Golden light spilled across the Journeyman Inn’s courtyard as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Amriel traced her finger around the rim of her ale mug, watching the amber liquid catch the fading light. Two weeks of examinations had left dark circles beneath all their eyes, but tonight those shadows seemed a badge of honor rather than exhaustion.

  “If I never see another scroll or test paper again, it’ll be too soon,” Simon groaned, pressing his palms against his temples as if trying to physically push the accumuted knowledge out of his head.

  Amriel smiled faintly. Simon had always preferred forging metal to forging arguments on paper. His hands were meant for hammers, not quills.

  Niamh nudged her husband’s shoulder, her own face rexed for the first time in weeks. “What? I thought academics were your passion,” she teased, the corner of her mouth curving upward.

  Simon captured her hand, bringing it to his lips with theatrical formality. “My love, you know I live only for you and our girls.” He paused, then added with perfect comic timing, “And my forge.”

  “Beautiful sentiment,” Kaleth drawled from across the table, his copper hair catching the dying sunlight like polished bronze. “Touching, really.”

  Simon’s response was a look that could have curdled milk.

  The easy banter washed over Amriel like a familiar stream, but she found herself standing on the bank rather than swimming in it. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the weight of unread books in the Academy library, to the words of the prophecy that seemed to pulse inside her head with each heartbeat. While her friends celebrated the end of their academic trials, hers had only begun.

  “So,” Mara said, her precise voice cutting through Amriel’s thoughts, “what’s next for everyone? Now that we’re officially free.”

  Free, Amriel thought. Is that what we are? Her fingers tightened around her mug.

  Niamh leaned forward, elbows on the worn wooden table. “We’re taking the twins to my parents’ vilge. They haven’t seen them since they were newborns.”

  “Which means,” Simon grumbled, “I’ll spend the summer fixing every broken fence, door, and tool in the entire pce.”

  “The price of being useful,” Amriel said, finding her voice. “Better than being decorative.”

  A genuine smile briefly penetrated Simon’s fa?ade of martyrdom before he took another long drink.

  Kaleth stretched, the motion deliberately drawing attention to his lean frame. “I pn to travel. See what lies beyond our little corner of the world.” His gaze slid toward Amriel, lingering a moment too long. “Maybe even become a legend. Who knows?.”

  Mara snorted softly. “Or become a cautionary tale.”

  “You wound me,” Kaleth said, pressing a hand to his heart with theatrical fir.

  “Someone should,” Mara retorted, a reluctant smile pying at the corners of her mouth. “As for me, I’ve been offered a position with the Archivists.”

  No one looked surprised. Mara had been destined for the Academy’s archives since their first year, when they’d found her asleep among the scrolls, ink-stained and perfectly content.

  “To Mara,” Kaleth decred, raising his mug in a toast that was equal parts sincere and mocking. “May your chains be light and your books heavy.”

  Beneath the table, Amriel’s free hand curled into a fist, nails pressing into her palm. She should tell them about the tome, about what she’d discovered. If anyone could help her unravel its meaning, it would be this circle of friends who had carried each other through the past four years.

  But the words stuck in her throat. How could she disturb this moment of simple joy with whispers of prophecy and doom? How could she expin that while they had been hunched over examination papers, she had been frantically searching for any reference to Starlight Witches or a Door to Eternity?

  “What about you, Riel?” Kaleth’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Going to keep living in that cottage, talking to your pnts?”

  The question was light, teasing, but underneath y genuine curiosity.

  Amriel forced her shoulders to rex, her expression to ease into something resembling calm. “You know me. The Vhengal feels more like home than anywhere else.” The half-truth slipped out easily.

  Simon’s dark eyes lingered on her face a moment too long. Despite his outward appearance of simple directness, Simon missed little. He had known her since they were children, had held her when her father died and her mother left. He could read the tension in her shoulders better than anyone.

  He raised his mug without comment. “To whatever comes next for all of us. May it be what we need, if not what we expect.”

  The toast rippled around the table, mugs clinking with dull, hollow sounds. Amriel drank deeply, the ale bitter on her tongue but warming in her chest. For a moment, surrounded by these people who knew her best, she could almost believe everything would be alright.

  Almost.

  The willow branches swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, their long tendrils casting shifting shadows across the soft grass. The pond shimmered under the dappled sunlight, rippling as dragonflies skimmed its surface.

  The picnic bnket scratched against Amriel’s legs as she shifted, watching Simon chase his daughters across the meadow. His deep ugh carried on the breeze, punctuated by the twins’ delighted shrieks as he caught them, one in each arm, and spun them around.

  “Gods,” Niamh sighed beside her, propping herself up on one elbow. “I never thought I’d say this, but is there anything sexier than a man who adores his children?”

  Amriel smiled, tearing off a piece of her sandwich. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  Niamh turned her head, arching a brow. “Perhaps you’ll understand one day. But don’t rush it.”

  Amriel let out a soft ugh, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anytime soon.”

  She meant it. But still, some days, she wondered. It wasn’t longing exactly—not in the way Niamh had felt it, an aching certainty that had led her to Simon, to this life of pyful chaos and quiet devotion. But there was something about watching them that made Amriel pause. She wasn’t an outsider here, not truly. Simon and Niamh had folded her into their little world effortlessly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And she was grateful for it.

  But that didn’t stop her from wondering what it would feel like to have something of her own. A partner. A family. Someone waiting for her at the end of the day, someone whose life was tangled with hers in a way that felt unshakable.

  That used to seem inevitable. But now? Now, after the tome and the prophecy buried within its pages, the future felt like an unread book—one she wasn’t sure she wanted to open.

  “You’re thinking so hard I can practically hear it,” Niamh said, nudging Amriel’s knee with her own. “What’s going on in there?”

  “I’m going to the Coven tomorrow,” she said finally. “To speak with Kortana.”

  Niamh sat up abruptly, all nguid rexation vanishing. “About the book?”

  “Yes.” Amriel plucked a bde of grass, rolling it between her fingers. “I’ve exhausted every resource at the Lyceum and Illumination Tower. If anyone might know something about Starlight Witches, it would be the Coven Leader.”

  Niamh studied her for a long moment, then nodded firmly. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

  Before Amriel could respond, Simon approached, a twin tucked under each arm like squirming parcels. “Coming where?” he asked, setting the girls down on the bnket where they immediately began rummaging through the picnic basket.

  “To see Kortana,” Niamh said, as casually as if they were discussing a trip to the market.

  Simon didn’t react immediately. Instead, he crouched down, deftly pulling their lunch from the basket and handing out bits of fruit to the girls, who busied themselves with their meal. Then, finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Amriel’s. “About?”

  “Just some questions I have about an old book,” she said evenly.

  Simon’s hands stilled for just a fraction of a second before he continued unpacking their meal. “An old book,” he repeated, tone unreadable. “Shouldn’t you be asking the Archivists about that?”

  “They’ll be my next stop,” Amriel admitted, keeping her voice light. “But Kortana was my mother’s friend. She might be more open with me about the subject.”

  Simon frowned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do I feel like I’m not getting the whole story here?”

  Niamh sighed, reaching out to run a hand down her husband’s forearm, her touch as much reassurance as it was distraction. “My love, do not worry so much,” she said smoothly. “It’ll just be a quick trip for some quick answers. We’ll be back before dinner.”

  “Today?” Simon’s head snapped up, his brow furrowing. “You’re doing this today?”

  “We are,” Niamh confirmed, plucking a piece of cheese from the basket.

  Simon’s frown deepened. “Perhaps I should join you. Mom would be more than happy to watch the girls until we get back.”

  Before Niamh could answer, Amriel cut in. “No need, Simon.” Her tone was firm, leaving little room for argument. “A visit to Kortana is perfectly safe. I trust her.”

  “It’s not Kortana I’m worried about,” Simon said distractedly, gently swiping a bug away from Ava’s curious fingers before she could pop it into her mouth. His voice lowered slightly. “The city isn’t safe after sunset.”

  “You walk home at night all the time,” Niamh pointed out, arching a brow.

  “Yes, I do, Niamh,” Simon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But I’m a big man with a big hammer. That’s not exactly the same as two women without any formal training in arms.”

  Niamh scoffed, offended. “That’s not true, and you know it. Amriel has her daggers, and I can shoot a moving rabbit through the eye at a hundred paces.”

  Simon snorted, lips quirking into a wry smile. ”Yes, my love, I don’t know what sounds more lethal; a short armed hand to hand combatant,” He said, referring to Amriel’s smaller stature, “Or an archer in a close-quarters brawl.”

  Both women shot him a withering look.

  Something flickered in his dark eyes – hurt, perhaps, or worry. Then he sighed, shoulders dropping slightly. “At least promise you’ll leave the city before sunset.”

  Niamh leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We promise.”

  Simon sighed again, but a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “Gods help me,” he murmured.

  Amriel watched them, the easy way they navigated disagreement, the underlying current of respect even in conflict. They had built something real together – something solid and sting. Something she could never have, not with the path stretching out before her.

  The prophecy’s words echoed in her mind: When the st of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity shall open. Whatever y ahead, she couldn’t risk dragging those she loved into it.

  But for now, just for this afternoon, she could pretend that the future held nothing more ominous than a trip to see an old witch. That life might continue in its comfortable patterns. That some things, at least, could remain unbroken.