Chapter 22 - Return Home

The descent into Burlington came with the first stretch of morning light sliding over the Vermont mountains. Soft gold brushed the ridgelines and scattered across the patchy snow below. Lucy watched from the plane window, her breath fogging the cold plexiglass. She had not been gone long, but the view made her chest ache. It was familiar in a way that reached straight into memory.

Sam shifted in his carrier at her feet. She tapped the mesh gently.

"We are home," she whispered. "Almost."

Jason helped her lift the carrier when they stood. He did not say much, but he watched her in that quiet way of his. He always seemed to know when something inside her was shifting before she said a word.

The Burlington terminal smelled like coffee, cold air, and pine carried in from people’s coats. Travelers moved in their winter rhythm. Lucy had walked this terminal hundreds of times, but the moment her boots touched the floor, something warm brushed across her skin.

Not the deep pull of Rowanmere. Something smaller. Softer. But still the earth. Still aware of her.

Jason noticed her pause. "Is it happening again?"

Lucy nodded. "Yes. Just gentle. Like it is saying hello."

He accepted that without question. That was how he was now. If she felt something, he believed her.

Outside, the cold hit clean and sharp. Frost shimmered across the row of rental cars. When Lucy reached for their door handle, the frost loosened and melted in a small circle around her fingers.

Jason saw it, but he only nodded. He understood without needing to name it.

They drove north out of Burlington, the city falling away almost at once. Rural roads stretched ahead, lined with maples and white pines, their branches tipped with ice catching the light like tiny crystals. Vermont in December never pretended to be anything else. It was winter, plain and true.

"Feels a little like where I grew up," Jason said as he watched the trees pass.

Lucy glanced at him. "Where was that?"

"A very small town. Cold winters. The kind of place where everyone knows what trouble you got into at ten." A faint smile flickered. "Nothing impressive. Just home."

"That sounds right," she said.

Sam chirped from his carrier. Jason opened it a few inches so the cat could see the snow. Sam blinked once, decided winter was beneath him, and curled back into the shadows of the carrier.

As they got closer to Northmere, the land reacted more clearly. Snowflakes that drifted toward the windshield melted before touching the glass. The air inside the car felt a little warmer when Lucy exhaled. A raven perched on a fence post turned its head as they passed. It looked directly at her, not the car.

Jason noticed. "The earth is responding here too."

"It always would have," Lucy said quietly. "I just never knew how to feel it before."

Northmere appeared around a curve in the road. Small, peaceful, settled into the winter light. Brick and clapboard buildings lined the street. Snow rested on the roofs. Woodsmoke drifted from chimneys. Pines gathered at the edges of town as if leaning closer to listen. Holiday lights hung from the lampposts, ready to glow when evening came.

Lucy parked in front of Pendragon’s Nook.

The shop looked exactly the same. Uneven stacks of books in the windows. Warm wood. Old stories pressed together like a shared breath. The carved sign above the door had weathered a little more, but the dragon curled around the painted books with its same old stubborn charm.

Stepping out of the car, she felt the cold wrap around her. A second later, it softened. Snow shifted away from her boots. Frost on the quilting shop window pulled back in a slow, curved line. A sparrow landed on the awning and watched her without fear.

Jason stood beside her, hands in his coat pockets. "You feel bigger here," he said quietly. "Not like you are coming home. More like the place has been waiting for you."

Lucy breathed out slowly. "Maybe it has."

She looked up at the small bell above the shop door. It hung still, catching a thin line of afternoon light. Behind that door waited her old life. And the girl she used to be.

Lucy reached for the handle.

The bell above the door chimed the moment Lucy stepped inside, a soft, familiar note that stirred something deep in her chest. The shop felt exactly as it always had: warm light settling across worn floorboards, shelves leaning toward each other like old friends, the faint scent of old paper drifting in the air like a quiet welcome.

She stood still for a heartbeat.

The warmth here felt like memory.

Daniel and Jesse were standing behind the counter, both of them already watching her with the same expression she had known her whole life. Relief first. Then love. Then a wordless recognition that she had changed, even if she still looked like their Lucy.

Daniel was the first to move.

He came around the counter quickly, wiping his hands on the side of his flannel shirt out of old habit, then pulling her into a tight hug that lifted her an inch off the ground.

“Lucy, sweetheart. You’re home.” His voice caught. He did not try to hide it.

She folded into him, arms around his shoulders, the familiar scent of pine soap and old books settling around her. For a moment she pressed her face into his coat and let herself be small again, safe again. Her eyes stung, but the tears did not fall. Not yet. She wasn’t sure if she wanted them to.

Jesse reached them by the time Daniel set her down. She cupped Lucy’s face with both hands, fingertips warm, brushing her hair back the same way she had since Lucy was six.

“Look at you,” Jesse whispered. “You’re tired. And stronger. And different.”

Lucy gave a shaky smile. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too.” Jesse pulled her in, holding her with a softness that loosened something tight in her chest. It was the kind of embrace that felt like a blanket, a memory, a promise.

Sam’s carrier rustled at Jason’s feet. Jason set it down gently and opened the top, and Sam hopped out with immediate indignation, tail flicking. He wound between Jesse’s legs, then Daniel’s, chirping his complaint at being left out of the reunion.

Daniel bent and scooped the cat into his arms, scratching the familiar spot behind Sam’s ear. “Still the boss, huh?”

Sam purred, pleased to reclaim his kingdom.

Only then did Daniel seem to notice Jason fully, though he had been aware of him the whole time. He held out a hand to him. “Jason. Glad you two made it safely.”

Jason accepted the handshake with quiet respect. “Thank you for having me.”

“You’re family if you’re with her,” Jesse said simply. “There’s coffee in the back. Tea too. Help yourselves. And you’re both coming to dinner, tomorrow at six. No argument.”

“We would like that,” Lucy said, voice soft. The thought of their kitchen, their table, almost undid her.

Lucy looked around the shop again. Every shelf felt like an old friend. Every stack of books felt like a greeting. Something in the air shifted as she walked farther in, a soft easing, like the building itself recognizing her. She could have sworn the dust motes in the morning light slowed a little as she passed.

Her land sensitivity didn’t rise the way it did in England. Here it was gentler, quieter, as if the town was offering her a seat by the fire without drawing attention to it.

She brushed her hand along the edge of a shelf. The wood warmed faintly beneath her palm.

Jesse watched her with a thoughtful expression.

“You’re glowing a little,” Jesse murmured softly.

Lucy pulled her hand back, startled. “Am I?”

“In a good way,” Jesse said. “Like the world softened around you.”

Jason stood near the door, hands tucked into his coat pockets, watching her with that steady attention that always felt like both guard and companion. He said nothing, but his eyes softened slightly as he took in the moment.

Daniel shifted Sam to one arm and reached out for Lucy’s bag. “Come on upstairs. You can set your things down before we talk about anything serious.”

Lucy hesitated for just a breath, taking in the shop one more time. The bell above the door chimed slightly, even though the door was shut, as if stirred by a faint breeze that hadn’t come from outside.

It wasn’t magic, not like she had felt in England. It felt older. Simpler. More like the shop remembering her.

She smiled at it, then followed her parents toward the stairs, Sam hopping down to trot after her.

Jason lingered one step behind, giving her space yet never far enough to break the quiet line of protection he always carried around her.

The shop door stayed closed behind them, but the air felt warm in a familiar way long after they had gone upstairs.

Daniel and Jesse stayed only long enough to fuss over the apartment, make sure the heat was set properly, and remind her one more time about dinner tomorrow. Jesse squeezed her hands at the doorway.

“We are so glad you’re here, honey. Rest today. Just be. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Daniel kissed the top of her head. “Call if you need anything. For real. Anything.”

“I know,” Lucy said. “I love you.”

“We love you too,” Jesse replied, as if it were the easiest truth in the world.

They stepped back into the stairwell. The door closed with a soft click.

Jason waited politely at the foot of the stairs until they were gone, then followed Lucy up into the apartment.

The room felt calm the moment she stepped inside. Her eyes traveled slowly across it, the little kitchenette with its mismatched mugs, the couch with the quilt draped over the back, the shelf of novels she had personally arranged, the warm light from the small lamp. She hadn’t lived here long, but somehow every corner carried meaning. Sam leapt onto the couch without hesitation, immediately reclaiming the apartment like a long-lost kingdom.

Lucy set her bag down, running her hand along the countertop. “I forgot how much I loved this place.”

Jason took in the room with simple appreciation. “It feels like you.”

She smiled. “It surprised me how fast it did.”

Her stomach rumbled, and Jason chuckled. “Dinner?”

They bundled up again and headed outside. The cold wrapped around them, but Lucy felt the world soften in small ways. Snowflakes drifted toward her and melted before they landed. Jason noticed but stayed quiet. He was getting used to the quiet oddities that followed her now.

Northmere glowed under the winter lamps. Storefronts lit warm squares onto the sidewalk. A few locals waved, delighted to see her home.

She waved back, names rising easily to her lips. Mrs. Kline from the post office. Tom from the hardware store. The college student who had cried the day Lilly died. Their faces brightened when they saw her, shoulders easing, smiles deepening, as if seeing Lucy set something right in their day.

At the diner, familiar warmth wrapped around her: coffee, rosemary, fresh bread, the low hum of plates and conversation. The sign over the counter still read Maren’s Diner in chipped blue paint. The same glass case of pies gleamed under yellow lights.

Maren spotted her at once.

“Well, now. Look what the wind blew back.”

Lucy laughed and hugged her over the counter. “Hi, Maren. It’s good to be home.”

“You’re getting supper on the house,” Maren said. “No arguments.”

Jason opened his mouth to object. Maren’s look cut that short.

Lucy grinned. “You’ll learn.”

They chose a booth near the back, under the painting of Silvermere Lake that had hung there since she was a teenager. She took a quiet breath. The hum of conversation, the smell of baked apples from the counter pie, the soft flicker of candles on the wooden walls. This diner had watched her grow up. It had seen her laugh, cry, and read before school. It was Northmere’s heartbeat. She took it all in slowly.

Jason scanned the menu. “Haven’t had chicken pot pie in years,” he murmured. “Used to get it at a place near my house. Before everything else.”

Lucy looked up gently. “Then get it.”

He did. And when the plate arrived, steam rising, crust golden, his expression softened. He took a bite, closed his eyes for a moment, and she saw the memory settle into him like warmth.

Lucy ate her own meal slowly, the tomato basil soup she had ordered hundreds of times, Maren’s fresh bread, the chai she used to help brew on slow afternoons. Each bite tasted like belonging and loss, comfort and ache.

Halfway through the meal, she saw Mr. Avery at his usual corner table. Seventies, strong shoulders, silver beard trimmed neatly, eyes still bright with mischief. His late wife had passed five years ago, and though grief lingered, he carried it without bitterness.

Lucy touched Jason’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”

She crossed to his table.

His face lit up the moment he saw her. “Well now, if it isn’t our Lucy. Back from saving the world, or just visiting us old timers?”

She laughed and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “I missed you, Mr. Avery.”

His eyes softened. The warmth from her hand seemed to settle into him, easing something quiet and long carried. His shoulders dropped. His breath deepened.

“You doing all right?” she asked.

“Ah, you know.” He patted her hand. “Some days the road feels long. But seeing you here…” His eyes glistened. “Makes it less so.”

Lucy squeezed lightly. “I’m home for a little while. You’ll see me around the shop.”

That made him smile. “Good. The town feels better when you’re here.”

She held his shoulder a moment longer, then returned to Jason.

He watched her with something like awe. Not for what she did, but for who she was.

“Every person in this town lights up when they see you,” he said.

Lucy shook her head. “I think they light up because they’re good people.”

Jason didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

They stayed a little longer, talking with Maren, the student who always asked for fantasy recommendations, the older couple who remembered Lucy reading on the curb as a kid. Each conversation settled around her like a warm quilt. The air near her stayed a shade softer than the rest of the room. Candles on nearby tables held steady when she laughed. Steam curled toward her hand as if drawn to her.

Lucy and Jason finally slid out of the booth, reaching for their coats, when the door opened and cold air swept in.

“Hannah?” Lucy breathed.

Hannah Brantley stood in the doorway, cheeks pink from the cold, curls half tucked under a knitted hat, scarf wrapped twice around her neck. For a moment they just stared at each other.

Then they moved at the same time.

“Lucy!” Hannah squealed, nearly dropping her bag as she rushed forward.

They collided in the middle of the diner, hugging so tightly Lucy’s feet left the floor for a moment. They both laughed, doing a little half jump that earned a cheer from one of the old men at the counter.

“You’re here, you’re actually here,” Hannah said into her shoulder. Her voice trembled. “You didn’t even text me you were coming, you menace.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Lucy said, laughing through the sting in her eyes. “It all happened really fast. I missed you so much.”

Hannah leaned back to study her. She looked at Lucy’s face the way only someone who had known her since childhood could.

“You look the same,” Hannah said slowly. “But also not the same. Like… Lucy plus.”

Lucy snorted. “Is that a compliment?”

“It is a mystery,” Hannah declared, then squinted. “You are glowing, though. And not in an influencer way. More like… you feel bigger.”

Lucy’s heart tightened. “It has been… a lot.”

Hannah opened her mouth for twelve rapid questions, then stopped herself. Her gaze slid past Lucy to Jason, who had stepped back politely, hands in his coat pockets, smiling faintly.

“And who,” Hannah said, eyes widening, “is this tall, dark, and extremely serious specimen?”

Lucy’s mind went blank. In England, Jason was the man who had bled for her, Timothy’s almost successor, her anchor. None of that fit here. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t a hired guard. He didn’t fit into tidy boxes.

Jason’s eyebrow lifted, amused.

Lucy swallowed. “This is Jason. He… came with me from England. He is my…” Every possible label failed. “Valet.”

Hannah blinked. “Your what now?”

“Valet,” Lucy repeated, heat rising in her cheeks. “Sort of like a personal assistant. For the estate. It’s an England thing.”

Hannah stared at her, then Jason. Slowly, a grin spread.

“Wow. So you leave for a few weeks and come back with an estate and a valet? Lucy Pendragon, are you secretly royalty?”

Lucy hesitated just a beat too long. Her chin lifted a little.

Hannah’s eyes went huge. “Wait. Are you actually a Lady now? Like a real Lady?”

Jason made the polite, neutral face one uses when titles come up in public.

“It is honorary,” Lucy said quickly. “For now. It comes with the estate. I don’t suddenly think I’m better than anyone.”

Hannah waved that off. “If anyone deserves to be a Lady in this town, it’s you. Miss Secret English Manor.” She bumped Lucy’s shoulder. “I am choosing to be delighted by this.”

Lucy laughed. “I’m relieved to have your approval.”

Hannah stuck out a hand to Jason. “I’m Hannah. I’ve known Lucy since she ate paste in kindergarten.”

“I did not eat paste,” Lucy said.

“She thought about it,” Hannah stage whispered.

Jason’s mouth quirked. “Jason Hale. It is good to meet one of Lucy’s people.”

“Valet, huh?” Hannah said. “So you bring her tea and tell her when she has important Lady meetings?”

“Something like that,” Jason replied. “Mostly I make sure she eats and doesn’t walk into danger alone.”

Hannah considered that. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Lucy smiled. “I really want to catch up, but I dragged Jason here right after we landed and he is probably falling asleep sitting up.”

“I am fine,” Jason said, which meant he was tired.

Lucy ignored him. “Come by the shop in the morning? Eight? Before we open?”

Hannah brightened. “Mysterious. I like it. I’ll bring coffee.”

“Deal.”

They hugged again, quick and tight.

Hannah saluted Jason, then headed for the counter to badger Maren about pies. Cold air slipped in and out with her. The bell chimed once, bright and sure.

Lucy and Jason walked back toward their booth to gather what was left.

“Valet?” Jason said quietly while shrugging into his coat.

Lucy winced. “It was the only word that made sense. I can’t call you my bodyguard, and I definitely can’t tell people what you actually are. They would panic or start a podcast.”

“I am not offended,” Jason said. “Just amused.”

“Is it wrong?”

He shook his head. “It is close enough to the truth. My job is to look after you. If calling me a valet helps you move through your world without questions, then that is the word.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Besides,” he added dryly, “it sounds less ridiculous than ‘security consultant’ for a bookshop.”

“True,” she said. “And you would have to wear sunglasses indoors. Northmere is not ready for that.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No. I do not think it is.”

When they stepped outside, snow drifted softly in the streetlights. Lucy walked slowly, taking in each familiar detail. The scent of woodsmoke from chimneys. The creak of the old streetlamp near the post office. The pines leaning close at the town’s edge. The quiet hum of the land under all of it. Snowflakes touched her coat and melted at once. Jason noticed. He always did.

Halfway down the block, a stray cat slipped out from beneath a parked truck. Lean, grey, one torn ear. It usually bolted at any sound, but tonight it trotted straight toward Lucy with a high tail and no hesitation. It brushed against her boots, then her calf, purring like it had been waiting for her.

“Hi there,” Lucy murmured, crouching. The cat pressed into her hand as though it had known her for years. Warmth spread from her palm into its thin body. The roughness of its coat seemed to ease under her fingers.

Jason watched quietly. “That normal?”

“Some cats have always liked me,” she said, scratching beneath the cat’s chin. “But this is new.”

The cat blinked once, slow and content. With a final nudge to her ankle, it wandered off, moving with a bit more ease than before.

Jason looked after it. “The land likes you. The animals too.”

“It is mutual,” she said softly.

Back at the apartment, Lucy closed the door quietly behind them. The old radiator along the wall hissed to life, as if waking up just to say welcome back. Jason dropped onto the couch, shoulders loosening for the first time that day. Sam climbed onto his chest at once and flopped down with a satisfied chirp, kneading twice before settling like a warm stone.

Jason rested a hand on Sam’s back. “Traitor,” he murmured, but it held nothing sharp.

Lucy hung her coat on the hook and paused in the middle of the room. The familiar space felt different now, as if she were standing between two versions of herself that hadn’t quite figured out how to meet in the middle.

“So,” she said. “About the valet thing.”

Jason opened one eye. “Yes?”

She leaned against the arm of the chair across from him, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. “I know it was impulsive. I just… I need a word for you that makes sense here. For people like Hannah and Daniel and Jesse. Something true enough, without pulling them into things they cannot know.”

Jason stayed still, listening.

“In England, you are…” She searched a moment. “You are part of everything there. Timothy’s almost successor. My guardian in training. But if I say anything like that here, people will panic or start rumors. Or podcasts.”

Jason almost smiled. “They would worry.”

“So I thought—Lilly had staff. People who helped her with the estate. A valet is not exactly right, but it is close enough to ‘personal assistant’ that no one questions it. It fits with the estate being old. It sounds normal, or at least normal enough.”

Jason was quiet for a long breath. Sam purred like a tiny engine against his ribs.

“Lucy,” he said, “you are Lady Pendragon, honorary title or not. Having someone whose job is to look after you is not showy. It is practical. If calling me a valet lets you stay at ease with your people while I do what I already do, then that is the name we use.”

Her shoulders dropped, easy and unforced. “You are sure?”

He nodded. “I have been called worse things.”

She smiled. “It is also a little funny.”

“Only a little?”

“I am picturing you in one of those old fashioned suits with tails,” she said.

Jason shook his head. “That is not happening.”

“Tragic,” she said lightly. Then, softer, “Thank you. For trusting me with how we tell this part of it.”

His gaze warmed. “I trusted you before I trusted myself again. That is not changing.”

Her throat tightened. She nodded, then pushed off the chair.

“I think I am going to write for a bit. Try to wrap my head around today.”

“Alright,” he said, settling back as Sam purred louder, already half-asleep.

Lucy slipped into her small bedroom. The room was simple, a dresser, a nightstand, the lamp she loved. But the bed, small, soft, familiar, was made with the quilt Jesse had sewn for her when she was ten. She traced the stitching with her fingertips, remembering nights warm beneath it, feeling safe, feeling held.

She sat on the bed, journal in her lap. The pages opened easily. Her handwriting flowed steady and calm and honest. She wrote about the diner and Mr. Avery’s smile, about Hannah’s laughter and the shock and joy in her eyes, about calling Jason her valet and what that meant, about the way the land had watched her tonight, about the tenderness of coming home and the ache of knowing she would leave again soon, about the quiet steadiness inside her that kept her from being overwhelmed.

She wrote not to escape, but to understand. Not to drown, but to stay grounded.

When she finished, she closed the journal gently and set it on the nightstand.

Jason’s voice drifted softly from the living room. "Feel better?"

Lucy leaned against the doorframe, smiling. "Yeah. Writing helps me stay balanced."

Jason nodded once, as if he had always known that. Sam shifted, stretching his paws against Jason’s chest, purring loudly. Lucy’s heart swelled at the sight, Jason half asleep, Sam draped across him like royalty, the apartment warmed by quiet, ordinary life.

She turned off her lamp and slipped into bed. The quilt settled over her, familiar weight and familiar comfort.

Home. Just for a little while.

Morning in Northmere arrived with soft winter light filtering through the apartment blinds, pale and cool, smoothing the edges of the world. Lucy stirred to the faint rumble of the old radiator and the deeper, rhythmic purr of Sam stretched across the end of the bed like a tiny lion claiming his territory.

Jason had been awake for a while, she could hear him moving quietly in the kitchenette, the sounds precise and careful, the way he always moved in unfamiliar spaces.

When she slipped into the living room, he handed her a steaming mug without comment.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling into the warmth.

“You needed it,” he replied simply.

They bundled up and walked across the street to the bakery, breath clouding in the cold air. The place smelled like cinnamon, roasted almonds, and the kind of butter that makes strangers forgive one another. They sat at a small table by the window, sharing warm blueberry muffins, sliced fruit, and coffee thick enough to resurrect the dead.

Jason ate quietly, taking in the view of Main Street waking up, dog walkers, shopkeepers brushing snow from thresholds, a kid dragging a sled behind him despite the pavement being mostly clear.

“You’re calm,” he said suddenly.

Lucy blinked. “Was I supposed to be nervous?”

“Big day,” he murmured. “Letting go of something you cared for.”

She looked down at her mug. “It doesn’t feel like letting go. More like… passing it on properly.”

Jason nodded once, and something in his expression softened. He understood more than he let on.

By the time they crossed back to Pendragon’s Nook, the shop windows glowed with early light. The bell above the door chimed as Lucy opened it, and the air inside felt warm, lived-in, familiar. The kind of place that carried yesterday’s stories still humming quietly in the corners.

At precisely 8 AM, the door swung open again and Hannah tumbled in with the energy of a small, cheerful storm.

“Lucy Pendragon, I brought coffee and also I’m still not over the fact that you have an estate.”

Lucy laughed as Hannah flung her arms around her. “Good morning to you too.”

Jason stepped aside politely, lifting his mug in silent greeting. Hannah wiggled her fingers at him with the dramatic enthusiasm of someone who had fully accepted the existence of valets in small-town Vermont.

“Come on,” Lucy said, gently hooking her arm through Hannah’s. “Let’s sit in the nook.”

They went to the reading nook, Lucy’s favorite place in the shop. Deep chairs, an old braided rug, a low table with a candle that smelled faintly of cedar. A place where a thousand conversations had landed softly and stayed. Jason retreated toward the back of the store, giving them space, but Lucy could feel his presence like a steady anchor.

Hannah set her coffee on the low table and tucked her legs beneath her in her usual cozy-squirrel pose. “Okay, I’m ready. What’s the mysterious thing you want to tell me? Do I get a tiara too? Because listen, I can pull that off.”

Lucy inhaled, slow and steady. “Hannah… I want to ask you something. Something big.”

Hannah’s head tilted, curls spilling to one side. “Okay. Shoot.”

Lucy folded her hands, grounding herself. “Would you want to run the shop?”

Hannah didn’t react at first. She blinked once. Twice.

Then her breath caught audibly in her throat.

“Lucy,” she whispered. “Are you, are you serious?”

“Yes,” Lucy said softly. “Completely.”

Hannah’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes going glassy. She tried to speak, failed, and made a sound like a squeaky kettle instead. Then she launched herself at Lucy again, hugging her so fiercely that Lucy lost her breath.

“Yes,” Hannah finally managed, voice breaking. “Yes, yes, of course I would. Oh my god, Lucy, yes.”

Lucy laughed into her shoulder, holding her tight. “I hoped you’d say that.”

Hannah sat back, wiping her cheeks. “Are you sure? Like, really sure? This place is your heart.”

Lucy shook her head gently. “It was my heart for the time I needed it. But I’m… different now. My life is different. And you’ve loved this shop as long as I have. You were shelving books here before I even owned it.”

“And alphabetizing your fantasy section because you refused to,” Hannah sniffed.

“Chaos was a system,” Lucy retorted.

Hannah groaned fondly. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Unfortunately,” Hannah said, smiling through tears. “So what do I have to do? Sign something? Make a pact? Swear eternal loyalty to the Pendragon throne?”

Lucy reached behind the armchair and pulled out a large envelope.

“I already had two sets of paperwork drawn up. Jesse signed as witness yesterday. All you need to do is read and sign. If you had said no, I had another set to give the shop to Daniel and Jesse. But… I hoped it would be you.”

Hannah stared at the envelope as if it were glowing. “You planned this?”

“Once I knew I had to go back to England,” Lucy said softly, “I knew the shop needed someone steady. Someone who loves books, loves people, and loves this place.”

Hannah pressed a hand to her chest. “Lu… you’re going to make me cry all over again.”

“Then cry,” Lucy said gently. “This is supposed to be emotional.”

Hannah let out a watery laugh. “Fine.”

She took a deep breath, slid the papers out, skimmed them, then signed her name with a trembling grin.

Lucy exhaled. “It’s yours,” she said. “Pendragon’s Nook belongs to you.”

The words settled between them, warm, real, right.

Hannah wiped her cheeks again. “When do you leave?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Lucy said. “I want you to come open the shop that morning. For real. As the owner.”

Hannah nodded. “I will. And I promise I won’t redecorate too much.”

“You’re allowed to make it yours," Lucy said. "Just… don’t get rid of the reading nook.”

“Never.”

Lucy’s expression softened. “And this isn’t abandonment, Hannah. I swear it. This shop was always meant for someone who would love it the way I did. I’m not leaving it behind, I’m giving it to the person it belongs to.”

Hannah swallowed. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of your people. And I’ll send you pictures of every new display. And, wait, what about books? Will I still get shipments?”

Lucy grinned. “Oh, trust me. You’ll get books from England, from Rowanmere, from places I don’t even know exist yet. And some… special ones I’ll send for another person who may need them.”

“Special ones?” Hannah asked.

Lucy nodded. “I’ll explain soon.”

From the back of the shop, Jason shifted his weight, watching. And for a heartbeat, Lucy felt it, the subtle shift in the air around them. She wasn’t merely giving away a shop. She was making a decision as Lady Pendragon, as someone who saw threads of future and community and magic all interwoven.

Jason saw it too.

He stood straighter. Recognizing her.

Hannah, oblivious to the moment, wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’m gonna hug you again.”

“I figured,” Lucy said.

They hugged. Again. Tighter. Longer.

Then Hannah stepped back, beaming and flushed and glowing with the newly inherited joy of a dream she hadn’t dared imagine.

“You’re the best friend anyone could have,” Hannah whispered.

“And so are you,” Lucy replied. The bell above the door chimed gently, even though no one touched it. The shop approved. And Lucy, sitting in her reading nook with her oldest friend, felt the moment settle into her bones.

A goodbye, yes. But not a loss. A passing of torches. A blossoming. A new beginning, for both of them.

Hannah finally pulled herself together, hugged Lucy one more time, and practically skipped out the door, the bell chiming brightly behind her. The sound lingered a moment in the stillness of the shop, soft as a breath.

Lucy watched the door for a long heartbeat, smiling to herself.

Jason stepped out from between the shelves, his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his coat. His expression was thoughtful, shaded with that quiet focus he wore whenever something in the air shifted.

“You said something,” he said.

Lucy glanced at him. “I said many things today.”

Jason shook his head softly. “To Hannah. About sending books for someone that will need them.” He paused, searching her face. “It sounded like you already knew who you meant.”

Lucy blinked. “Did I?”

Jason nodded once. “You didn’t hesitate. It was… certain. Felt like instinct, but not the usual kind.” His voice lowered, gentle but curious. “What made you say that?”

Lucy looked down at her hands, then around the shop, at the shelves she knew by heart, at the warm morning light trembling across the covers, at the faint hum of the building embracing them both.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “It just felt true.”

Jason stepped closer, not intruding, just anchoring her with his presence. “True how?”

Lucy breathed out slowly, the words arriving as softly as snowfall. “I think… I’m supposed to send books. Ones that will help someone. Someone I haven’t met.” She frowned slightly, not fearfully but thoughtfully. “I don’t know who. Or why. But I know it’s right.”

Jason studied her, something steady and reverent settling into his gaze. “It sounded like certainty,” he repeated quietly. “Like something inside you recognized a thread.”

Lucy swallowed, the back of her neck tingling with a sensation she couldn’t name. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just becoming more like… her.”

“Elowen?” he asked.

Lucy nodded. “She felt things before she knew why. Timothy said she had… foresight. A way of knowing.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “It felt like that. A little.”

Jason exhaled softly, acceptance easing across his expression like warmth. “Then it was meant to be spoken.”

Lucy met his eyes. “Does that scare you?”

“No,” Jason said immediately. “Nothing about you ever scares me. Surprises me, yes. Challenges me, often. But fear?” He shook his head. “Foresight or not, you’re still you.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “I hope so.”

Jason’s voice softened. “You are more you now than ever.”

Lucy smiled, small and grateful. “Someone will need those books. I’ll know what to send when it’s time.”

Jason gave a single nod. “And I’ll help you send them.”

Lucy reached out and touched his arm, a quiet thank you.

The moment settled between them, gentle, warm, a first glimmer of something old awakening in her blood.

Then the shop’s bell chimed faintly again, though the door stayed closed.

As if in agreement.

Lucy’s childhood home stood warm against the early evening snow, warm light pooling through the kitchen windows and casting a golden haze across the front walk. She felt it before she reached the porch, a familiar pull, something soft in her ribs that said welcome back, welcome home, welcome to the place that raised her.

Jesse opened the door before Lucy even knocked. She didn’t say anything at first. She simply enveloped Lucy in her arms, the kind of hug that made everything feel normal again. Lucy held onto her tightly, and as Jesse’s hands pressed along her back, a faint ripple moved through Lucy’s chest. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t warning. It was something gentler, like noticing someone shift when they’re hiding a bruise. Jesse shifted her weight ever so slightly on her left side, careful and quiet, the way someone does when nursing a bruise.

Lucy drew back just enough to look at her. “You’re a little stiff,” she said softly. “Did you fall?”

Jesse blinked in surprise, then laughed lightly. “Only in the garden. I tugged too hard on an old pot full of frozen dirt and down I went. Daniel fussed for an hour. I’m fine. Just sore.”

Daniel appeared at the doorway, cheeks pink from the oven’s heat. “Don’t listen to her. She fell hard. But she’s pretending she didn’t.” He pulled Lucy into a strong hug. “Good to have you home, sweetheart.”

Jason stepped up behind her, Sam’s carrier in one hand. Daniel grinned and opened his arm toward him in that welcoming, slightly awkward way that men use when they don’t quite know how to hug someone yet but want to try anyway.

“Good to see you again, Jason,” Daniel said.

“Good to see you both,” Jason replied. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh please, we told you yesterday,” Jesse said. “You’re welcome here whenever Lucy brings you.”

Sam voiced his own greeting with a cranky meow from the carrier. Jesse laughed. “And you too, mister.”

Inside, everything was as Lucy remembered. The smell of roasted chicken and herbs, mashed potatoes whipped smooth and buttery, Jesse’s rosemary rolls rising in a covered tray on the counter. The table was set with mismatched plates and candles in old mason jars. The house felt alive, bustling, warm around the edges.

They settled in easily, filling plates, passing bowls, laughing at old memories. Sam made a slow lap around the kitchen before curling smugly into the chair he had always claimed as his own.

About halfway through the meal, Jesse leaned forward on her elbows, her smile bright. “So. Tell us more about this estate of yours. You said the name yesterday, but everything was happening at once and I don’t think I heard it right.”

Lucy pressed a hand to her heart, smiling softly. “Rowanmere Hall. It’s in Devonshire, near the edge of the moors. Old stone, huge windows, a garden that’s half wild and half magic, even if no one there uses the word magic.”

Jesse’s eyes softened at the sound of it. “Rowanmere Hall? That sounds like something out of a storybook.”

“It feels like one,” Lucy said. “The housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes, has run it for decades. She’s sharp, thoughtful, fiercely loyal and has basically adopted me without asking permission. And Evan handles the grounds. He’s gentle and quiet, but he’d walk through fire for anyone he considered family.” She hesitated, then met her parents’ eyes. “I’m not alone there. There are people who care about me.”

Daniel reached out and squeezed her hand. “That matters to us.”

“It matters to me too,” Lucy said. She glanced toward Jason. “And Jason helps me manage everything. The estate is… a lot. Huge. Complicated. Very old. I needed someone who could help me sort out the day-to-day tasks, appointments, schedules, things I didn’t even know I should be thinking about.”

Jesse smiled. “So he’s like your assistant.”

“He’s my valet,” Lucy clarified gently. “That’s the right word for the job at Rowanmere. He keeps me organized, grounded, and reminds me to eat when I forget. It’s not glamorous. It’s practical. And I need him there.”

Jason ducked his head slightly, embarrassed but pleased, and reached for his water.

Daniel nodded approvingly. “Sounds like you’re running an entire world over there.”

Lucy laughed softly. “Some days it feels like that.”

When dinner ended, Daniel slipped away down the hall and returned with a small wooden box. Old hinges. A little worn around the edges. Jesse brushed dust from the lid with a gentle thumb.

“We kept this for you,” she said, voice warm and quiet.

Lucy opened the box.

She didn’t expect the punch to the heart.

Inside were pieces of her childhood. The drawings she made at seven. A baby photo tucked under a folded paper star. Her first library card. A tiny knitted mitten Jesse once made for her. The pressed blue forget-me-not she had been so proud of. A birthday card from Daniel that simply said, we love you, underlined twice like he meant every word.

Lucy pressed a hand to her mouth. Her vision blurred. She tried, and failed, not to cry.

Jason stood, touched her shoulder lightly, and said in a quiet voice, “I’ll give you a moment.”

He stepped outside with Sam trailing after him, the screen door clicking softly behind them.

Lucy leaned into Jesse and Daniel as the tears came. Jesse held her hand. Daniel rubbed her back, warm and steady, in that way that made her shoulders finally drop from the pressure she hadn’t noticed holding them up.

“You don’t ever have to be strong with us,” Jesse whispered.

Lucy nodded into her shoulder. “I know.”

When Jason came back in, Sam trotted ahead of him, hopped into Jesse’s lap, and chirped indignantly, as if upset to have missed an emotional moment. Daniel laughed and wiped at his own eyes.

Lucy sniffed, smiling softly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall apart.”

Daniel shook his head. “That was not falling apart. That was being loved.”

Jesse kissed her temple. “And you’ll always be loved here. No matter where you live or what title you’ve got over there.”

Lucy touched the box again, feeling its weight, its meaning. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m so grateful.”

The candles flickered. The kitchen glowed warm around them. Lucy felt the warmth of Rowanmere Hall and the warmth of Northmere meet inside her in a way that felt right. Two homes. Two lives. Two families. And she belonged to both.

When the dishes were cleared and the candles were flickering down to soft gold pools, Lucy reached for her tea and took a small breath. There was one more thing she needed to tell them before the night ended.

“I gave the shop to Hannah,” she said gently. “Not just to watch over. She owns it. I signed everything over this morning.”

Daniel and Jesse exchanged a look that was warm and knowing, like they had expected this.

Jesse set her mug down. “We wondered if you might. You two have been inseparable since grade school. Hannah has always loved that shop.”

“She does,” Lucy said. “She truly does. And she’ll take care of it the way I would have wanted. I already talked to her this morning. She signed the papers.” Lucy smiled softly. “It felt right. I wanted you to know that it wasn’t a sudden decision. I thought about it a long time.”

Daniel nodded, pride in the lines around his eyes. “That’s good, sweetheart. You’ve built something that mattered to you. Now you’ve placed it in hands you trust. That’s responsible. That’s grown.”

Lucy exhaled slowly, feeling the truth of that settle heavy but comforting in her chest. “It doesn’t close anything. It just changes it. I’ll still send books, stories, anything I find that feels like it belongs on those shelves. But Hannah is the heart of that place now.”

Jesse reached across the table and squeezed Lucy’s hand. “We’re proud of you. You’ve always known when it was time to hold on and when it was time to pass something forward.”

Lucy smiled, a little shy, a little touched. “I’m glad you think so.”

The evening drew soft after that. They talked about small things, ordinary things, the kind that fill the quiet spaces in her heart with familiarity. Sam drifted from lap to lap making his usual rounds. Jason dried dishes with Daniel, the two of them working in the comfortable silence of men who had decided, without saying a word, that they respected each other.

Eventually the night grew long. Lucy stood and slipped on her coat, and Jesse instantly fussed, tightening the scarf around her neck even though Lucy insisted she was warm enough.

“I wish I could stay longer,” Lucy said quietly. “Really stay. A week. A month. I miss being here. I miss the slow mornings. I miss home.”

Jesse brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ll come back. And when you do, we’ll make your favorite breakfast and you can sleep in your old room as long as you want.”

Daniel held her close for a moment. “You said you leave the day after tomorrow?”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah. I want to see Hannah again tomorrow. And pack. And… just breathe. Then Jason and I fly back.”

“We understand,” Daniel said, gentle and sincere. “Your life is bigger now. It’s alright that it pulls you far from here. Just remember you’ve always got a place to land.”

Lucy hugged them both again, longer than she needed to, longer than she meant to, until she felt held by the whole place.

“I’ll take you up on that,” she whispered. “Next time I’m staying longer. I promise.”

Jason opened the door for her as the cold night air slipped in, crisp and quiet. Lucy stepped out onto the porch and turned back to see her parents framed in the warm doorway.

“Love you,” Jesse called softly.

“Love you,” Lucy answered, hand pressed to her heart.

She and Jason walked down the snowy path, Sam tucked in Jason’s coat like a warm, purring loaf. The lights of the house shone behind them, warm and steady.

Lucy didn’t look back again. She didn’t need to. She carried that warmth with her.

The apartment was dim when Lucy and Jason returned, lit only by the small lamp near the couch and the faint glow from the streetlights outside. Sam trotted in first like he expected everything to be just how he left it.

Lucy stood in the center of the room for a moment, her coat still on, letting the space settle around her. It felt different tonight. Like something she was stepping out of for good.

She exhaled softly and moved toward the dresser.

“I’ll be right here,” Jason said, taking his place near the window. He didn’t sit or hover. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets, letting her move at her own pace.

Lucy pulled open the top drawer. It held only a few things: soft sweaters she used to wear in winter, a handful of folded shirts, a scarf Hannah had given her two birthdays ago. She laid them gently on the bed, smoothing each one out as if she were touching little pieces of her old life.

Sam hopped onto the pile immediately, choosing the scarf as his as his throne for the moment.

“You can’t keep that,” Lucy murmured, scratching his chin. “It’s sentimental.”

Sam blinked at her, unimpressed.

She opened the next drawer. Journals. Four of them. The top one still had a lavender sticker on the cover, peeling at the corners. She set them beside Sam, who sniffed them like they were questionable choices.

Her photo box was in the bottom drawer. She pulled it out slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed as she opened the lid.

There were snapshots from her early twenties. A picture Hannah had taken on moving day when Lucy dropped a stack of plates. A Polaroid of her and Maren at the diner counter. A blurry selfie with Jesse after they baked an atrocious cake together. Each one carried a quiet piece of her life, a long breath of who she’d been before Rowanmere opened its doors to her.

At the very bottom lay a framed photograph of her mother.

Sarah stood in the Vermont sunlight, hair wind-tossed, smile soft and bright in a way that tugged something deep in Lucy’s chest. Lucy traced the edge of the frame with her thumb. Not grief. Just a soft ache. Just love.

Jason shifted, turning from the window. He didn’t say anything, but his posture softened, his presence easing closer without intruding.

“Take your time,” he said.

Lucy swallowed, nodding, and carefully wrapped the frame in one of her old shirts before placing it in her suitcase.

She crossed to the couch, lifting the quilt Jesse had made for her when she was ten. The stitching was uneven in places, the colors mismatched in that charming way every handmade thing carries. Lucy pressed it to her chest and closed her eyes.

It wasn’t just a blanket. It felt like being ten again. Safe and warm.

She folded it gently, smoothing each edge, and set it in the suitcase with a kind of reverence she didn’t hide.

Jason watched her in silence, understanding exactly what the quilt was without needing her to explain. When she glanced up, he gave a small, respectful nod.

“That one needs to come with you,” he said quietly.

“It does,” Lucy murmured.

She packed the rest slowly. A favorite mug. A small stack of books she’d brought with her from college. The scarf Hannah knitted when she tried to learn crochet and ended up with something between a scarf and a rope. Her journals. Her mother’s photo.

When everything was tucked away, she stood in the middle of the room again and let her eyes travel across the space.

The worn couch. The tiny kitchenette. The soft glow from the lamp. The quilt-less couch where Sam now sprawled in satisfied ownership.

Her whole life tucked into one small, familiar room.

“This was my first real home,” she whispered.

Jason stepped closer, not crowding her, just sharing the same air. “And you’ll wake up in it one last time tomorrow,” he said. “That matters.”

“It does,” she murmured.

She set the suitcase upright near the door, ready for morning. Hannah would come early to open the shop. Lucy would hand over the keys. And then she and Jason would leave for the airport. Not rushed. Just steady.

She exhaled softly and brushed her fingers over the quilt folded inside the suitcase, feeling the softness of Jesse’s stitches beneath her hand. Jason moved about the apartment with quiet efficiency, checking windows, switching off lights, settling into that easy, end-of-the-night calm.

Sam curled up in the chair like he’d already claimed it for the night.

Lucy was about to suggest tea before bed when Sam’s head snapped up.

The change in him was immediate.

One second relaxed, the next a taut line of instinct.

His ears flattened. His pupils widened. A low rumble vibrated in his chest.

“Sam?” Lucy whispered.

Jason froze mid-step, turning toward the back of the apartment. He lifted one hand slightly, the universal signal for stay still.

Then Lucy felt it.

A prickling bloom under her skin. A wrong note in the air, sharp enough to make her skin prickle. A ripple across her senses that felt like frost inside her ribs.

Corruption.

Not the deep, ancient void she’d felt in England.

But the same sick feeling. The same thread of danger.

Her breath caught.

“Jason,” she whispered.

“I know.” His voice was low, controlled. Every muscle in his body shifting with focus. “Something’s outside.”

He crossed the small living room in three silent steps and peered through the narrow slit between the blinds. The alley behind the shop was mostly darkness, framed by the faint orange glow of the streetlamp at the end of the block.

Jason’s posture sharpened.

“I saw someone move,” he murmured. “Back of the alley. Trying to stay out of sight.”

Lucy’s pulse tightened. Her magic rose like bristling thorns beneath her skin. She didn’t call it forward; it came on its own.

Sam hissed softly, eyes locked on the back door.

Jason straightened from the window. His face changed with the look of someone who’d been through more than he ever said out loud.

“We’re not alone,” he said.

The words sat heavy in the room.

Outside, something scraped against the frozen pavement.

A second shadow. A hushed whisper. A faint smell of smoke where no smoke should be.

Instinct went first. Jason headed to the back window, checking the alley.

The air outside was wrong. Fog that stayed low and too still, drifting with its own weight. It hugged the narrow space between the buildings.

Then movement. One shadow, then another, then a third flicker of motion.

Lucy stepped behind him and drew in a breath.

“Circle witches,” Jason said quietly. “Stay up here. I will handle this.”

Lucy wanted to argue. He could see it in her eyes. But she nodded.

Jason moved fast and silent down the stairs, slipping into the dark shop. The familiar shapes of bookshelves and counters were long shadows across the floor. The only light came faintly from the streetlamps outside.

The fog was already sneaking under the back door, sliding across the hardwood.

A faint click. The doorknob turned.

Two figures slipped through the doorway.

“Where do you think she is?”

“Probably upstairs. Find the stairs.”

When the first witch passed the counter, Jason moved.

He clamped a hand around the witch’s neck and hauled him backward into the shadows until the man went limp.

The second witch spun and flung a spell. It hit Jason like a hard shove to the arm, nothing more.

Jason stepped in and struck once, controlled and deliberate. The man’s breath choked out and he collapsed, unconscious.

Then a creak on the stairs.

Lucy.

A woman darted from the shadows and grabbed Lucy’s arm.

The witch shrieked.

Dark streaks raced beneath her skin, twisting as if something inside her recoiled from Lucy’s touch. Light flared where their skin met, soft and warm.

The witch stumbled back, horrified, clutching her arm.

“What are you,” she cried. “What power is this. It hurts.”

She ran, disappearing into the thick fog.

Jason chased her to the door. Too late.

When he returned, he saw a small figure crouched near the floor.

A girl.

Young. Trembling.

He guided her inside and turned on the lights.

Lucy rushed forward. “Jason, stop. Don’t hurt her.”

Jason loosened his grip.

The girl was hardly older than seventeen or eighteen. Her eyes were wide, terrified, but not corrupted.

“Name?” Lucy asked softly.

“Robyn,” she whispered. “Robyn Baker.”

Lucy touched her hand gently. Robyn flinched, expecting pain, but nothing happened.

“You’re safe,” Lucy said.

“I didn’t want to come,” Robyn choked out. “They forced me. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t,” Lucy said. “You ran.”

Jason nodded. “And that kept you alive.”

Robyn broke. Tears spilled silently down her cheeks.

“You’re not corrupted,” Lucy said. “Your heart is still your own.”

Robyn stared at her as if she barely believed it.

Lucy squeezed her hand. “Come with us.”

Jason checked the locks. “We should go. They may return.”

Lucy nodded, then hesitated.

“Robyn,” she said gently, “that fog outside. Did you make it?”

Robyn stiffened. “I didn’t mean to. They told me to cast a veil. But it always gets away from me. It spreads too far. I can’t shape it.”

Lucy’s voice softened. “No one can control magic without help.”

“They said they’d replace me if I couldn’t do it right,” Robyn whispered.

Anger flickered in Lucy’s chest.

“There is nothing wrong with your magic,” Lucy said. “You just never had someone to teach you.”

Robyn swallowed hard. “Would you… help me?”

“Yes,” Lucy said immediately. “I will teach you. And you won’t face any of this alone.”

Jason nodded. “We’ll protect you until you can protect yourself.”

Robyn clung to the promise like it meant everything.

Lucy rose. “We’ll take you somewhere safe.”

Jason opened the door. Robyn followed them closely, wrapped in Lucy’s spare coat.

The night air was cold and clear. The fog had drifted off.

The danger had passed.

But Lucy felt it in her bones.

This wasn’t over.

Something new had started for Robyn.

And Lucy wasn’t going to let her face any of it by herself.

The walk to Daniel and Jesse’s house was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles after the end of something frightening. Snow crunched underfoot in soft little sighs. Robyn stayed close to Lucy, wrapped in the borrowed coat, her hands buried deep in the sleeves like she was trying to hide inside them. Jason kept a few steps behind, alert and watchful, his eyes scanning every shadow even though the street was empty.

Warm light glowed through the windows long before they reached the porch. Lucy could already picture Jesse bustling around the kitchen, Daniel tidying up the living room even though it never looked messy. The house felt steady and familiar, the way it always had.

Robyn hesitated at the bottom of the steps. “What if they do not want me here,” she whispered.

Lucy touched her shoulder. “They will.”

“How do you know,” Robyn asked, voice trembling.

“Because they loved me before I knew how to love myself,” Lucy said gently. “And because they do not turn away anyone who needs help.”

Jason opened the screen door quietly. Robyn swallowed and followed them up the stairs.

Daniel answered the door almost instantly. He took one look at Lucy’s face, then at Robyn shivering beside her, and something in his expression eased immediately, simple and honest.

“Come in,” he said. “Both of you. All of you.”

Jesse appeared right behind him, apron still on, hands dusted with flour. Her eyes swept over Robyn quickly, taking in the thinness of her arms, the way she hugged the coat, the fear hovering in her eyes. Jesse stepped aside without a single question.

“Sweetheart,” she said to Robyn, “you are freezing. Come in. Let me get you something warm.”

Robyn blinked, startled by the kindness. She stepped just inside the doorway, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to take up more space. Lucy closed the door gently behind them.

Jesse ushered them into the living room, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it around Robyn’s shoulders. Robyn stiffened at the unexpected touch, then gradually relaxed.

Daniel pulled up the ottoman and sat across from her, his posture open and calm.

“You are safe here,” he said. “No one is going to chase you away.”

Robyn swallowed hard. “I… thank you.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Jesse touched her cheek lightly, brushing away a stray tear. “No need to thank us. Just stay warm.”

Jason stepped back near the door, giving space while staying alert. He watched Robyn with the quiet patience of someone who understood fear more intimately than he let on.

Lucy knelt beside Robyn’s chair. “Tell them whatever you feel comfortable telling them. They will not push.”

Robyn nodded and wiped her eyes. “I did not want to be a problem. I did not know where else to go. I tried the back door of the shop because it was cold and I was so tired. I thought maybe I could just be somewhere warm for a minute.”

Daniel nodded gently. “You are not a problem. You are a person.”

Jesse stood. “Let me get you something to eat. You look like you have not had a proper meal in days.”

Robyn didn’t deny it.

While Jesse moved to the kitchen, Lucy rested a hand lightly on Robyn’s arm. “You are safe here, not just tonight. You can stay as long as it takes to find your footing.”

Robyn looked at her, eyes overflowing. “I will never go back,” she whispered. “Not to them.”

Lucy squeezed her arm gently. “You do not have to.”

Something in Robyn’s face loosened. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed quietly. Not the panicked, fearful sobs from earlier, but the kind that come when the body finally realizes it is no longer in danger.

Lucy pulled her close, careful not to overwhelm her, and Robyn leaned into the embrace like someone who hadn’t been held in a long time.

Jason looked away politely, giving them what little privacy the room allowed.

Jesse returned with a bowl of warm stew and set it on the coffee table. “Eat,” she said softly. “Then rest. You can have the small room upstairs. It has a good blanket and a heater that works better than it looks.”

Robyn wiped her eyes and nodded. “Thank you. Really.”

Lucy gave her a warm smile. “This house is safe for you.”

Robyn looked between them all. “Why are you doing this for me,” she asked.

Jesse answered first. “Because someone did it for Lucy. And because it is the right thing to do.”

Lucy touched Robyn’s hand. “You are not alone anymore,” she said. “I will help you learn to stand on your own, whatever that looks like. And we will keep you safe while you figure things out.”

Robyn exhaled a shaky breath. “I do not know how to deserve that.”

Jason watched them both with quiet respect, the kind that didn’t need words.

“You do not need to,” Lucy said softly. “You only need to accept it.”

Robyn nodded slowly, still unsure, but willing to try.

Later, after stew and blankets and soft reassurances, it felt like the first moment Robyn believed her life might not always be shaped by fear.

And in that small living room, wrapped in Jesse’s blanket with the smell of warm food drifting from the kitchen, Robyn Baker found her first real moment of peace.

Morning came softly to Northmere, pale light slipping through the apartment blinds and settling over the quiet space. Lucy stood at the window a long moment, watching the snow along the street melt in a slow, gentle circle around the base of the lampposts. The world felt strangely calm after the night before. She breathed in and out, the steadiness of it grounding her. Jason moved quietly behind her, checking his bag, checking the time, checking the locks out of habit.

“Ready,” he said.

Lucy nodded, though her heart pulled in two directions at once. She gathered her suitcase and the quilt Jesse made all those years ago, tucked carefully inside. They stepped out into the cold morning.

Hannah arrived moments after they opened the shop, breath clouding in the winter air, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, eyes bright with excitement and a little disbelief.

“Lucy, I still cannot believe it,” she said as she rushed in. “The shop. Me. This is wild.”

Lucy hugged her. “You will be brilliant.”

Jason stood a polite distance away, helping move a box toward the counter. Hannah watched him with amused curiosity, then focused again on Lucy.

They talked by the reading nook, the morning sun landing in warm stripes across the worn rug. Lucy placed a stack of envelopes on the table. “I will be sending packages from England. Some books for the shop, special editions if I can get them. They will help you fill the shelves until you get your bearings.”

Hannah picked up the top envelope. “And these?”

“Those are for someone in town,” Lucy said. “Someone who will start coming here. You will recognize her when she does.” She hesitated, then chose her words carefully. “Make sure she gets the books that are marked for her. They’re meant to help her along. And keep them here. Do not send anything to her home. Not yet.”

Understanding passed across Hannah’s face. She did not know the story, but she knew Lucy well enough to trust her completely. “I can do that.”

Lucy smiled. “You always were the best of us.”

Hannah swatted her lightly on the arm. “Stop, you are going to make me cry.” But her smile trembled, joy and pride woven through it. She bent forward, hugging Lucy tightly. “Go do whatever important things you need to do. This place will be fine.”

Lucy inhaled the familiar scent of old paper and cinnamon from Hannah’s shampoo. “I know it will.”

Daniel and Jesse arrived not long after, bundled in coats. They wrapped Lucy in long, warm hugs, the kind that spoke of years of loving someone without expecting anything in return. Jesse cupped Lucy’s face. “I wish you could stay longer.”

“I do too,” Lucy said. “But I will be back. And I want you both to come visit England. I mean it.”

Daniel’s eyes softened. “We would love that.”

Jason nodded respectfully to them both. They had already accepted him without question, and he carried that honor carefully.

Robyn peeked in from the doorway across the street, wrapped in the blanket Jesse loaned her. She gave Lucy a small wave. Hannah spotted her and waved back, bright and warm. The exchange was small, but meaningful. A beginning.

Lucy’s heart steadied. “She is in good hands,” she murmured to Jason.

“She is,” he said. “You gave her a chance.”

“She gave herself one,” Lucy replied softly. “I only opened the door.”

They left the shop together. Hannah locked up behind them, keys jingling in her hand, the new owner looking at her future with wide, excited eyes. As they stepped outside, Lucy spoke softly. “The one you stopped without hurting him… he will be all right?”

Jason nodded. “He will wake up in a few hours. No lasting harm. And hopefully far less interested in the Circle.”

At the airport, everything felt quieter. The rhythm of travel echoed around them. The shuffle of luggage wheels. The murmur of announcements. Lucy stood near the window while Jason checked their boarding passes. Vermont stretched out in front of her in pale winter colors, the mountains calm in the distance.

She placed her palm on the cold glass. “Goodbye,” she whispered. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t meant to be. It was a promise. She would always return to the place that raised her.

Outside, the snow shimmered lightly and melted as it fell toward the sunlit pavement. A warm shift in the air brushed her skin, small and familiar.

Jason came to stand beside her, his voice low. “Next time we come here, it will be safer. I promise.”

Lucy nodded. She believed him. When she turned from the window, her steps were steady.

She was going back to England not out of confusion or uncertainty.

She was going back as herself.

As Lady Pendragon.