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"Stay."

She tilts her head up, her eyes catching the last of the firelight. "Stay where? In the cabin?"

"Everywhere. Just... stay."

Her smile starts slow and builds until it transforms her entire face—completely open and so beautifully unguarded it makes my chest ache. She laces her fingers through mine and squeezes once, firm and certain.

"I'm a permanent fixture in your life now, Morvane. Get used to seeing my face."

I gather her closer, and the fire burns low, and the cabin holds us in its quiet like a promise kept. Outside, the moon rises clean over the tree line, pouring true light over the earth exactly as it has always done. It illuminates the way home.

37

SERENITY

The brass nameplate on my office door gleams under the hallway's flickering lights: Serenity Crowe, Occult Investigations. I run my thumb over the fresh engraving, still getting used to seeing my name displayed so openly after months of hiding in shadows.

"Are you sure about this?" Darius asks from behind me, keys jingling as he locks up the adjacent office space we're renting for Morvane Protective Solutions. "Last time you made yourself this visible, the mere mention of your name was enough to put a target on your back for half the supernatural community."

"Exploiting my bloodline was the only reason the other half wanted me alive, but now they simply want competent magical consulting." I push open the door, breathing in the aroma of new paint and possibility. "Thanks to the council's new transparency protocols, I can actually work cases without wondering if my clients are secretly planning to sacrifice me. By officially seizing and dismantling Crescentfall Holdings, the PGC cut off the last of the cult's remaining shell companies while the corrupt officials on their payroll sit in federal containment cells. I’m thankful you recovered my physical drive off Sybil's body because undeniable digital evidence of a centuries-old death cult is highly effective at speeding up council indictments. Kellan even confirmed the fifty-thousand-dollar bounty on my head has officially been canceled."

"That's a shame. I was thinking about turning you in and using the cash to buy new office furniture."

"You’re hilarious."

The office is modest but functional with a desk facing the door and a consultation area featuring comfortable chairs that don't scream 'supernatural death trap.' Afternoon sunlight streams through windows I can actually leave uncovered now that I'm not constantly dodging assassination attempts. It's a nice change of pace from living out of duffel bags. After the blood moon, I officially terminated the lease on my ruined Lincoln Park apartment. Since then, Darius and I have been staying at his old pack cabin in the woods—a temporary fix while we figure out our next steps, but waking up to pine trees instead of crime scenes has been exactly what we needed.

My phone drones with a text from an unknown number: Ms. Crowe, my daughter's been having prophetic dreams about a fire at her school. The visions are getting stronger. Can you help? - Mitzi Salvadora

I show Darius the message. "These are standard paranormal problems from people who aren't trying to harvest my magical essence."

"I think we have different definitions of normal."

"I'm talking about prophetic dreams and minor hauntings. I used to love those cases before everything became about ancient entities and blood sacrifice." Typing back a response, I schedule a consultation for tomorrow morning. "I remember Mitzi Salvadora from the community meetings after the blood moon incident since her family runs that little botanica on Ashland."

The office door chimes as someone enters. A nervous-looking vampire in an expensive suit hovers near the threshold, clearly fighting every instinct that tells him to flee from Crowe magic.

"Excuse me, Ms. Crowe? I'm Jonathan Reeves. I called earlier about the missing grimoire."

This must be the corporate vampire whose centuries-old spell book vanished from a supposedly impregnable vault. Three months ago, he would have hired muscle to retrieve it quietly instead of standing in my office asking for legitimate investigative services.

"Mr. Reeves, please sit." I gesture to the consultation chairs, noting how his shoulders relax when I don't immediately start crackling with unstable power. "Tell me about the security measures protecting the grimoire."

He descends into the chair, briefcase balanced on his knees. "We used standard corporate wards like theft detection and unauthorized access alerts. The book contains binding contracts with several prominent supernatural businesses that would cause major issues if it fell into the wrong hands."

I take out a legal pad, jotting down notes in shorthand. "This sounds like corporate espionage. Do you have any idea who might benefit from accessing those contracts?"

"Half the supernatural business community would benefit, which is exactly why I need someone with your reputation for uncovering uncomfortable truths."

There is the shift I've been noticing for weeks. Instead of fearing the Crowe name, paranormals are starting to associate it with someone who will dig until she finds answers.

"My standard rate is seven hundred a day plus expenses. I'll need access to the vault and employee records to begin." I slide a contract across the desk. "This includes confidentiality clauses and magical binding to ensure I don't misuse any information I uncover."

He reviews the paperwork with the practiced eye born from signing countless supernatural contracts. "These terms are remarkably... reasonable."

"I'm strictly in the business of solving client problems with integrity."

Darius leans against the doorframe, watching the exchange, quietly approving. We've spent months rebuilding our relationship and our approach to the supernatural community by putting trust before contracts.