Chapter 27
KRISTA
It starts like any other morning, which feels like the worst part.
Mari’s chewing a chunk of honeyed apple, her feet swinging off the side of the bench, one sock half off, and her braid crooked from sleep.
She’s grinning at some joke she made to herself, mumbling to her breakfast like the apple has a good sense of humor.
The stove is warm. The tea kettle’s humming.
The ward-glass on the windowsill glows faint gold, calm and clear.
And then it flickers red.
Once. Twice.
Then it shatters.
The glass doesn’t fall. It folds in on itself, like it’s being pulled inward by something sharp and hateful.
The charm stitched into the lintel above the door buzzes against my skin like a hive shaken too hard.
I’m up before I realize I’ve moved, hand out, the grimoire already flying open on the table behind me. The air bends around us. Tenses.
Mari stops chewing.
“Mama,” she whispers.
“Stay right there,” I tell her. “Do not move.”
I open the door and he’s already halfway to the house.
Michael.
He looks worse than he did in the council chambers. Not broken, not quite, but worn down. The sleekness stripped away. His tie’s gone, jacket slung over one shoulder, and there’s something wild in the whites of his eyes. Like he’s not here to talk this time.
He sees me. Smiles.
“Didn’t think I’d leave it at that, did you?”
My fingers twitch at my side, the runes under my skin pulsing faintly, waiting.
“You’re trespassing,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, my body still. “You know what that means.”
His smile widens like I’ve said something funny.
“You really think this town can stop me?” He moves closer, just two steps, but it feels like the whole world tilts when he does. “You think spells and trees and backwater council rules will hold up in front of a real judge?”
“Stop right there.”
He doesn’t.
“I’ve already filed in Innsbrook,” he says. “I’ve got a hearing date. I’ve got records. You know what the court’s going to see? A woman who ran away to the woods, surrounded herself with monsters, and raised our daughter in a place that doesn’t even appear on federal maps.”
“She’s not yours to take.”
“She’s mine by blood.”
“You never treated her like she mattered,” I snap. “You belittled her. Controlled her. You didn’t love her. You owned her.”
“I gave her everything.”
“You made her afraid to laugh.”
That lands. I see it in his face. But it twists, fast, into something uglier. He barrels forward and for a moment I think he’s going to try and shove past me.
“Mari!” he shouts over my shoulder. “Come here!”
My body goes cold. I see her in the corner of my eye, still standing in the kitchen, little hands balled into fists.
I move fast.
The spell cracks through the air like a whip. I don’t think. I just act. The sigils burn across my palm and a wave of energy lurches out like a tide, thick and sharp and full of intent. It slams into Michael with a sound like stone cracking.
He stumbles back. But I don’t stop.
The spell curls higher, wrapping around my arm, heat and fury and old magic twisting tight like it’s been waiting for this moment. My eyes blur. My breath catches. I raise my hand to seal it. One word, and he won’t be able to step foot within ten miles of us again. One word, and it’s done.
But I hear Hardin before I see him.
“Krista.”
His voice is quiet. Heavy.
“Don’t.”
I don’t turn. My hand is still up. The light around my wrist pulses, ready.
“He came for her,” I whisper. “He was going to take her.”
“I know.”
“He was going to—”
“I know.”
His hand touches mine, not pulling it down, just grounding it. Warm and steady and real.
“You’re not him,” Hardin says. “You don’t fight like he does. Don’t let him make you something you’ll regret.”
My whole body shakes. My heart is thudding so loud I can barely hear anything else. But Hardin’s there, anchoring me.
Slowly, I lower my hand.
The magic retreats, crackling like a fire dying too fast. My skin burns where the energy bled into it. I let it go.
And then Mari’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“I want you to leave.”
Michael’s head snaps toward her. She’s on the porch now, little chin lifted, eyes red-rimmed but clear.
“You’re not my daddy,” she says. “You’re a bad man and I don’t want to see you anymore.”
Michael opens his mouth, closes it.
“You said I was too loud. You said I was weird. You made Mommy cry. You don’t get to come back.”
She takes a step forward.
“You’re the scary man in my dreams. And I don’t want you in them anymore.”
That does it.
Whatever thread Michael was holding on to snaps right there. I see it happen. The anger flickers. The control breaks. And all that’s left is a man who knows he lost and doesn’t know how to exist without winning.
He turns, doesn’t say another word.
Just walks.
And this time, he doesn’t look back.
Later, the house is too quiet.
The kind of quiet that comes after something heavy passes through and leaves everything different in its wake.
Hardin’s sitting on the floor with Mari, helping her glue pressed leaves into a scrapbook. He doesn’t say much, just listens while she talks about how she wants to find purple moss and maybe a toad to be the book’s guardian.
I stand in the doorway, arms wrapped around myself, watching them.
My magic still aches behind my ribs. But it’s not heavy like it used to be. It feels clean now. It feels like mine.
Hardin glances up and catches my eye. He doesn’t smile. He just nods.
And I nod back.
Because the line’s drawn now, and we know who we are on this side of it.