The cobblestone was wet, puddled in places where the storm had left its mark. The cold night air wrapped around me, seeping through the thick fabric of my cloak as I made my way back to the cafe. The sky was still a brooding shade of gray, as if reluctant to let go of the storm completely. I tightened my grip on the basket in my hands, my breath misting in front of me as I walked.
I had tried returning to the cafe after the storm cleared, hoping—maybe even expecting—to cross paths with Lord Cedric again. But the days passed, and there was no sign of him. It left me restless.
"You are being foolish, my lady," Lilah, my maid, had said with disapproval thick in her voice. "He tried to kill you. Repeatedly. Why on earth would you seek him out?"
She had a point. I wasn't naive enough to ignore it. But not knowing what his next move was burned through my thoughts more than the actual attempts on my life. Fear was a slow poison, and I had never been the kind of person who could sit and wait for something to happen. If Lord Cedric wanted me dead, then I needed to understand why. I needed to know what game was being played.
And then, there was Duke Callum. Or rather, the absence of him. The whispers in the halls had only grown louder. Women in their lace-lined gowns and men in their pressed coats would glance at me with knowing smirks, their amusement thinly veiled behind empty courtesies.
"It seems our little Duskborn has been abandoned."
"Did you hear? The Duke lost interest already. How predictable."
"Poor thing, thinking she could hold a man like him."
I wanted to pretend their words didn't get to me. That they didn't carve at the walls I had built around myself. But every glance, every smirk, every hushed giggle made my spine stiffen. I wasn't fragile, but I wasn't made of stone either.
So, I did what I could—I ignored them. Or at least I tried.
Instead, I focused on something new. Someone new.
Arvin.
I had seen him around before, but never paid him much attention. He was part of a pack of three—an unusual mix. A fox but Embered shifter, a dark fae general, and a tengu. Packs were common, but this one had an air of controlled chaos, like they balanced each other in ways others wouldn't understand.
I had met Arvin by accident. He had been standing outside the bakery, looking absolutely miserable as he stared at the ground where a neatly wrapped box of sweets had been ruined by an unfortunate misstep. His face had been a picture of pure devastation.
"What happened?" I had asked, more amused than concerned.
"I—" He looked at me, then at the mess on the ground, his ears twitching slightly. "It was for my mate. He loves sweets. I don't know what to do now."
Maybe it was the desperation in his voice or maybe I just wanted a distraction, but I had offered him the cookies I had baked earlier. Just something simple, made with whatever ingredients I could find, but surprisingly good. He had accepted them with the kind of relief I didn't expect, and the next day, he had asked me out.
I had hesitated for a moment, but with Duke Callum having disappeared into thin air, I figured it was fair game.
Arvin was kind. He wasn't overwhelming or cold or calculating—he was warm, steady. He spoke to me like I was a person, not a prize. And while our interactions had been simple so far—holding hands, talking about everything and nothing—he made me feel… normal. Or at least, something close to it.
His pack wasn't looking for someone high-maintenance, and I wasn't looking for a whirlwind romance. Maybe that was why it felt easy.
But my world didn't revolve around men alone.
There was also Madame Elira. She owned the jewelry shop down the main street, a sharp-eyed woman with silver-streaked hair and a laugh that carried through the air. She had no children, but two mates who doted on her endlessly.
I had met her when I was out running errands and offered to help her carry some of her shop's heavier boxes. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was spending my afternoons in her shop, helping her clean, organize, and even make small repairs on delicate pieces.
"You remind me of what I wanted my daughter to be," she had confessed one day, her voice softer than usual. "Strong-willed, capable, and with a good heart."
I hadn't known what to say. I wasn't used to such open affection, especially from someone who didn't owe me anything. So, I did the only thing I could think of—I baked her a pie as a thank-you.
The moment she tasted it, her eyes had welled up with tears. She set the fork down and took a deep breath, as if composing herself.
"You come to me if you ever need anything, do you understand?" she had said, gripping my hands tightly. "Anything. I mean it."
Her warmth unsettled me in a way I couldn't quite explain. It wasn't discomfort—it was unfamiliarity. An odd, aching kind of gratitude mixed with disbelief. I had spent so long bracing for the worst that I had forgotten what it was like to receive kindness with no strings attached.
I had nodded, swallowing against the lump in my throat. Because for the first time in a long time, someone had offered me something without expectation, without conditions. And I didn't quite know how to process it.
Maybe things weren't so bad after all. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone as I had always thought.
But the feeling didn't last long.
Doubt crept in like a slow tide, rising inch by inch before I could even register its presence. A quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered warnings I couldn't shake. People weren't kind without reason. There was always a price, always a motive. And even if Madame Elira had given me no reason to distrust her, years of conditioning told me to be wary.
I wanted to believe in warmth, in generosity. But belief was dangerous, and I wasn't sure I was ready to risk it.
Still, I couldn't deny how much I craved it. Like sunlight on frostbitten skin, her kindness made me realize just how starved I had been for something gentle. Something real.
Maybe, just this once, I could allow myself to believe. Just for a little while longer.