By the time Isla escaped Leona’s orbit, her brain felt like it had been wrung out and hung up to dry.
She didn’t go to the coal room immediately.
She went to the medieval wing.
She needed normal.
Or her version of it.
The gallery was quiet in the late afternoon.
Golden light filtered through the high windows, catching dust motes.
The reliquaries glowed softly under their spotlights.
She stood in front of a fifteenth-century French shrine, its tiny figures of saints lined up in enamel and gold.
“Tell me a story that isn’t about cracks,” she whispered to them.
They remained serenely silent.
“Talking to the boxes again?” Tim said at her elbow.
She didn’t jump this time.
“You keep sneaking up on me,” she said. “One of these days I’m going to whack you with a crosier.”
He smiled.
“Halpern would be so proud,” he said.
He looked… tired.
More lines around his eyes.
She wondered if he’d slept at all since they’d returned.
“Leona cornered me,” she said. “She… knows. Or thinks she does. About Cael.”
Tim’s jaw tightened.
“How much?” he asked.
“She doesn’t have proof,” Isla said. “But she has… patterns. She put them together. She said ‘dragon’ out loud like it was just another item on her checklist.”
He winced.
“She wants you to spy,” he said.
“She wants to… share data,” Isla said dryly. “Her words. She thinks we’re allies. For now.”
“And what do you think?” he asked.
She exhaled.
“I think refusing outright would make her more suspicious,” she said. “And I think she’s not wrong that we need to know when the cracks move outside our little bubble. But I also think the last thing Cael needs is another sorcerer thinking she can chain him.”
Tim nodded slowly.
“I trust you,” he said.
The simple declaration hit harder than she’d expected.
“You shouldn’t,” she said reflexively.
He huffed a laugh.
“Too late,” he said.
Her throat tightened.
“Tim,” she said.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
“If you ever feel like this is too much,” she said. “Like you need to step back. For your sanity. For your job. For your life. You can. I won’t—”
“Be mad?” he finished. “Hate me? Call me a coward?”
“Yes,” she said.
He smiled crookedly.
“Good thing I’m stubborn too,” he said. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
She swallowed.
“You keep saying that,” she said. “One of these days, I might believe you.”
“I’ll keep saying it until you do,” he said.
Silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable.
Charged.
“Isla,” he said softly.
She braced.
“I meant what I said,” he went on. “About… coffee. Walks. Things that are just… us. Not dragons. Not cracks. Not Leona. Whenever you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”
Her heart stuttered.
“Tim—” she began.
He held up a hand.
“No pressure,” he said quickly. “No timeline. No expectations. I know you’ve got a lot going on. I just… wanted to put it there. In the open. Instead of letting it fester in the staff kitchen like an unlabeled Tupperware.”
A surprised laugh escaped her.
“You and your metaphors,” she said.
He grinned.
“I work with what I know,” he said.
Her chest ached.
“I don’t know what I can… give,” she said honestly. “To anyone. Not while I’m… this tangled.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m not asking for anything now. Just… remember it’s an option. You’re allowed to want things for yourself. Not just for the city. Not just for the hoard. Not just for everyone else.”
She thought of Cael in the coal room.
Of the way he’d said *if you choose another, I will not burn him.*
Of the way he’d called her rare.
Her heart pulled in two directions.
Duty.
Desire.
Fear.
Longing.
“All my wants are tangled up in everyone else’s,” she whispered. “I don’t know where I end and they begin.”
He nodded.
“Maybe that’s the work,” he said. “Finding the line.”
“You make it sound so simple,” she said.
“It’s not,” he said. “But you’re good at tracing lines. You do it for a living.”
She smiled weakly.
“Provenance of the heart,” she murmured.
He huffed.
“Exactly,” he said.
They stood in front of the reliquaries a moment longer.
Then he squeezed her shoulder lightly.
“Go see your dragon,” he said. “Before he does something dramatic to get your attention.”
“He wouldn’t—” she began.
They both looked at each other.
“Yes, he would,” they said in unison.
She laughed.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?” he asked.
“For… being here,” she said. “For not running. For… offering.”
His eyes softened.
“Anytime,” he said.
***
The coal room was dim.
Hot.
The hum of the hoard vibrated against her skin as soon as she stepped inside.
Cael sat cross-legged on the tarp, back against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed.
He looked… worn.
Not physically.
Magically.
The runes along his ribs were faint.
The crown at his feet glowed softly.
The scale pulsed.
He opened his eyes when she approached.
“You look like you got hit by a truck,” she said gently.
“Truck,” he echoed.
“Big metal thing,” she said. “On the road. Hits people who don’t look both ways.”
“Ah,” he said. “No. This is… less messy.”
She sank onto a crate opposite him.
The heat in the room wrapped around her like a blanket.
“You’ve been… holding,” she said.
He nodded.
“It… tests the new tether,” he said. “Nibbles. Tugs. I push. It pouts.”
She snorted.
“You make it sound like a toddler,” she said.
“It is,” he said. “A very old, very large toddler that likes to chew on foundations. But… simple. It does not plot. It does not scheme. It just… hungers. That makes it easier than humans.”
Her lips twitched.
“High praise,” she said.
He studied her.
“You smell of… worry,” he said.
She rolled her eyes.
“Leona cornered me,” she said. “She… knows. Or thinks she does.”
“About me,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “She said ‘dragon’ like it was just another bullet point. She wants to… ally. For now.”
His jaw clenched.
“She will want to chain me,” he said.
“Eventually,” she said. “Probably.”
He looked at her.
“And you?” he asked softly. “What do you want?”
The question landed like a stone in a pond.
Ripples.
She thought of Abuela’s blessings.
Of Maya’s laughter.
Of Tim’s steady presence.
Of the reliquaries.
Of the crack.
Of him.
“I want my city safe,” she said. “I want the museum to still be standing in fifty years. I want the board to stop talking about turning the medieval wing into an interactive selfie experience.”
He smiled faintly.
“And for yourself?” he pressed.
She swallowed.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’ve spent so long wanting things for… everyone else. For the objects. For my parents. For… ghosts. My own wants feel… indulgent. Complicated.”
He tilted his head.
“Indulge,” he said.
“What?” she asked, startled.
He shrugged.
“You bleed for others,” he said. “You stand in cracks. You lie to sorcerers. You deserve to want something… small. Human. Yours.”
Her throat ached.
“I want…” She hesitated.
He waited.
“I want… mornings where I don’t wake up wondering if the floor will open under me,” she said quietly. “I want… an evening where the only thing I have to decide is what book to read. I want… to be held… without worrying if my magic is going to leak on someone and ruin their life.”
His eyes softened.
“Those are not small wants,” he said. “But they are… good.”
She laughed weakly.
“What do you want?” she asked, because it felt unfair to sit here exposing herself without asking.
He considered.
“Once,” he said slowly, “I wanted… war. Fire. Gold high enough to bury my siblings. To carve my name into mountains.”
“And now?” she asked.
He looked at the crown.
At the scale.
At her.
“Now,” he said softly, “I want… enough of my hoard to keep my mind. Enough… quiet… that I can hear my own thoughts. A world that does not chew itself to pieces. A place to sleep that is not stone. And…”
He trailed off.
“And?” she prodded.
He smiled crookedly.
“And perhaps someone to shout at when I am being foolish,” he said. “Consistently. With… affection.”
Heat flooded her face.
“You already have Jay,” she said.
He laughed.
“True,” he said. “I meant… you.”
Her heart did a somersault.
“Cael,” she said.
“Yes?” he asked innocently.
“This is… complicated,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I don’t… know…” She gestured helplessly between them.
He watched her.
“You do not have to,” he said. “Yet. Or ever. The bond exists whether you kiss me or not. The hoard hums whether you say ‘mine’ or ‘friend’ or ‘fool.’ We can… name it later.”
Her eyes stung.
“You’re being… very reasonable,” she said suspiciously.
He smiled faintly.
“I have had three hundred years to think,” he said. “My temper has… cooled. Some.”
“You say that like you didn’t snarl at Leona in your head the moment you smelled her,” she said.
He huffed.
“I did not snarl,” he said. “I… rumbled.”
She laughed.
The sound loosened something inside her.
“I told Leona we couldn’t do this alone,” she said. “That we needed allies. Communities. People who’d been dealing with this longer than we have. I meant… my Abuela. Her friends. Old women with rosaries and brooms. I also… meant you.”
He stilled.
“You told her that?” he asked.
“Not… explicitly,” she said. “But… yes. In my head.”
He nodded slowly.
“I do not like her,” he said. “But she is not… entirely wrong. She has stood in cracks and not fallen. That earns some… respect.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said about her,” Isla said.
“Do not tell her,” he said. “She will be unbearable.”
She smiled.
Silence settled.
Not heavy.
Not quite light.
He shifted.
“Isla,” he said.
She braced.
“Yes?”
“In your dreams,” he said slowly, “if I… come… uninvited… you may chase me out.”
She blinked.
“Where did that come from?” she asked.
“You said… consent,” he said. “Even in dreams. I have… stepped in without knocking before. Because it was… easy. Because the hoard made paths. I will… try… not to. But if I… slip. You have my permission to… throw something at me. In there.”
She stared.
Emotion rose sudden and fierce.
“Okay,” she said, voice rough. “Deal.”
He smiled faintly.
“And if you… call,” he added, “I will come. Even if it is only because you saw something stupid in your own head and need someone to tell you it is not real.”
A laugh burst out of her, watery and sharp.
“You’re volunteering for nightmare duty,” she said.
“I am volunteering for… any duty you ask,” he said seriously. “Within reason.”
“Don’t say ‘duty’ like that,” she muttered. “My brain is already overloaded.”
He tilted his head, puzzled.
“You are the strange one,” he murmured fondly.
Her heart eased.
Just a little.
Enough.
“For the record,” she said. “If you choose… someone else. Some other hoard. Some other… dragon thing. I won’t burn her either.”
His brows lifted.
“That is not how my kind work,” he said. “We do not… move on… easily.”
“Humor me,” she said.
He smiled.
“I will,” he said.
She leaned her head back against the wall.
Closed her eyes.
Listened.
Two tethers.
Two hums.
One dragon.
One city.
One heart that didn’t know yet where it would land.
She breathed.
For the first time in days, the floor under her felt… solid.
Not because the cracks were gone.
Because she knew, now, who would stand with her when they widened.
An ancient dragon.
A tired security guard.
A meddling consultant.
A mouthy friend.
A grandmother’s stories.
A hoard of objects that had outlived kings.
And herself.
Stubborn.
Terrified.
Willing.
She opened her eyes.
Met Cael’s gaze.
“Okay,” she said.
He tilted his head.
“Okay?” he echoed.
“Okay,” she repeated. “We’ll… write the rest as we go.”
He smiled.
“Good,” he said.
The cracks hummed.
The hoard purred.
The last dragon leaned his head back against the coal-dusted wall and, just for a moment, allowed himself to feel… hopeful.
***
End of Chapter 20.