“YOU TWO WERE NAMED AFTER FLOWERS, ACT LIKE ONE!!”

  The shout echoed down the corridor with enough force to rattle the potion racks.

  Florence and Bluebell burst out of the storage room a heartbeat later, nearly colliding with Blake as they fled, both clutching a small sack of suspiciously fragrant herbs.

  A moment later, Ermin’s furious silhouette appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, expression carved from disappointment and herbal rage.

  “The storage is not a playground,” he snapped. “And bruise balms do not require half the restricted shelf!”

  The door slammed shut.

  “We were just borrowing some!” Florence said breathlessly.

  “For our explo— bruise balms!” Bluebell added solemnly.

  Blake stared at them. Then at the door they’d just escaped from. Then back at their entirely unrepentant faces.

  “You two truly deserve that.”

  Florence scoffed. “You are no better than us.””

  Blake straightened. “Excuse me?”

  Bluebell folded her arms. “Right. You bother Francis all the time.”

  “Like you guys don’t?!” Blake shot back.

  “Not as much as you do,” Bluebell said crisply. “Plus, we do not intentionally punch rocks to see how far our hands could go.”

  Blake pointed at her. “You set your brother on fire the other day.”

  The siblings grinned and high-fived.

  “Wrong!” Florence said. “That was an experiment.”

  “I don’t have to argue about this,” Blake muttered, already regretting existing in this hallway.

  Florence’s eyes lit up. “Very well. Let’s settle it! If you can name more times we caused trouble than you did, you win.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes. “And what do I get?”

  Bluebell lifted a small glass jar. The liquid inside shimmered an unsettling shade of violet.

  “You get to smear this potion all over our faces,” she said sweetly. “Straight from Francis’s shelves. The smell alone should be unbearable.”

  Florence’s grin widened. “But if we win, we get to do you.”

  “NO YOU ARE NOT—”

  Francis appeared mid-stride, then immediately reached for the jar.

  “Stay out of this, doc!” Bluebell barked.

  Francis stared at them for a second, then sighed and turned around, sitting down with the expression of a man who had accepted that today was not his responsibility.

  Blake crossed his arms. “Still unfair. You have two brains. I have none.”

  Francis blinked.

  At least he knows.

  Florence shrugged. “Fine. Pick one helper.”

  Blake pointed immediately. “Creek—”

  “Not a chance.” Francis snapped.

  Finian popped his head in. “Alright, I’ll help.”

  “No,” Blake deadpanned. “You enjoy my downfall. You cannot be trusted.”

  “I’m hurt.” Finian clutched his chest.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” Trey offered.

  “You’re worse.”

  “Rude.”

  “Abel!” Blake pleaded. “Come help me.”

  Abel sighed. “Fine. Like I have better things to do.”

  They started listing incidents.

  One after another.

  Blake’s confidence crumbled with each cheerful recounting.

  “The door you ripped off its hinges because it was ‘stuck,’” Florence said.

  “The training dummy you hugged too hard,” Bluebell added. “It exploded.”

  “The time you cheered so loudly after drills that three Lavenders cried,” Florence continued.

  “You dislocated your shoulder celebrating.” Bluebell said brightly. “Twice.”

  Blake folded his arms. “I didn’t even feel that one.”

  Francis, without looking up, muttered, “Yes. You never do. That’s the problem.”

  They continued mercilessly.

  “The kettle you crushed because you forgot it was glass.”

  “The bell rope you snapped ringing it too enthusiastically.”

  “You punched the wall to check if it was sturdy.”

  “And it wasn’t,” Bluebell finished.

  Blake sighed. “...I stand by some of those.”

  Florence smiled sweetly. “And the shelf.”

  Blake blinked. “What shelf?”

  “The one you broke trying to help Abby carry books,” Bluebell said.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Florence nodded. “You lifted the whole thing instead.”

  “It was leaning,” Blake protested. “I was preventing an accident!”

  “You were the accident,” Francis said dryly.

  Blake scratched his neck. “She didn’t get hurt.”

  “You did,” Francis said. “And then you showed up in my clinic bleeding and smiling.”

  Blake opened his mouth. Closed it.

  Then he leaned toward Abel and hissed, “Think of something!”

  Abel frowned. “These two are a handful, but right now all I can think of are the times you messed up.”

  “You were supposed to help me!”

  “Then you should’ve behaved yourself, bro.”

  And just like that, it was over.

  “Come on,” Blake groaned. “I have a date today.”

  Francis stood. “Seems like something you should’ve considered before accepting this ridiculous challenge.”

  Trey didn’t speak right away.

  He looked at Blake — really looked at him. The tension he was pretending not to feel, the way today clearly mattered.

  Trey understood that. Too well.

  If it were him.

  If it were Luna—

  He exhaled.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll take the fall this time.”

  Blake blinked.

  “…Really? Lancaster? You’d do that?”

  Trey shrugged. “I get it.”

  Francis’s head snapped up. “Do not.”

  “Why?” Trey asked, genuinely confused.

  Francis crossed his arms. “Because that potion stains for a week. We have a mission in four days and I am not walking around with a purple—”

  “A week?” Blake choked. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for today?”

  Francis fixed him with a look. “Again,” he said calmly, “that is something you should consider before saying yes.”

  Blake barely had time to process the weight of that statement before Bluebell clapped her hands.

  “Hold him.”

  “Absolutely not—”

  Florence was already uncorking the small vial.

  The potion smelled aggressively floral. And wrong.

  “This is unjust,” Blake declared, backing away. “I have done nothing but live loudly.”

  “Exactly,” Florence said.

  Between the two of them, they smeared the potion across his cheeks with theatrical precision. Thick violet streaks shimmered once before settling into a deeply committed purple.

  Finian laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall.

  Abel watched with the resigned expression of a man who had chosen not to intervene in history.

  Trey stared at Blake with something dangerously close to pity — and, for once, did not participate.

  Then the siblings stepped back to admire their work.

  “Symmetry is important.”

  Bluebell squinted. “Add a bit more on the left.”

  “Do not—”

  Too late.

  When they were finished, Blake looked like he had lost a war with a bouquet.

  No. With the Bouquets.

  Francis gave him one clinical glance. “Avoid water. It sets.”

  Blake closed his eyes briefly.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  When Blake finally found Abby, she already knew.

  She took one look at his face— slightly panicked, trying far too hard to look casual — and sighed.

  “…You lost, didn’t you.”

  He winced. “Technically. Yes.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, laughter slipping out before she could stop it. “Blake.”

  “We still have a date,” he rushed. “I’ve been counting on it. Like… actually counting.”

  “You know I don’t mind,” she said quietly. “Right?”

  He nodded at once. “I know. I just didn’t want to ruin it.”

  Something in her expression softened.

  “Blake,” she said, cheeks warming,“everything at Pine Hollow is a little ruined. I’m used to it.”

  That did it.

  The tension left him all at once, replaced by a wide, unguarded grin as he held a basket out like it was an offering.

  “Okay,” he said quickly, “And I brought muffins. As an apology.”

  Abby looked down.

  The basket was… excessive. Neatly arranged muffins, still warm, tucked beside fresh flowers that hadn’t quite decided whether they were meant to be formal or enthusiastic.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Abel made them, didn’t he.”

  Blake paused.

  “…The muffins,” he admitted. “Yes.”

  She smiled.

  “But,” he added, lifting the basket slightly, “I picked the flowers myself.”

  Abby felt her chest soften despite herself.

  Aww, she thought, tilted her head, trying to look unimpressed. “Let me guess. You grabbed whatever didn’t stab you.”

  “Incorrect,” Blake said proudly. “I avoided thorns on purpose.”

  She laughed, shaking her head as she took the basket. “High standards.”

  “Only the best for my date,” he said, entirely sincere.

  Her cheeks warmed.

  She turned away before he could notice.

  “Come on,” he said quickly, motioning down the path. “I’ve got a spot.”

  They walked side by side, the academy buildings slowly giving way to trees. The woods were quieter this far out. Less trampled, less practiced.

  Sunlight slipped through leaves in uneven patterns, catching in Blake’s still-faintly-purple cheekbones.

  Abby glanced at him more than once.

  “You’re sure this is the right direction?” she asked lightly.

  “Absolutely.”

  “You look very confident for someone who lost a battle an hour ago.”

  “That was sabotage.”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  They passed the outer practice fields. The air shifted, cooler, softer. The path narrowed into something less official.

  Blake walked ahead with surprising certainty.

  Abby adjusted the basket in her arms. “You do know the lake is the other way, right?”

  “I know.”

  “So this isn’t the lake.”

  “No.”

  “That’s… concerning.”

  He grinned without turning around. “Trust me.”

  She huffed a quiet laugh. “That phrase has historically led to property damage.”

  “Rude.”

  She giggled.

  A low branch caught in her hair. Blake reached back immediately, holding it aside with surprising care.

  “Watch it,” he muttered.

  “I am watching it,” she said, but her voice softened.

  They walked a little farther.

  The ground dipped slightly, then rose again. Blake slowed.

  He stepped forward first, pushing through a curtain of thin branches, and entered a small clearing.

  It was… fine.

  Uneven grass. A few flat stones. Trees loosely circling the space.

  No lake view.

  No carved bench.

  No secret overlook.

  Just forest.

  Abby blinked.

  “What is this place?”

  Blake turned slowly, scanning the clearing like he was checking for alignment.

  “Is it beautiful?” he asked.

  She stared at him.

  “Blake. This is just a clearing in the middle of the woods.”

  He nodded, as if that confirmed something. “It took my breath away five years ago.”

  She folded her arms. “You’re not making sense right now. Is this the effect of that purple potion?”

  “Of course you don’t remember.”

  She looked around again, more carefully this time.

  The uneven dip in the ground. The slight slope near the trees. A patch of earth that looked darker than the rest.

  “Should I?” she asked slowly.

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  Instead, he stepped toward the center of the clearing and stopped at a very specific spot.

  “Did you hit your head on a tree or something?” she tried again, but her voice was quieter now.

  He turned to her fully, expression uncharacteristically steady. Not loud. Not joking. Not performing.

  “Abby Fairborne.”

  The breeze shifted, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and wild grass.

  “This,” he smiled brightly, “is the very first place I met you.”