Epilogue #2
On my walk home, I find myself passing city hall.
It stands tall today, empty and dignified in the morning sun.
I’d gone back once more after everything unfolded.
No longer for answers or contracts, but out of habit.
Closure, even. Old rituals are hard to break, and after a lifetime of returning to that counter, I needed to know what it felt like to walk away.
My final visit hadn’t been a dramatic showdown.
Instead, three ordinary civil servants sat quietly behind the desk and handed me a folder containing a note penned in Constance’s elegant handwriting:
Hayden,
We have woven together countless threads, each one part of the greater tapestry.
Yours has always been among the strongest and most resilient.
But even the most unyielding thread must one day pass from our hands.
From this moment, the loom rests, and the weaving of your path belongs entirely to you.
Trust yourself to carry it forward. And remember: Threads have a curious way of crossing again, when the time is right.
With affection, always,
Constance, Lorraine, and Agnes
It had felt like a gentle farewell. A kind release from centuries of tension. The Immortal Retirement Act, the loophole I’d searched for endlessly…now behind me. Relief had mingled with a strange ache. Like finally setting down a heavy burden my body had grown used to carrying.
As I turn away from city hall, my phone buzzes.
I know before looking exactly who it is, and when I answer, Zane’s face appears.
His wide, golden-retriever grin framed by the most outrageous ensemble: a purple velvet blazer covered in sequins, absurdly large neon sunglasses, and a party hat perched awkwardly on his head.
“Good lord,” I murmur, biting back a laugh. “Zane, what exactly am I looking at here?”
Zane beams, spreading his arms dramatically. “Well, hello to you too, brother! Today’s our annual ‘Mayoral Extravaganza.’ Obviously, I had to make a fashion statement.”
“And the sunglasses?”
“Essential for my authoritative aura,” he says solemnly, tipping the glasses slightly so I get a screenful of his baby blues. “Leadership demands a certain level of…style.”
“Clearly.”
Zane’s expression softens, his smile reaching his eyes. “On a serious note though, when are you and Levi coming to visit? You promised.”
“We did,” I concede. “And we will. Levi insists he needs to witness your absurd charm firsthand again.”
That causes Zane to laugh. “Ouch. I prefer unconventional charisma, but I’ll allow it because Levi understands quality humor. I knew I liked him better.”
“Most people do.”
Before Zane can respond, someone seemingly enters the room just out of frame, because his attention is turned elsewhere as a series of muffled updates are fired his way. The only words I catch are donkey and float. I immediately have questions but decide against asking.
“Ah, duty calls,” he says, flashing an apologetic grin as he adjusts his ridiculous sunglasses again. “But I’m holding you to that visit. I promise to embarrass you both publicly when you’re on my turf.”
“I’m counting on it,” I reply, feeling an unexpected warmth fill my chest as the call ends.
I continue toward home with one last glance at city hall, reflecting on everything that brought me here.
Levi was right all along, it turns out. There’s beauty in the messy uncertainty of mortal life.
And now, finally stepping into that uncertainty, embracing these connections and the joy they bring, I realize I wouldn’t trade this life for anything in the world.
· · ·
Sunday dinners at my apartment began quietly.
A small tradition that sprouted from nowhere in particular but quickly grew roots, weaving its way into our lives as something irreplaceable. Now, my home is regularly filled with warmth, laughter, and far more people than I’d have ever imagined.
Tonight, Dominic and Elijah lounge casually on the couch, affectionally bickering over some trivial disagreement from earlier in the week.
Nearby, Tripp leans comfortably against the wall, tossing playful commentary into their conversation, like throwing gasoline on a growing fire.
Meanwhile, Naomi sits cross-legged on the floor, deep in conversation with Irene from across the room.
Even Seby seems to have embraced this new social routine, stretched luxuriously across Dominic’s lap, soaking up attention in a manner that’s dangerously inflating his already oversized feline ego.
I shake my head slightly, making a mental note to remind him later that he was once a proud introvert like me.
But the gentle contentment in his eyes makes it clear he won’t care.
Porter and Zane even drop by sporadically.
Never predictable, but always welcome. Porter arrives carrying the faint scent of salt water, settling comfortably into his usual spot, long legs stretched out, a playful gleam beneath his reserved exterior as if he’s cataloging details of everyone’s antics to tease them with later.
Zane, as always, fills every inch of space with animated storytelling of his latest mayoral escapades, complete with dramatic gestures, infectious laughter, and occasional apologies whenever an enthusiastic zap accidentally shocks an unsuspecting guest’s shoulder.
Even Levi’s parents make an appearance more often than we might have expected.
In fact, they’ve thoughtfully scheduled one of their birding excursions around our Sunday dinner, bringing dessert, binoculars, and an endless curiosity that warms the atmosphere in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Seeing them all here, so comfortably settled in my space, stirs a quiet acknowledgment that Levi’s world and mine have intertwined seamlessly.
My shadows, while mostly kept at bay by this newfound sense of ease, still flit restlessly in the corners, protective yet curious.
Occasionally, I notice Elijah’s eyes flicker in their general direction, eyebrows pinched with puzzlement, as if he’s glimpsed something he can’t quite place.
Someday, Levi and I might need to share certain truths with our friends, but tonight isn’t for revelations.
I watch Levi move across the room, laughter brightening his eyes, and realize with certainty that I’ve never felt more fully, beautifully mortal, or happier, in my life.
He’s moving easily between conversations, refilling glasses, checking on dishes.
At some point, without realizing it, I’ve stopped seeing Levi as a guest here.
He’s settled himself completely into my space, just as comfortably as the absurd number of plants he continues to bring.
Another stubborn ficus, a delicate fern, a trailing ivy plant he’s affectionately named Herbert.
It started innocently enough. A small succulent, barely bigger than my palm.
Levi appeared at my door one random Tuesday, thrusting the tiny plant toward me, mumbling something about my apartment’s offensively bleak aesthetic.
I accepted it, more confused than anything, placing it on the kitchen island and promptly forgetting about it.
But soon, others followed. A pothos trailed elegantly from my bookshelf, a spider plant carefully set on my bathroom counter, a monstera arriving offensively early on a Sunday morning, its large leaves rustling triumphantly in Levi’s proud grasp.
At first, I questioned him, gently teasing about his apparent campaign to turn my apartment into a jungle.
But as the weeks slipped by, questioning became pointless.
Levi would simply smile, completely unapologetic, already scanning my space for the next spot to fill.
I don’t remember when exactly I stopped resisting, but it just became easier to rearrange my furniture, shift stacks of books, and learn how to carefully water and prune plants I had no previous interest in caring for.
My apartment now resembles something of a small botanical garden, but oddly enough, I don’t hate it.
Now, whenever Levi arrives unannounced, another potted plant shamelessly in tow, I simply lean into the doorframe, arms crossed and eyebrow raised in mild surrender. “I assume this one has a name, too?”
He just grins, stepping closer to press a kiss against my cheek, laughter soft against my skin. “They always do. And like their owner, they thrive on attention.”
As the evening deepens and more wine is poured, the group settles into a lively game of Scattergories around the coffee table.
Laughter echoes through the apartment. Banter and snarky competitive jabs filling every corner.
Levi, however, nudges me gently, leaning close enough to whisper, “Come on, I have something to show you.”
I look around at our guests. “Now?”
He pulls me quietly from the couch, unnoticed amid Naomi’s exaggerated accusations that Elijah and Dominic are cheating. They absolutely are. We slip out, Seby raising his head only briefly from the couch cushion before returning comfortably to sleep.
Outside, the night air is crisp, softly lit by distant streetlights that cast a delicate, silvery glow.
Levi’s hand finds mine, steady and familiar, leading me gently toward the community garden.
Even after countless visits, the garden feels different at night.
More peaceful and intimate. Magical, even.
Moonlight spills softly over lush greenery, shadows shifting gently beneath the trees.
Flowers of every variety sway, their colors muted yet striking, creating a living painting of deep blues, velvet purples, and shadowy greens.
It feels private, like stepping into a secret space hidden carefully within the heart of Stonevale.
“And where exactly are we going?” I ask, intrigued by what he’s up to.
“You’ll see,” Levi says, pulling me through an unfinished pathway.
Willow trees and thick bushes, carefully planted yet still young and growing, create a sense of anticipation.
This corner of the garden remained unfinished for weeks.
Areas still bare and patches of soil turned over as if awaiting some purpose Levi has quietly kept to himself.
Every offer to help was refused and I guess I began to assume he either had personal reasons or he just hadn’t come to a decision on what to do with the space.
We emerge now into the secluded space and my breath catches.
The area has been transformed, cultivated with deliberate care into something beautiful yet effortlessly natural.
An elegant wooden bench sits beneath a graceful arbor, lilies and sunflowers blooming vibrantly around it.
Warmth and dignity woven seamlessly into each carefully planted flower.
“Levi,” I whisper, taking it all in. “What is this?”
He turns to face me, eyes filled with sincerity and kindness and good.
“A memorial garden. I’ve had this…” he says, waving a hand around, “in my mind since we first talked about grief and what it means to sit with loss.” His voice catches, vulnerability slipping quietly into his words.
“I wanted to make something for you. For me. For anyone who needs it, really. A place to remember and to grieve. But also, to find joy again. Like you helped me do.”
I step closer, emotion tightening in my chest. “It’s perfect,” I murmur, meaning it more deeply than any words could capture.
Levi smiles, taking a shaky breath. “Stonevale needed this. So did I. You and, well, Irene have taught me that grief doesn’t have to mean isolation. It can be shared. And it can heal.”
My shadows stir gently, reaching instinctively toward Levi. I glance around, marveling at the honorable beauty Levi has cultivated here, and I feel something profound shift within me. I’ve changed because of him. My own grief feels softer now. Softer and less daunting.
More human.
“You did this, Levi,” I remind him, my voice rough with the weight of every emotion I’m feeling right now. Pride. Awe. Love. “Irene and I may have helped here and there, but this? This vision? It’s all you. And it’s remarkable.”
Levi’s breath catches, and something in his expression shifts.
Gratitude and emotion surge visibly to the surface.
Without warning, he closes the short distance between us, throwing his arms around my neck and pressing his lips to mine.
And when he kisses me, the entire world around us seems to slow.
His lips, molded against mine, are a promise stronger than any immortality could offer.
Because I choose him. I choose every beautifully messy, fleeting, human experience Levi Wilder has led me to.
I choose to love this life, fully and unapologetically… almost as much as I love him.
Levi pulls back, his forehead now resting gently against mine. “Do you ever think how improbable we are?”
I smile, reaching up to tangle my fingers in his hair. “Constantly.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Just the distant hum of Stonevale and a moment to count his freckles. His thumb brushes slowly over the back of my hand, small little hearts, I’m realizing.
“You know,” I murmur, skimming my thumb along freckle twenty-seven, “I think this place could use a few more sunflowers.”
Levi’s smile spreads slowly, and then so gloriously all at once. “Hayden Harlow,” he whispers, nuzzling into my neck, “you can’t say things like that, and expect me not to fall even harder for you.”
I’m almost certain being loved by Levi will never not feel like a miracle.
Warmth floods my chest and I pull him closer. “I might be counting on it.”
He laughs, pressing his lips to my ear. “You’re in luck then, mister. Because I do love you. On the messy days…and the perfect ones. All of them.”
I feel myself smile fully now, something bright and hopeful flooding my veins. “And I love you,” I whisper back, squeezing him against me. “More than I ever thought I’d get to.”
He lifts his head, brushing his lips softly against mine. Each kiss sealing every quiet promise we’ve shared.
Nestled in the garden Levi built from love and loss, I understand: Forever doesn’t need immortality.
It exists right here, in shared Sunday dinners, quiet walks through Stonevale, a home filled with too many plants, laughter across tables and in the arms of the man I love.
Not hidden in shadow, but standing firmly in the life we’ve carefully chosen.
Together.
Out of darkness.
And finally, beautifully, into bloom.