Chapter Text
“So you’re telling me you have two men that are actively in love with you?” Abigail asks as she sinks a shot into the pocket of the billiards table.
It’s just the four of us tonight at the Saloon: me, Sophia, Abigail, and Haley. Abigail had asked Sebastian and Sam if they wanted to come along, but they had refused, saying they had some serious Solarian Chronicles business to get down to. Normally, Abigail would drop everything to go hang out with them. But today, she seemed more than content to just be hanging out with the girls. Plus Alex.
He was a surprise invite, and I was still cautious of his sharp tongue, but I didn’t say anything when Haley came striding into the game room with him following behind her.
I shrug with a loud sigh between my lips, lazily fidgeting with the cue stick in my hand, feeling the smooth wood beneath my fingers.
“They’re not actively in love with me,” I argue, brushing a piece of hair out of my face. I look over at Haley, who's currently sitting on the couch’s arm chair and focused on making sure her lipliner hasn’t worn away from the drink in her hand. A vodka cranberry, her go-to mixed drink, and free, since Emily works at the Saloon every night. Alex sits next to her, with a half-drank beer in his hand, quietly judging all of us in the room.
Haley snaps her makeup compact shut, looking up at me now. She’s wearing something different than her usual push-up bras and mini skirts, clad in a white baggy pair of cargos and a tight pink cami on top. It wasn't a huge difference, but maybe Abigail was rubbing off on her.
“Yeah right. Magnus won’t leave you alone for the life of him, and Lance just gave you his schedule,” Haley says as she extends her hand casually and honestly, her palm facing towards the ceiling, “I would say that’s giving romance.” She folds her elbows at her stomach.
Sophia shoots me a weak smile from the couch. She sits on the farthest end, like she’s trying to give Haley and Alex as much space as she can.
“I would say so, too,” Alex affirms.
He’s been silent since 9, when Haley and he arrived. The clock’s arms declare that it’s somewhere a few minutes past 10 now. I’m unable to gather if his posture is due to his typically cold and arrogant nature, or if it’s something else. Maybe nerves. I rarely see him spend time with the other guys in Pelican Town, but I also don’t see him hanging out with any of the girls besides Haley.
“Alex, not helping,” I put forth in a weak voice.
He shrugs, taking a sip from his drink. Well, more like a chug. Alex tips the whole thing back and swallows it in one go, before getting up to go wander off to the bar.
Sophia, in all her shyness and infinite compassion, gently asks Haley, “Why did you invite him? I feel like he’s not having a good time with us.”
Abigail flashes a grin at Sophia. “We can break him down, we just gotta work harder.”
Haley stiffens at what her friends were saying about her own friend. I understand that kind of defensiveness. “Look, he just takes a minute to warm up to other people, but he can be really nice when he’s not…”
“A dick?” Abigail offers.
“Bitchy,” Haley finishes, giving Abigail a withering look.
Abigail slides the pool stick to behind her neck, her arms stretched out to keep it in place. She bounces over to Haley’s spot on the couch and playfully twirls a strand of Haley’s blonde waves. “Come on,” she teasingly coos. “We promise we’ll make him feel a part of the family.”
I don’t think Sophia nor Abigail know what I know about Alex. And by the looks of it, I don’t even think they have a hint to what’s going on.
Haley slaps Abigail’s hand out of her face. “Don’t touch me,” she warns, though I know she’s not saying it out of anger or annoyance. She’s flustered. I feel Sophia’s eyes flip to my face, but I don’t acknowledge it.
“Sheesh, grumpy pants,” Abigail jokes, skipping back over to the table. She shoots, misses, and then curses loudly, “FUCK!”
We hear Gus’ concerned voice over our giggles, but we’re unable to pick apart exactly what his words were. Probably that we were driving out his customers, customers that are regulars at the Saloon, come rain or come shine.
Alex comes back now, a new beer in his hands. He seems more relaxed now. And by relaxed, I mean that his posture isn’t perfectly straight. I notice then that his face has a bit of a pinker tint to it, with large red blotches littering his cheeks and trailing all the way down to his covered chest.
“Do you have Asian flush?” I ask without realizing how my question sounds.
Alex’s thick eyebrows furrow, confused by my question. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Yeah, what is that supposed to mean?” Sophia confronts me. She’s noticeably more sober than the rest of the group, but still, I’ve never seen her get flushed from a drink before.
I laugh quietly at that. “It’s a medical term, I’m not calling Alex Asian, and Sophia, I’m not making fun of you. It’s when you get red splotches on your face from drinking. Well the scientific name for it is called alcohol flush reactions, and the other term is colloquial. It’s genetic, caused by a deficiency in the enzyme—”
Abigail groans, “Enough biology talk. Let’s talk about magic!”
I shake my head, firm on my stance that I don’t plan to talk anymore about Magnus and Lance. “You can talk about it, Abigail, but I’m not saying anything more.”
“Okay, I’ll bookmark it for later and talk about my own stuff if you can actually manage to hit a ball into a pocket.” She uses her cue stick to point to all of the nearby pockets that my colors could go into.
I roll my eyes but stalk up to the table anyways. I line up my shot, trying hard to focus on the angles. I loved geometry and trig in high school, but applying it to a game of 8-ball was impossible for my awkward movements. Still, all of this training with Magnus was helping me lean into something more graceful, more purposeful, than I ever was before.
My stick lunges forward, kissing the white cue ball, and sending it flying to the ball I had hoped it would make contact with. The ball sputters across the table, taking with it another one of my balls into the pocket.
I stand up proudly, with a much too smug look on my face.
Abigail relents, “Okay fine, I’ll talk about it.”
Haley and Alex begin to talk amongst themselves, while Sophia gently tries to open the conversation to allow her into it. I watch the two of them, eventually three react to one another while I listen to Abigail.
“So, I’ve been getting into tarot, right?” Abigail says like I remember what she’s talking about.
“Sure,” I confirm without a beat.
“Well, I’ve been making good progress on it. Almost too good. I recently drew ten cards, a common spread for tarot, and every card I drew was like… eerily too accurate. But also, I don’t know how accurate they’ll be if I haven’t seen them play out yet, you know?”
My head tilts to the side as I tuck another piece of my frizzy hair behind my ear. “What do you mean? Can you explain what you drew?”
Abigail nods, her expression more serious. I try to lighten the situation by continuing to line up my next shot at the table.
“So my first card was the Four of Cups, right? Which basically signifies stagnation and apathy, repeating the same cycle again and not seeking out new paths. I feel like that represents how I’ve just been kind of… stuck here. Doing the same thing. Having the same arguments with my dad about not going into the mines or adventuring. I’m not depressed, I just feel like I’m wasting my potential, you know? I also pulled the Emperor card, which is supposed to be this masculine card, representing the authoritarian role my dad plays in my life.
“A lot of it kind of followed the same ideas, at least, from what I was reading into. And then I got my last card, which was the Two of Cups. Which is strange because usually that card represents relationships, like human connection. It looks like I’m either going to have a new relationship in my life soon that will push me to a new perspective or place, or maybe the deepening of an existing one. I pulled a mix of Wands and Cups cards, which is the suit of action and willpower and the suit of subconscious feelings and relationships. So, maybe this mystery person will lead to a new adventure? I’m not sure. It seems like this person will probably be someone I might have never considered before, so I hope romance isn’t the only adventure.”
When she finishes, I shoot the ball, which narrowly misses the pocket. I look up at her, and then look over at Haley. Just briefly. But it’s long enough.
Her eyes are intently glued on Abigail, who doesn’t seem to realize this. Alex is engaged in some quiet conversation with Sophia, but Haley can’t be bothered with the two of them. It’s like Abigail and Haley are the only people in the room.
When I look back at Abigail, I shrug. “Who knows what it could mean. Knowing you and your weird intuition, it probably will come true.”
Abigail sighs frustratedly, dragging a hand through her long orchid hair. “It’s just so weird. I feel like each time I think I’m just going crazy and that it’s not magic, something weird will happen anyways, you know?”
“I mean, yes, I do know what you mean,” I respond in a low voice, looking away from her and focusing on my muddy boots.
“I wonder who the person could be,” Abigail muses. She chews her lip in silent contemplation.
Without even looking at Haley, I know I need to make a move on her part. Subtly and quietly. Even if it’s only been a few days, I couldn’t handle her inaction in this situation. “Maybe it’s someone who's not your usual type. Like, think of your usual type and then think of the opposite of that.”
Abigail groans, leaning her lower-body onto the table as she crosses her arms. “How would I know? I’ve only dated like, two people.”
“Okay, who is your celebrity crush?” I push, feeling Haley’s gaze lightly touch the two of us.
“I mean if I had to pick, probably the alternative-looking ones. Like I don’t need dyed hair but I love different crazy hair colors, obviously. Probably ones that wear a lot of eyeliner and baggy clothes. Like when you look at them, you’re not really sure you know what you’re looking at, but they just look cool.”
That was entirely unhelpful to this cause. It was as if she purposely avoided using any gender-specific language. Maybe Haley was correct in feeling so anxious about assuming what Abigail’s sexuality could be.
But I couldn’t come right out and ask “guys or girls” or ask if it was in the middle or any other shade of queerness. So, I kept pressing forward.
“So, maybe someone that doesn’t look like you?” I suggest with a slightly cracked voice.
Abigail giggles at that. “I didn’t realize I just described myself with black hair. That’s funny.”
Okay, so possibly a woman? It was sort of implied. Maybe. But I won’t push that.
“Maybe your true love doesn’t have dyed hair,” I joke in the most lighthearted tone.
Abigail playfully punches me in the ribs with a hearty laugh. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that.”
I feel Haley stiffen in the corner of my eye. Was Haley a natural blonde? Fuck, my thoughts were getting all confused on this recon mission. I needed to abort the mission and just transition to a normal conversation.
“Well, you know what they say, love usually happens when you least expect it,” I say as naturally as I can. I shift in my feet, not really sure what to say or do next, despite the fact that Abigail is oblivious to my inner monologue.
Abigail brushes it off with ease and a relaxed shrug. “Yeah, I’m not too worried about it. Besides, it could have just been that I was reading the cards wrong. Maybe it’s about a new friend instead of love.” Her eyes narrow, focusing on my expression. “It could be about you. We’re new friends.”
Okay, but Haley is actually a newer friend than me, but I don’t dare to correct her outloud. At least, not like that. “Girl, we’ve been friends since spring. I wouldn’t count that as new.”
Abigail groans and relents to this fact.
We drift off into other avenues of conversation after that, the tension dissolving just enough to let something softer take its place. Sophia leans forward slightly, her hands folded neatly in her lap before she relaxes into the cushions, finally allowing herself to take up more space as she shifts closer to Alex and Haley’s side. Their shoulders brush once, then again, until it feels natural, like they have settled into a rhythm that does not need to be acknowledged.
Alex and Haley’s voices lowered into something quieter, more private, their heads angled toward one another in a way that keeps the rest of us just out of reach. Every now and then, Haley’s laughter slips through, light and quick, followed by Alex’s quieter response, the two of them existing in their own small pocket of the room. Every now and then, Haley will say something to address Sophia, allowing her to make a small comment here and there. I note that Alex speaks to Sophia more than a few times, and not in his usual sarcastic or derogative voice.
Abigail nudges my arm lightly, pulling me back into the conversation as Sophia begins listing off songs she has been listening to lately, her voice soft but steady, gaining confidence the longer she speaks. We fall into it easily after that, trading artists and albums and half-remembered lyrics, the conversation weaving between us in loose threads that never quite break.
The Saloon feels warmer than it ever has before.
Not just from the fireplace, though the heat from it flickers steadily across the room, casting golden light against the wooden walls and catching in the glass bottles behind the bar. It is something else, something quieter and more contained, like the space has shrunk just enough to hold only the people inside it.
The lanterns overhead glow low and soft, their light licking across every surface, turning worn wood into something almost polished, softening the edges of everything until it feels less like a bar and more like a place meant to be stayed in. Shadows stretch lazily behind us, shifting with every movement, every laugh, every careless gesture.
With just a few people, an old room can feel new again.
To think that I was here three seasons ago and I had never met these people before. I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me. But now, familiarity is at the heart of this group.
Time passes without me noticing exactly how.
At some point, Abigail sinks the final shot, the sharp crack of the cue ball echoing briefly before the colored ball disappears cleanly into the pocket. She freezes for half a second, then explodes into motion, jumping back from the table with a triumphant shout, her laughter spilling out loud and unrestrained as she throws her arms into the air.
“Yes!” she yells, spinning once before pointing her cue stick at me like a weapon. “And that is how it’s done.”
I roll my eyes, though I cannot stop the smile that pulls at my lips, pushing myself upright from where I had leaned against the table. “You won by, like, one shot,” I counter, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeve.
“Winning is winning,” she fires back immediately, already bouncing on the balls of her feet, her energy impossible to contain as she circles the table like she has just accomplished something monumental.
“Rematch,” I mutter under my breath.
“In your dreams,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out at me before dissolving into another fit of laughter.
The music in the Saloon slows slightly in the background, the steady hum of conversation lowering with it, like the night itself is beginning to wind down. Glasses clink softly at the bar, Gus and Emily moving between patrons with quiet efficiency, his presence grounding the space in something steady and familiar while hers is something that breathes life and variety into the old establishment.
I glance over at the couch.
They are all bundled together now, closer than before, the space between them nearly gone. Abigail has wedged herself between Sophia and Alex, her arm thrown lazily across the back of the couch as she leans into Sophia’s side, still grinning from her victory. Sophia sits slightly turned toward her, her expression soft and content, while Alex leans forward just enough to keep himself engaged, his posture looser than it had been earlier.
Haley sits at the edge, but not quite apart.
Not really.
Her shoulder brushes Alex’s arm, her leg tucked slightly beneath her, her attention shifting between him and the rest of us in small, careful glances. She looks more relaxed than she did before, though there is still something held in her posture, something she has not quite let go of.
I swing myself up onto the edge of the billiards table, the wood creaking faintly beneath my weight as I settle there, my boots dangling just slightly off the ground. I glance over my shoulder briefly, checking for Willy out of habit more than fear, before turning back to them.
“So,” Alex says, his voice cutting cleanly through the space, directed at me for the first time in what feels like an hour. His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharper now, more focused. “What are you going to do about Lance and Magnus?”
I groan softly, dragging a hand down my face before dropping it back into my lap. “Can we not—”
“No,” Haley interrupts immediately, sitting up straighter now, her expression lighting with interest like she has been waiting for this exact moment. “You should pick Lance.”
I blink at her.
She gestures with both hands, as if laying out an argument she has already fully constructed in her head.
“For one, he’s, like, way hotter,” she begins, ticking her fingers off one by one, “and has bigger muscles. And in the same vein, he seems more appropriately aged. I mean, he looks kind of the same age as Magnus, but Magnus has been around in the valley for probably the last ten thousand years, which is kind of… creepy.”
Abigail snickers at this while Sophia keeps her lips flat and pursed.
Haley continues, her hand popping out into two fingers held above her head. “Secondly, he didn’t weirdly ghost you for two seasons. I mean, he disappeared, but it wasn’t like after some stupid argument. And thirdly and most importantly, he’s not a complete social outcast.”
“Maybe Magnus isn’t a bad fit for you after all,” Alex cuts in, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he leans back slightly, clearly pleased with himself.
Haley does not hesitate.
Her elbow drives straight into his ribs with enough force to fold him inward, his breath leaving him in a sharp, surprised sound as he clutches his side.
“Sorry,” he wheezes, though he is already half-laughing.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, waving it off before it can turn into something else. “And I wouldn’t say Lance has bigger muscles—”
The words leave my mouth before my brain catches up. And then, everything stops.
Sophia’s eyes widen instantly, her entire posture snapping upright like she has just been struck with something electric. Haley freezes for half a second before dissolving into laughter, grabbing Alex by the arm and shaking him violently as she tries to get him to react.
Abigail’s eyebrows shoot straight up, her mouth falling open in exaggerated disbelief.
“Seriously!?” Sophia blurts, her voice ringing out far louder than I have ever heard it, before she immediately clamps a hand over her mouth, her face flushing as she shrinks back slightly.
I feel my face burn.
“I— uh—ignore that,” I say quickly, shaking my head as if that might undo the last ten seconds of my life. “That is not what I meant.”
Haley is still laughing. Alex is trying to breathe again. Abigail is staring at me like she has just unlocked a new level of information she was not supposed to have.
“Besides,” I add, weaker now, my voice cracking just slightly despite my best efforts, “it’s not even like that.”
And the worst part is, I am not entirely sure anyone believes me.
Silence hangs for exactly one second too long.
Then—
“Oh my god,” Abigail breathes, her voice dropping into something dangerously delighted, like she has just been handed the most valuable piece of gossip of her entire life. She slowly leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her eyes locked onto me with a kind of intensity that should honestly be illegal. “No, no, no, you don’t get to just say that and then move on.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I insist immediately, though the heat climbing up my neck suggests otherwise. I can feel it spreading, creeping up into my cheeks, settling there in a way that refuses to be ignored.
“You absolutely did,” Haley cuts in, still recovering from her laughter, though it lingers in her voice as she wipes at the corner of her eye. She turns toward me fully now, her entire body angled in my direction, completely invested. “You compared them.”
“I did not compare them,” I argue, though it sounds weaker the second it leaves me. “I just— I said—”
“You said muscles,” Alex adds, finally upright again, his voice rough from where the air had been knocked out of him. He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his expression sharpened with interest now. “That’s a comparison.”
I stare at him. “You weren’t even part of this conversation,” I point out.
“I am now,” he replies simply.
That’s unfortunately valid in this inane conversation.
Sophia lowers her hand slowly from her mouth, her eyes still wide, though now there’s something softer in them too, curiosity, maybe, or something like cautious excitement. “So…” she says gently, like she’s stepping into something fragile, “you’ve seen them both… like that?”
I choke.
“Okay!” I clap my hands together once, a little too loudly, pushing myself off the billiards table as if physically removing myself from the conversation will somehow save me. “New topic. New topic immediately.”
“No,” Abigail says, standing just as quickly, her cue stick abandoned as she follows me like a predator who has already decided she’s won. “Absolutely not. You opened this door, you are not closing it.”
“I didn’t open anything,” I shoot back, backing up a step as she advances, though I’m already smiling despite myself. “You’re all insane.”
“We’re curious,” Haley corrects, though her tone suggests otherwise, her grin sharp as she leans back into the couch, completely at ease now that the attention has shifted away from her. “There’s a difference.”
“Not in the ways that count nor matter,” I mutter.
Haley crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly as she studies me, her expression shifting into something more calculated now, like she’s trying to piece something together instead of just reacting.
“So,” she says slowly, “Magnus and Lance.”
I groan.
“Haley—”
“No, no, hear me out,” she continues, holding up a hand like she’s presenting a formal argument. “You’ve got one guy who is, like, mysterious, brooding, weirdly intense—”
“Rude,” I interject.
“—and another guy who is confident, flirty, and literally gave you his schedule,” she finishes, ignoring me completely. She then lets out a giggle, one that I know she tried her best to contain because of the snort that comes at the end of it. “I guess, maybe Lance might be the same age as Magnus if he’s giving you his schedule like he has one of those rolodexes.” She stills her face as she pinches her fingers together and slides the motion in front of her face. “Still, that is hella romantic in a way.”
“That’s not—”
“That is romantic,” Sophia cuts in, pointing a finger at me like she’s making a legal case. “You don’t give someone your schedule unless you want them to use it.”
“That could mean anything,” I argue, though I don't even sound convinced.
“It doesn’t mean nothing,” Alex points out.
I turn to look at him. He shrugs.
“I’m just saying.”
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair, my fingers catching slightly on the loose strands as I try to pull myself back together. “You’re all reading way too much into this,” I say. “It’s not like either of them—”
I stop. Too late.
Abigail’s eyes light up again.
“Oh my god,” she says, quieter this time, but somehow more intense. “You don’t even know.”
“I do know,” I insist quickly.
“You hesitated,” Haley points out immediately.
“I did not hesitate.”
“You did,” Sophia says softly, though there’s no accusation in it, just observation. “If you knew which one you wanted, you would have just said their name and not said ‘either’.”
I facepalm and groan loudly. These people were much too smart for their own good. It might be the death of me.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling slowly, trying to regain some kind of control over this conversation. “Even if, and that’s a huge if, there was something there, hypothetically, that doesn’t mean I have to… do anything about it.”
“That’s true,” Alex says.
I blink, shocked by his sudden compassion and empathy.
“Thank you.”
“But you will,” he adds.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He’s right. That’s annoying.
Abigail flops back onto the couch dramatically, throwing an arm over her eyes like she’s exhausted by my refusal to entertain her. “This is painful,” she groans. “You’re in the middle of, like, the most interesting romantic situation this town has seen in years and you’re acting like it’s a math problem.”
“It kind of is a math problem,” I mutter. “There are variables.”
Haley laughs again at that, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” I say, dropping back onto the edge of the table, crossing my arms loosely, “you’re all still here.”
“That’s because this is entertaining,” Abigail replies immediately, peeking out from behind her arm.
I roll my eyes.
But I’m smiling. And for a moment, just a moment, it’s easy.
The warmth of the Saloon settles back in around us, the low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the quiet creak of the floor beneath shifting weight. The night feels contained again, like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.
“I mean,” Haley says suddenly, her voice cutting through the ease of it, more thoughtful now, less teasing, “you’re going to have to choose eventually.”
I don't answer right away. Because for the first time tonight, I'm not entirely sure what the answer is, and the honesty of that sits somewhere uncomfortable in the middle of my chest.
Sophia mutters something quietly under her breath, barely audible beneath the low hum of the Saloon. All of us turn to look at her at once, and her face erupts into a deep, blotchy red that climbs all the way up to the tips of her ears.
"Forget I said anything!" she cries, immediately pressing both hands flat against her cheeks as if she could physically contain the color spreading across them.
Abigail moves fast. She reaches over and peels Sophia's hands away from her face with a firm but cheerful grip, then leans her forehead directly against Sophia's in the most aggressively affectionate way I have ever witnessed anyone behave. "Tell us everything you know," she says, her voice dropping into something conspiratorial and low, like she is conducting a very important interrogation.
Sophia shakes her head, her eyes wide, but her resolve visibly crumbles the moment Haley raises her signature brow, slow and deliberate, one corner of her mouth tilting upward in a look that has probably leveled stronger people than Sophia.
Sophia exhales in defeat, her shoulders dropping. "I just think," she begins quietly, her fingers twisting together in her lap, "that if you want to know how either of them actually feels, maybe you could try flirting a little, and see how they respond. Not anything too forward. Just something small, and see what comes back."
I immediately pull a face. "I don't even know how to do that."
"Clearly," Alex replies without missing a beat.
I roll my eyes, but a short laugh escapes me despite my best effort to suppress it.
"Okay, but what would I even be looking for?" I press, glancing between them. "Like if I actually did something like that and they responded, how would I know if it meant anything or if they were just being polite?"
Haley tilts her head with a look that suggests she finds the question genuinely charming in its cluelessness. "They're not NPCs," she says easily. "Whatever they say back is something only you're going to be able to read. That's kind of the point."
Abigail drags a hand thoughtfully across her chin, her expression exaggeratedly serious, like she is solving something with real academic weight. "I think the main thing is just that they don't shut it down," she says. "Like, as long as the door doesn't get slammed in your face, you're probably fine. If you walked up to Magnus and said something like, hey, sexy mamas, and he looked at you and went absolutely not, then yeah, you'd have your answer pretty quick."
I stare at her. "I would never say sexy nor mamas to Magnus."
"Obviously," she agrees, waving her hand like this is beside the point. "I'm just illustrating the concept."
Haley nods slowly, as if she is genuinely absorbing this information and cataloguing it somewhere useful. "She's not wrong, though. If the response isn't a shutdown, then you're in the clear enough to keep going. The reaction will tell you more than whatever you actually say."
Sophia nods in quiet agreement, and for a moment, the five of us sit with that.
The fire in the hearth shifts, sending a ripple of warm light across the far wall, and I let myself look around the room without really meaning to. At Abigail, who is already reaching forward to reclaim her abandoned cue stick with the energy of someone who has fully forgotten she ever put it down. At Alex, who has leaned back into the couch cushions, his beer nearly empty, his expression looser and less constructed than it was two hours ago. At Sophia, whose color has finally begun to settle, her hands still folded in her lap but no longer wrung tight. At Haley, who is watching me with something quiet in her expression, something that is not quite teasing anymore, something softer and more patient than I usually associate with her.
I look away first.
"I'll think about it," I say finally, which is neither a yes nor a no, but feels like the most honest thing I have said all night.
Abigail points the cue stick at me. "That means you're going to think about it and then do absolutely nothing."
"It means I'll think about it," I repeat, firm.
She gives me a look that suggests she does not believe me in the slightest, but she lets it go, turning back to the table and lining up a shot she has no real reason to take at this hour of the night except that she clearly cannot help herself.
The crack of the cue ball splits through the quiet of the room, and whatever was left of the tension dissolves cleanly with it, scattered like the balls across the worn green felt. The conversation shifts again after that, drifting into something lighter, easier, with no particular destination, and I let it carry me along without resistance.
The Saloon continues its quiet business around us, Gus moving steadily behind the bar, Emily's voice drifting through from somewhere near the entrance, warm and unhurried. The lanterns overhead have not changed, still low, still amber, still casting everything in that particular kind of light that makes a place feel like it belongs to the people inside it.
At some point, the clock behind the bar ticks past eleven, and nobody moves to leave.
I think, absently, that this is what it feels like when something has quietly become yours without you ever making a deliberate decision about it. Not a farm, not a valley, but something smaller and less tangible than either of those things. A room. A couch. A handful of people who have no real reason to know you as well as they do, and who know you anyway.
I don't think about Magnus. I don't think about Lance.
For now, I just let the warmth of the room settle over me, and I decide that for tonight, this is enough.