Grayson can’t seem to stop talking about."
Mailah blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, he talks about ?"
Grayson shot him a warning look. "Do not start."
Lucien smiled lazily, the kind of smile that could get a lesser soul in trouble. "I start nothing. I simply observe."
He walked past them, his movents fluid, and pressed a gloved hand to one of the marble pillars. Dark filigree markings appeared beneath his palm — symbols that pulsed faintly before vanishing into the stone. The air shifted, cooler now, heavier with warded strength.
"There," Lucien murmured. "The estate will repel anything with Varrow’s scent. Even the shadows will think twice before crossing that threshold."
Mailah tilted her head, watching him. "How do you do that?"
Lucien’s lips curved. "Old habits. Old power." His eyes lingered on her for a fraction too long, as though he were reading her rather than looking. "And perhaps a bit of artistry."
"Enough," Grayson cut in smoothly. "You have your task. Keep her safe."
Lucien turned his gaze back to Grayson — two predators asuring the other. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled again, softer this ti. "You’ve changed, old friend. She’s good for you."
Grayson’s reply was quiet, sharp. "Guard the estate, Lucien."
Mailah tried not to grin as she followed Grayson out. "He’s charming," she said once they were outside.
"He’s infuriating," Grayson muttered. "And dangerous."
"Which, I suspect, is your polite way of saying you like him."
He didn’t answer, which ant she was right.
The city was awake when they reached it — light slanting through glass windows, cars rolling past, and the faint scent of roasted beans drifting through the air. The café she chose was small and warm, the kind of place with crooked tables and a constant hum of life.
Grayson hesitated at the doorway. "This is... crowded."
"That’s called atmosphere," Mailah said, smiling. "Co on, it’s cozy."
He followed her in, though he looked distinctly out of place among the chatter and clinking cups. His coat was too immaculate, his posture too regal. Yet when he sat across from her, the space around them seed to rearrange itself — quieter, more intimate, like the café itself knew who it was hosting.
Mailah stirred her coffee. "You know, I think this is one of the most human thing you’ve ever done."
He raised an eyebrow. "Sit in a noisy room and drink overpriced beans?"
"Exactly."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "And why, precisely, is that considered charming?"
"Because it makes you real." She smiled. "For a mont, you’re not the lord of shadows. You’re just... you."
Sothing softened in his expression — fleeting, but there. "You assu there’s a version of beneath all that."
"I don’t assu," she said quietly. "I know."
He didn’t answer, but the way he looked at her — slow, deliberate, and hungry — made her pulse skip.
Their coffees arrived, steam curling between them. Mailah wrapped her hands around her cup, more for grounding than warmth.
Grayson reached over, his fingers brushing hers as he adjusted the cup’s handle. The touch was small, accidental — but the contact sparked like static. His thumb lingered just long enough for her breath to catch.
"You’re cold," he murmured.
"I’m fine."
"You’re lying," he said softly, his voice dropping. "Your pulse always stutters when you lie."
She tried to laugh, but it ca out breathy. "You’ve been watching my pulse?"
"Always."
The noise of the café faded. It was still there — clinking spoons, laughter, the hiss of the espresso machine — but it no longer felt relevant. The only thing that mattered was the space between them, and how it kept shrinking.
"Grayson..." she began, but he reached out again — this ti not for her cup, but for her.
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