Chapter Text
Warmth was the first thing you noticed as you drifted back into consciousness, like a cocoon that held you still, reluctant to let you go. The second was the smell. It curled through the air, rich and savory, filling the room until your stomach growled in protest. Bacon. At least, you hoped it was bacon. You jolted upright, disoriented for a moment before the memories settled in. Westview, not Eastview. The accident. The ache residing along your ribs made sure you didn’t forget. Your arm, still trapped in its sling, dangled awkwardly at your side, twisted halfway out as though you’d wrestled with it in your sleep. A sharp sting pulsed down to your elbow and along your ribs when you tried to free it, forcing you to suck in a breath. You’d definitely pay for that later. Still, you’d take the discomfort, even the strangeness of waking up in an unfamiliar place, over the suffocating weight of being back in that house.
The scent tugged at you again, and with it came a memory of Lilia’s voice from the night before, promising brunch. You prayed she hadn’t changed her mind. With as little effort as possible, you slid out of bed, tugging the sheets back into place and smoothing the duvet until it looked half decent. A habit that won’t be broken anytime soon. Satisfied, you crossed to your backpack, which Lilia had left neatly by the door. The first thing you pulled out wasn’t clothes, but your stuffed bunny, Señor Scratchy. You set him carefully on the bed, propping him against the pillows. He slumped over immediately. You tried again. And again. Eventually, you managed to balance him upright, though his worn fur and floppy ears gave him the air of a soldier who’d seen better days. Once white, he was now a faded beige, tufted from too many quick washes in the sink, the fabric worn soft to the point of fragility. His pink nose, though dulled, still held its shape. The stitching along his seams also remained strong.
You brushed a finger gently down his side, guilt stirring for having kept him buried in your bag so long. He deserved better. At the very least, he deserved sunlight and the space to breathe. Only then did you dig back into your pack for clean clothes. Three days on the road, plus yesterday’s crash, had ruined the pants you wore. Dirt clung to the fabric, sweat and grime settling into every crease. The loaner shirt from the hospital was a size too big. You had one fresh shirt left, and the black joggers you were wearing — your second and only other pair of pants — would have to hold out a little longer.
After a quick shower, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed but slightly winded from wrangling your arm back into its sling. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you swiped it away with the back of your good hand. For a moment, you caught your own reflection, your eyes locking with yourself. You held the stare for too long. Shame pressed down like a heavy hand. Not that you found yourself ugly. You rarely lingered on appearances, yours or anyone else’s. Beauty had always felt like something fleeting, subjective. No, the shame didn’t stem from the surface. It ran deeper, carved into marrow and bone, poisoning the roots of who you were.
Your chest tightened. With a violent shake of your head, you tore away from the mirror and left the bathroom abruptly, as though running from a reflection that might drag you back inside. The notebook Lilia had pressed into your hands last night sat on the dresser. You tucked it under your sling; its weight strangely grounding. With your good hand, you picked up your phone and began the slow, clumsy work of tapping out a one-handed text to Mrs. Davis.
Safe. I made it.
Westview and the crash were both left out. You left out everything that might unravel into worry, or worse…sacrifice on their end. You knew them well enough to know that they would offer to come to you. To drive out, to spend money they didn’t have just to make sure you were okay. So what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. You placed the phone back on the nightstand and headed out of your room. The scent of breakfast lingered in the hallway, richer with each step down the stairs. It clung to the walls, warm and inviting, so unlike the spaces you’d grown up in. Your stomach growled impatiently. At the bottom of the stairs, you paused just outside the swinging doors that led into the bar. Voices filtered through, layered over one another. You picked out Lilia’s smooth intonation and Alice’s sharper tone, but there was a third unfamiliar feminine voice.
“Alice, I swear you’re worse than both my sons and husband put together. Here, take this, please.”
The stranger’s voice was warm, touched with exasperation, and then muffled sounds of Alice muttering something back. Lilia’s laughter followed, bright and unrestrained, spilling into the hall along with the clatter of plates being set down.
“No need to be shy, honey. Come on out and eat some breakfast! I made your plate for you. It’s still warm!”
Lilia’s voice carried through the door, gentle but firm, like she already knew you were hovering. You must’ve given yourself away with a creak on the stairs. You pushed the doors open and stepped inside, the scents of maple syrup and eggs rushing over you in waves. Three pairs of eyes waited on the other side. Alice sat at a small table near the bar, facing you, though her attention wasn’t anywhere near you. Instead, she locked her eyes on the tower of waffles in front of her, which was stacked high and drowning beneath whipped cream, syrup, chocolate drizzle, and something suspiciously pink that might’ve been candy. Your stomach twisted at the sheer excess, the sugar a stark contrast to your own hollow ache. Lilia leaned against the bar, one arm braced on the counter, watching you with that same warm and unreadable expression she seemed to wear effortlessly from last night. The kind of look that didn’t press, but pulled. Safe. Familiar in a way that was difficult to explain, even to yourself.
The third woman sat beside Alice, her back to you at first. Red hair spilled down onto the chair, strands catching hints of orange where the light touched. She shifted as you stepped further into the bar, tilting just enough for you to see her face when she glanced over her shoulder. Her sea-foam green eyes, sharp but softened by curiosity, caught yours before you could stop yourself. She was studying you, not unkindly, but with an attention that made your skin prickle. The striped red, blue, and yellow dress she wore only made her gaze sharper, brighter. You looked back, only for a heartbeat, before quickly returning your eyes to Lilia. Without realizing it, your body inched toward her, a quiet magnetism guiding your steps.
“Y/N, this is Wanda. Wanda, this is Y/N,” Alice said through a mouthful of waffles, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk mid-feast. Wanda turned at once, lifting a napkin in her hand, and swatted Alice’s arm with it.
“Where. Are. Your. Manners. Alice Wu—Gulliver,” she said, each word clipped, broken by the soft thwap of fabric against Alice’s sleeve. Alice grimaced, ducking back into her plate. “Sorry,” she muttered, cheeks puffed with food.
“Even Tommy doesn’t speak with his mouth full,” Wanda scolded. Her tone wasn’t cruel, but it was firm, commanding in a way that brokered no argument. Then, almost offhandedly, she added, “Don’t make me have Rio bring your mother back into town again. Don’t think I won’t.”
The words landed heavily in the air. Alice flinched. Subtle, but clear enough that you caught it. You felt the breath catch in your chest, a violent inhale as your gaze lingered on her reaction. Was her mother abusive? The thought burned through you before you could stop it. But then… why would Wanda invoke her like a threat, if she knew? Did Wanda not care for Alice? Or was there something you weren’t understanding at all? The questions tangled in your head, uneasy. A gentle tap on your shoulder made you flinch. You hadn’t even heard Lilia move. She stood just behind you, concern etched in the soft creases at the corners of her eyes.
“You’re looking a little tense, honey. Come sit…you look a little pale.” Her hand hovered over the small of your back, guiding you toward a stool tucked neatly against the bar. You sat down in a slight daze, unsure if your legs had decided or if she had for you. The wood of the stool was cool against your palms as you steadied yourself. A glass appeared in front of you, condensation sliding down its side, and when you looked up, those sea-foam eyes were there again, staring into yours with quiet intensity. It felt less like she was looking at you and more like she was searching through you, sifting through the folds of your silence. A strange noise rattled out of your throat, somewhere between a sigh and a hiccup. Her gaze narrowed, concern flickering there.
“Are you okay, Y/N?” Wanda’s voice was low, hushed, the kind of gentle murmur mothers used to calm restless children. You nodded quickly, taking a larger gulp of the water just to have something to do with your hands. A plate slid across the bar and landed neatly before you. Bacon glistened in neat strips, sunny-side-up eggs shone under a perfect sheen of yolk, a heap of hash browns, and two pieces of toast sat balanced on the side. Steam still lifted from the food, as if someone had just taken it from the pan. Your eyes darted from one item to the next, indecisive. For a moment, Wanda’s question evaporated from your mind, replaced by the practical dilemma of where to start first. Wanda slid onto a stool a couple of seats away, her hands folded in her lap. Though she wasn’t speaking, you felt the weight of her watching you. It made your shoulders tense as you picked up a corner of toast and nibbled carefully, keeping your eyes trained on your plate.
The eggs drew your gaze. It had been a long time since you’d seen them prepared this way. Not since your father’s breakfasts on Sunday mornings in the kitchen, where he’d whistle over the skillet and flip pancakes with too much batter, that left gooey, half-cooked pockets that melted against your tongue. Those had been your favorite. Your chest tightened at the memory, the warmth clashing with the hollow ache it left behind.
“Y/N!” Alice’s voice broke through, her words muffled by her own overfilled mouth. “Dip your toast in the eggs and break the yolks! It’s the best way to eat ‘em, I swear. That is why they are called dippy eggs."
You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth. Her antics were ridiculous, but they gave you the nudge you needed. You dipped the toast into the yolk, letting it break and run, and took a bite. The taste was rich, messy, and satisfying.
“There you go! See? Convert number two! Wands was the first. You’ll never go back, I promise.” She winked, licking syrup off her thumb with no shame. Lilia chuckled as she moved past with a tray, muttering something under her breath about children and table manners.
But Wanda said nothing. She just watched. Those viridian eyes stayed trained on you with an unreadable patience, occasionally glancing away only long enough to add a brief remark into Lilia and Alice’s banter. It wasn’t harsh scrutiny, but one that was softer, like a mother watching a child rediscover something they’d forgotten. And yet, the longer she held you in her gaze, the more it made your chest constrict. Were you doing something wrong? Eating too fast? Too slow? You nibbled at a strip of bacon, hoping it would break her concentration, but she remained where she was, still and watching.
After Alice begged shamelessly for your last piece of bacon and your plate was cleared, you leaned back in your stool with a soft, satisfied hum. It escaped before you could stop it. Immediately, you looked around for your notebook, not wanting to be rude to your hostess.
It wasn’t on the bar.
Instead, it sat in front of Wanda. The pencil twirled idly between her fingers, rolling over knuckles. Her eyes weren’t on you anymore, but distant, focused on the far wall beyond Lilia, lost in thought. You allowed yourself a brief moment to really look at her. The beauty of her features softened by something unnameable, but nonetheless clung to her like light. She looked like the kind of person people waited on, like the perfect sunset you could sit through hours of gray just to catch — and when it came, it never disappointed. But her earlier words to Alice lingered, twisted at the edges. A double-edged sword hidden beneath all that gentleness.
You cleared your throat. Wanda’s eyes flicked back toward you, and you glanced meaningfully at the notebook. Her brows arched, following your gaze. Realization dawned, and her lips parted into a small, surprised “Oh.” She slid the notebook across the bar with ease, placing the pencil atop it like a peace offering. When you reached for it, your fingers brushed hers. It was the faintest touch, but Wanda inhaled sharply, pulling back so fast it was as if the burn had caught her by surprise. Her eyes darted down to her hand, lingering there for a beat before she shook her head, almost laughing at herself.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, voice softer now, tinged with something unreadable. “Must have been a shock.”
Weird…you had felt nothing. Whatever reaction Wanda had wasn’t yours to claim, so you tucked it away in the back of your mind where other unexplainable things had begun piling up since you arrived. Her eyes lingered on you once more before drifting back to that same patch of wall as though she expected it to start speaking. You chose to ignore it and her, flipping open your notebook and letting your pencil drag across the paper.
Thank you, Lilia. It was delicious.
You turned the notebook for Lilia to see. Her face bloomed into a grin as she read, her delight unconstrained.
“Oh, you are more than welcome, Y/N! Like I said, I love to cook, and I love it even more when I have mouths I can feed.” She set her hand on the bar with a soft smack, as if punctuating her joy. “If you’re around tonight, I’m making slow-cooker beef brisket. I would love to have you.”
She sent you a wink before her gaze slid upward, as if a thought had just landed on her shoulder. “Ah, which reminds me…” She tapped her chin with a long finger, lips pursed, then pivoted abruptly and slipped back through the swinging doors you had entered earlier. Her absence felt almost immediately, like sunlight ducking behind a passing cloud.
That left you alone with Alice…and Wanda. Alice had taken to the sink, her back hunched as she lazily scrubbed her plate. She turned when she sensed your gaze, flashing you a mischievous grin.
“Do you have any plans for today, Y/N? I mean, I know R—Dr. Vidal said to take it easy, rest up, blah blah blah.” She mimicked the doctor’s serious tone in a way that made her nose wrinkle. “But if it were me? I’d be climbing the walls already. Maybe you could explore the town a bit. Scenic, but boring as all hell, I promise. That’s small towns for you.”
Her words came lightly, teasing, the way she seemed to handle everything, with a kind of irreverence that made her hard to dislike. From her stool, Wanda stirred, dragging her attention away from the wall.
“I can take you to the pharmacy if you need anything filled. It’s in the middle of town. From there, you could walk around, see a little.” Her voice was velvet, threaded with a patient steadiness.
You looked between them, torn. The idea of stretching your legs, of seeing more than these four walls, tugged at you. And truthfully, you wanted to know what this place was. The air here carried something that made your mind wander and your heart race, a strange static you couldn’t name. A walk might clear it…or maybe give you some answers. But Wanda was…uncharted. Something about her pressed against your chest like a weight. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be alone with her yet.
You wrote quickly in the notebook:
I don’t want to get in your way. I can just walk myself.
Sliding the book toward her, you avoided her eyes. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw her eyebrows climb, her lips part in a soft hum as she glanced toward Alice. For a moment, their gazes locked in a silent conversation you weren’t invited to, Alice’s mouth twitching like she was holding back a comment. Then Wanda looked back at your words, and her fingers brushed the paper as if she could read more than what was written.
“You won’t be in my way,” she said softly. “The pharmacy’s only three stores down from my diner. I was going there anyway.” Her voice lowered, though not unkind. “Please. Let me take you?”
Her eyes bored into yours. For a moment, you almost forgot to breathe. There was a deeper pull in her gaze. You nodded, almost against your own better judgment. Her lips curved into a warm smile that lit something small inside her eyes. Like she was pleased you hadn’t argued.
Alice clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. “Well, that’s settled then.” She dried her hands and tossed the towel over her shoulder. “I’m headed home to crash for a few hours. Can’t have my beauty sleep ruined before my date with Jen tonight, now can I?”
The grin that spread across her face was impossibly wide. She practically glowed as she talked about her girlfriend, her words tumbling out quickly and carelessly. “I swear, I’ll have to marry her if she brings the tiramisu she makes again; it’s criminally good.”
You felt something warm pinch your chest. Love, you thought. Real, unashamed love. You wondered what that felt like. To be so sure, so devoted, that even years in, the glow didn’t fade. You also wondered if Jen’s face carried the same shine whenever Alice’s name came up. You hoped so. For Alice’s sake. It made something ache deep inside you, a longing you’d buried so far down you hadn’t realized it was still there. Alice dried her hands, humming softly as she moved about, but your attention snagged again when Wanda finally stirred.
“Don’t forget, Alice,” she said mildly, “we have that meeting tonight.”
Alice groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, that. How could I possibly forget? A room full of broody wi–women arguing…be still, my beating heart.” She clutched her chest, swooning so theatrically it almost made you laugh.
“Just don’t be late,” Wanda replies with an eye roll.
“Yeah, yeah, I won’t be, Wands, I swear!” Alice says. “Last time wasn’t even my fault! That was Jennifer’s crisis, not mine. Outfit number one didn’t match the vibe, outfit number two wasn’t ‘authentic’ enough, and outfit number three—well, honestly, if she tells me one more time that mauve isn’t a real color, I’m eloping just to spite her.”
Alice’s ranting trailed off when she caught herself mid-sentence, eyes flicking toward you. Her cheeks colored, and she cleared her throat, trying to recover some dignity. “Ahem. Right. Anyways. I’ll be there on time, scout's honor.”
Wanda arched a brow, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “You’ve said that before.”
“And I meant it before!” Alice shot back, pointing dramatically before letting her arms fall limp at her sides. Wanda chuckled, shaking her head as if she’d heard this routine a hundred times before. You couldn’t help but think there was something fond tucked into the way her lips softened, even when she rolled her eyes. It only served its purpose of puzzling you further.
Alice, meanwhile, had already shifted her full attention back to you. “Anyways, gotta blast, sunshine. Y/N, lovely to see you still alive and kicking. I had my doubts after last night, but you’re tougher than you look.” She winked, almost conspiratorially. “I’ll catch you around, yeah?”
You lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.
Alice grinned, rocking back on her heels. “That’s what I like to see, some mystery. Very chic of you.” She grabbed her bag, then leaned in just a fraction closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret.
“Oh! If you happen to stumble across a shop called Kale Kare, don’t let the owner scare you off. She’s pricklier than a cactus and twice as green, but don’t take it personally. Deep down, she lives for people who buy her overpriced tea blends.”
“Overpriced,” Wanda muttered under her breath, arms folding loosely.
Alice snorted, spinning toward the door. “I said what I said. Goodbye, Wanda! Goodbye, my mute mystery friend!” she called in a singsong tone, giving a theatrical bow before dashing out the doors.
Wanda let out a soft, affectionate tsk, shaking her head. “That girl… It’s like having a third teenager. Loud, dramatic, and always running late.” Her gaze settled back on you, gentle and steady. “Are you ready to head out now?” she asked softly. “Or do you need to change or grab anything first?”
You shook your head.
“Alright then.” Wanda’s smile was small but approving as she stood, slipping her purse strap onto her shoulder. She crossed the room with measured steps, plucking her keys from the table. You scrambled to gather your things, shoving your notebook into your backpack before hesitating. At the last second, you tugged it back out, just in case. Slinging the bag over your good arm, you rose to your feet. Wanda’s eyes flicked over you once, quietly assessing, before she turned and gestured toward the door.
Outside, she led you to a smaller car that was sleek but modest. Not the SUV you'd expect someone like her to drive. She unlocked the doors, pausing to hold yours open with a quiet grace.
"Here," she murmured, and slipped the strap of your backpack from your shoulder, neatly settling it by your feet once you were seated. Her hands lingered a moment longer than necessary before she pulled back, as though she’d startled herself. Straightening, she gave you a brief smile before closing your door. She moved around the hood and slid into the driver’s seat with fluid ease. Buckling herself in, she cast a sidelong glance at you, one brow arched in expectation. You fumbled for your own belt, clicking it into place. Satisfied, she started the car.
Soft rock filled the quiet, the low hum of guitars settling into the cabin. Wanda reached for the knob. “Do you have a preference?” she asked, voice careful, considerate.
You shook your head.
She studied you for a beat longer than expected before nodding, turning the dial until she landed on another station. The familiar strum of an early 2000s Jason Mraz song floated through the speakers. Wanda hummed along, occasionally letting her voice slip into the lyrics. Her voice was smoother than you had imagined, carrying a warmth that seemed to melt into the music itself. You found yourself watching her as she harmonized, her fingers tapping the wheel in time with the beat. When your foot began tapping along on its own, you saw the corner of her mouth curve upward, her eyes softening just slightly. She reached over, turning the volume up a notch, as though permitting you to enjoy it too.
When Wanda pulls into the parking lot of a CVS, the hum of the engine fades, and with it, the soft melody of her singing. You hadn’t realized how much you’d gotten used to the sound until the silence pressed in around you. She doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she reaches across, gently taking your notepad and pencil from your lap without a word. Her handwriting flows quickly across the page, neat but a little slanted, like someone who writes lists often. When she hands it back, you glance down to see a list of medications written in bold strokes — everything the doctor had recommended for pain, swelling, and your head injury.
Your lips tug into a small, grateful smile. You had already forgotten half of yesterday's information without even realizing it. Wanda notices your expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners just slightly, and gives a small nod. You tuck the notebook under your arm, mutter a silent thank you in your head, and head into the store.
The trip is quicker than you expect. The convenience of having all your needed medication in one area contrasts with the headache caused by the overly bright fluorescent overhead lights. When you step back into the sunlight, you breathe easier. Wanda is waiting for you outside the car, leaning against it with her arms folded. She isn’t occupied by anything or anyone, just standing there, lost in thought, gaze far away. It’s almost startling how still she looks, like a painting you could walk past and miss unless you really looked. But when her eyes flick up and catch you, her mouth curves into a smile, almost knowing. She moves to hold your door open again, a gesture so instinctual it feels like she’s been doing it for years.
You slide inside, and she places your bag of medicine carefully on your lap before shutting the door. The drive this time is short, only a minute down the street, but you can’t help stealing glances at her profile as she steers with one hand, the other resting loosely near the gearshift. The diner comes into view before you expect it. A retro-styled building with chrome trim and a glowing neon sign that reads The Scarlet Witch.
Inside, the air smells like grilled onions, frying bacon, and coffee that had been on the pot since sunrise. The booths are polished vinyl, a little worn in the corners, and a radio hums quietly in the corner. The place feels lived in, not flashy, but definitely cared for. She guides you to one of the booths near the front, close enough to the windows for light but far from the cluster of regulars near the back. “Wait here,” she instructs gently before slipping behind the counter and vanishing into the back.
You sit, shoulders sinking into the cracked but comfortable booth cushion. The small family across the way is laughing about something, and a pair of older couples linger over pie and coffee, their conversations quiet hums. For the first time that morning, you let yourself relax just a little. Then Wanda reappears, not alone this time. A teenage boy trails her steps. The resemblance is instant and uncanny. He has her cheekbones, her nose, and her mouth. The only difference is his eyes, a sharp chocolate brown in contrast to her oceanic green. Where Wanda radiates a calm, unreadable warmth, he carries a scowl like armor.
“Y/N,” Wanda says, her tone carrying that gentle authority again. “This is my son, Tommy. Tommy, introduce yourself.”
The boy exhales dramatically through his nose, rolling his eyes as though this were the greatest inconvenience imaginable. “Hi, Y/N. I’m Tommy.” His voice is flat, a perfect echo of Wanda’s words.
She nudges him. It’s not a soft tap, but with the kind of pressure only a mother could get away with. His scowl deepens. You eye them both, not sure if you should laugh or remain neutral. Wanda sighs, her expression softening when her gaze returns to you.
“Tommy works at J&M Auto, the shop your car is at. He’s going to walk you over and get you the information you need from Jim, the mechanic.” Her voice leaves little room for debate. “Isn’t that right, Tommy?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, glaring briefly at the floor before nodding in your direction.
You open your notebook, already forming the words I can just walk myself, but Wanda’s voice cuts cleanly across your thoughts before you can put them down.
“Jim talks like everyone’s been a mechanic for thirty years. Tommy can translate. It will save you the headache.” Her tone is firm, but not unkind, and the subtle edge in her voice suggests arguing isn’t worth it.
You glance back at Tommy. His scowl has loosened, if only slightly. He shrugs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “You ready?”
Apparently, you are.
The walk isn’t long. The air outside carries that quiet hum of a small town in midday. To your relief, Tommy doesn’t try to fill the silence. His shoes scuff against the sidewalk rhythmically, and you find yourself almost grateful for his lack of chatter.
Halfway there, though, he breaks. “Hey.” His voice is softer this time, with less edge. You glance over, eyebrows raised. “I’m… sorry about earlier. At the diner. I was being a prick.” He rubs the back of his neck, the same nervous tell Alice had the night before. “Mom caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to and—” He pauses, a grin tugging reluctantly at his mouth. “Let’s just say I was in trouble. Took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”
You shrug, letting the silence serve as your reply. Tommy seems to accept that, even smiling a little wider as he holds the door open to the shop for you.
True to Wanda’s word, Jim launches into a flood of mechanical jargon that makes your head spin almost immediately. Tommy, however, interrupts at every turn.
“What he means is—”
“He’s saying your axle’s fine, just needs…”
“No, no, it’s not totaled, don’t freak out…”
By the end, you actually understand: your car isn’t beyond saving, but it’s going to take time. The parts won’t even arrive for three weeks. After that, the repair itself will take at least another week, maybe two. A full month before you’d be able to leave. You swallow a sigh.
This town would be your home for longer than you expected. And you couldn’t decide if that unsettled you… or if, somewhere deep inside, it intrigued you.
Tommy bid you a curt farewell, and you found yourself wandering back through the town with little direction. Alice hadn’t been wrong; there wasn’t much to see. A pharmacy, Wanda’s diner, a library with a garden center behind it, and a thrift store. You ducked into that one, at least finding some relief in a few outfits to tide you over. Bags in hand, you meandered back out into the sunlight, trying to stretch the afternoon. That’s when you spotted it: Kale Kare.
Alice’s warning floated back to you. Against your better judgment, you pushed the door open. The bell chimed overhead, loud against the quiet inside. A woman sat perched behind the register, a glossy magazine spread open in her manicured hands. She didn’t look up, didn’t even flick her eyes to confirm who had entered. The dismissal was sharp enough to cut.
You took in the shop at a glance; brightly lit shelves lined with products in jars, tubs, and bottles, each promising to fix something no one had asked to have broken. Smooth skin, longer lashes, eternal youth. You weren’t a “beauty aisle lingerer” by any means, but you also didn’t want to make a fool of yourself by walking in only to leave. So, you drifted from display to display, skimming the tags with their overblown promises.
You stopped at the bath bombs. At least those felt safe. One caught your eye. It was crescent-moon-shaped, dusted with green and purple glitter that shimmered faintly in the light. You lifted it to your nose and inhaled. Sweet and musky, with something floral woven in. Nice. When you set it back and saw the price, however, the sound that escaped you was half laugh, half choke.
“Prices only matter to people who don’t care what they’re putting on their bodies.”
The voice sliced clean through the silence. You spun, startled, to find the woman from the counter now standing directly behind you. She’d moved without a sound, her magazine abandoned. Her dark eyes flicked from you to the bath bombs, then back again with an unimpressed tilt of her head.
“May I suggest…” She drew out the words, voice cool and measured, “…something more suited to you?”
There was no question of it. Her just stating a fact. She gestured lazily over her shoulder toward another display and strode off without waiting to see if you’d follow. Against your better judgment, you did. Neat rows of creams and salves, earth tones and glass jars, lined the wall and were meant to look “natural.”
“This,” she announced, holding it like a sacred object, “is aloe vera and calendula. It hydrates and repairs. Slows aging too. Works on scarring. A multitasker—which, frankly, is something you look like you could use.”
She placed it in your hand before you could protest. The weight of the tub surprised you.
“It also,” she added in a lower tone, eyes briefly scanning your face, “works wonders on dark circles.”
The words slipped out softer, but you heard them. Your glare was intense, meant to sting, but she didn’t flinch. Only a faint twitch in her lips. Regret, maybe. Or annoyance that she’d said it out loud.
“Anyway,” she went on briskly, tone snapping back into that disinterested cadence, “normally I’d charge thirty for that size. But you…” her gaze swept over you, deliberate and assessing. She didn’t bother to hide the way her eyes lingered on your hand-me-down clothes, the way she catalogued you. You felt yourself stiffen under it. “…you can have it for fifteen. Half off for first customers. If you don’t want anything else, wait at the counter.”
She spun on her heel and left you standing there, the jar in your hands.
Presumptuous didn’t even begin to cover it. But Alice’s voice echoed in your mind, that warning laced with amusement. Kale Kare. The shop owner. Jennifer. You had looked down at the name tag pinned to the woman’s shirt before she left. So this was her. The infamous girlfriend.
You took your time walking to the front, resisting the urge to laugh at how absurd the entire exchange had been. Of course, you’d buy the overpriced cream. Not because you believed in it. You knew snake oil when you saw it. But because Alice had told you not to be scared off, and… well… Jen had given you a “deal.”
The product was already bagged and sitting neatly on the counter when you reached it, as if she knew you'd try to resist. You handed over the cash. She didn’t make small talk, didn’t even bother to say “thank you.” And when you walked back out into the sunlight, blinking against the brightness, you realized she hadn’t told you goodbye either. Not that you expected her to.
Still, the thought lingered. Maybe Alice was right. Maybe there was more to Jennifer than her rude tongue and her cutting stare. But you weren’t about to peel back those layers now. Not when your arm ached with the weight of your bags, and your patience with this town was wearing thin. You turned back toward Wanda’s diner, deciding you’d had enough exploring for one day.
Wanda introduced you to her husband, Vision, at the diner. You silently mused that the name was odd, though you supposed his parents were the only ones to blame. Still, it fit him somehow, almost too well. Wanda had called him “Vis” with an easy fondness, and you found the nickname softened the strangeness of it.
Looking at him, you could see where Tommy had gotten his angular edges. The bright blonde hair was unmistakable, and Vision carried himself with the same lanky frame and long limbs his son had. His posture was straighter, though, like he’d never once slouched in his life. Despite his stiff appearance, his smile was warmly measured, like he gave each one with intention.
It was Vision who offered to drive you back to Lilia’s, his voice calm and formal in a way that almost made it feel like a polite command rather than a suggestion. You’d hesitated at first, wary of being alone with yet another stranger in this town, but Wanda had clearly briefed him on your… lack of vocalness. He didn’t seem thrown by it in the least. If anything, he adjusted with ease. Rather than filling the car ride with needless chatter, Vision asked you simple yes-or-no questions, his words framed in a way that made answering effortless.
“Do you enjoy theater, Y/N? My son Billy absolutely adores it.”
You shook your head softly.
“No? Ah, perhaps film then? You strike me as a movie person.”
He carried on like that, weaving stories about his family into the silences between questions. You learned Tommy had a twin, though unlike his brother, Billy leaned quieter, more studious. Both boys were sixteen, the same age as your twin sisters. The thought made your chest ache before you could stop it, a hollow pang of homesickness you’d been pushing down since arriving. But Vision’s voice was steady, almost hypnotic in the way he guided you away from your thoughts. He spoke of Billy’s love for old plays, how he would memorize entire monologues just to perform them for the family, and of Tommy’s wild energy that often led him into trouble. There was no mistaking the pride in his tone, however. Every word dripped with it. It left you with the sense that his family was his entire world.
By the time the car rolled to a stop outside of Lilia’s, some of the weight in your chest had lessened. Vision gave you a courteous nod as you climbed out, offering a parting joke about hoping to speak again soon. Inside, the bar felt strangely quiet for the hour. The shadows stretched longer across the floorboards, the golden bulbs over the counter casting everything in a warm haze. Only two figures occupied the space: Lilia herself, polishing glasses behind the bar, and the girl from last night, slouched on the same stool as before. She held the same careless posture, the same half-bemused expression.
Lilia spotted you immediately. Her face lit up, her wave bright and welcoming.
“Y/N, honey! You’re back just in time. The slow cooker finished about fifteen minutes ago!”
You grimaced, pulled out your notebook, your hand moving slower than usual, the fatigue seeping into your fingers as much as your bones.
I’m sorry, Lilia. I have to pass on tonight. I’m feeling extra tired from my walk and would like to get some rest.
Her smile faltered, a crack of disappointment slipping through before she replaced it with concern. You hated the way guilt pinched at your stomach, but the truth was undeniable. You were exhausted. The day had stretched you thin, and all you wanted was a bath and the embrace of blankets. Food could wait.
“Oh honey, that’s completely fine,” she said, her voice low with understanding. Then her tone shifted, a spark of stubbornness lighting in her eyes. “How about I just dish some out for you still, and you can take it up to your room? Yes, I quite like that idea. It’d give me great comfort knowing you had something in that belly of yours.”
She was already bustling away into the kitchen before you could lift your pencil.
Not even five minutes later, she reappeared, arms full. One hand balanced a Pyrex container sealed tight with its lid, the other carried a steaming bowl with a spoon already waiting inside it. She didn’t place the bowl in front of you, though. Instead, she marched it over to Darcy, sliding it across the counter with a sharp:
“Eat.”
Darcy blinked, then shrugged as if this was the most normal thing in the world and dug in without hesitation. Lilia turned back to you, pressing the covered Pyrex into your hands with a gentleness that contrasted with her tone with Darcy.
“Eat some food, take a nice warm bath, and get some sleep, okay honey? I’ll see you in the morning.”
Hugging the container against your chest, you gave her a grateful nod and headed upstairs, already imagining the relief of hot water and the quiet comfort of your bed. Tonight, that was all you needed.
***
Alice kissed her girlfriend one last time before they parted, though “last time” was always a lie with them. Their lips lingered, neither willing to be the first to pull away, until the need for air finally forced them back. Both of their faces were flushed pink, their sides pressed against the rough bark of their favorite tree. The late afternoon light filtered through the leaves above, speckling Jen’s face in golden warmth. Alice reached up and traced the curve of Jen’s dimple, the one that only appeared when she smiled wide enough to forget herself. Her voice came out low, reverent, like she was confessing a secret.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
Jen’s answering chuckle vibrated under Alice’s fingertip, sending a ripple of warmth through her chest. She caught Alice’s wandering hand and pressed a slow kiss to the very finger that had touched her smile, her lips brushing soft against skin.
“I sure hope so,” she teased, eyes glinting with mischief, “or else what use would my potions be?”
Alice narrowed her eyes in mock offense, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her. “Jennifer, my one and only love,” she scolded, “you don’t need potions or magic to make yourself beautiful. It’s already…” she raised her free hand, sketching little quotation marks in the air, “‘all natural.’”
Jen’s laughter spilled out again, and Alice leaned in to press kisses to every inch of her face —her forehead, her nose, both cheeks— before finding her lips once more.
“When I look at you,” Alice whispered between touches of their mouths, “I see a future. A future of us being happy, of us loving each other with our bare souls. I see my lover as my best friend, my supporter, the smarter and wittier other half of me.”
Her voice softened, even more vulnerable. “I see baby Kale's that look like me—”
Jen wrinkled her nose instantly, making Alice laugh. Still, she pressed on, her heart spilling out faster than her mind could stop it.
“I see your physical beauty, of course, like the way your eyes catch the light, the way your laugh sounds like music, and the kindness in your love. But that’s not the beauty that made me fall in love with you. What makes me fall for you every single day is that you’re everything my soul lacks. The better half of me I’ve been searching for all my life. And you—” her voice cracked slightly, and she brushed her thumb over Jen’s jawline, “you choose to love even the ugly parts of me. In my lineage, it comes naturally for us witches to feel that need to protect our loved ones. It's part of being a protection witch, aside from the awesome powers. The day I met you, I heard that calling. It sang so loud until we held hands for the first time. And I know it sounds cheesy, but just hear me out. I will always have this urge inside me to protect others and try to fix what I can. It's who I am. My whole life, others either took it for granted or tried to convince me otherwise. You have never done either; you accepted me on your own terms and provided me with your own form of protection." She takes a deep breath in, exhaling quickly, "You guide me, catch me when I fall, and above all, give me the comfort I need or desire whenever I require it. In a world that withholds so much, you give me everything I have ever needed and wanted."
Jen’s wide eyes glistened as though Alice’s words had peeled her open. Then she surged forward, their mouths colliding in a deep, messy kiss that tasted like urgency, like devotion, like the answer to every prayer Alice had never dared to say out loud.
“I love you,” Jen breathed against her lips, again and again, as though the words themselves were oxygen.
“I love you,” Alice returned, her own voice thick. Her hands framed Jen’s jaw for a heartbeat, then slid down, pushing her gently but firmly back against the tree trunk. The bark scratched faintly against Jen’s shirt as Alice climbed into her lap, kissing her way down the elegant line of her neck. She left lingering trails until she found the spot just above her collarbone that made Jen gasp, her soft moan betraying her.
Gotcha, Alice thought with a wicked smirk, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. Jen laughed shakily, her hands moving up to cup Alice’s shoulders. With tenderness that contrasted Alice’s heat, she tugged her away from her neck, pressing her forehead against hers. “As much as I’d like to continue, I do not want to be arrested for traumatizing children in the park.”
Alice threw her head back and laughed, the sound bright and untamed. She slid off Jen’s lap, still holding her hand, and tugged her up to her feet. “You’re probably right. Agatha would kill us twice over. But hey—” she leaned in to steal another kiss, eyes sparkling, “we could always play the soulmate card. Tell her we just couldn’t wait. That I had to get in those tight pants of yours.”
Her gaze flicked downward with blatant appreciation, and Jen swatted at her with an indignant gasp.
“Am I dating a teenage boy?”
Alice dodged the half-hearted smack with a laugh, spinning just out of reach before catching Jen’s hand again. Their fingers wove together seamlessly, as natural as breathing.
“You’re dating someone hopelessly in love with you,” Alice corrected, pulling her close for one last kiss that lingered just a moment too long. Jen’s smile softened, her head shaking, though her eyes betrayed nothing but fondness.
"Come on, love," Jen murmured, sliding her fingers through Alice’s when they packed everything. “We don’t want to be late for this meeting Agatha’s called.”
Alice groaned playfully, stooping to gather their picnic things. But her gaze never strayed far from Jen, the kind of gaze that said she’d follow her to the ends of the earth, and back again.
Alice and Jen pulled up to Agatha’s house, and to no one's surprise, they were the last to arrive. The porch lights glowed faintly, as if impatient with their tardiness. Jen groaned under her breath as she stepped out of the car.
“Next time, Alice, I swear, I’m handcuffing you to me so you cannot run off every time you see trash on the side of the road. I don't care if it's ‘re-purposable’. You’ve made us late again.”
Alice only smirked, unbothered. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. And we can use the amp, Jen! It was perfectly fine, in good use. I don't know why anyone would ever toss it out on the sidewalk."
“Maybe because it had mold!”
The floorboards creaked in warning as they stepped into the hall.
“Nice of you two finally join us.”
The rich, honey-dripped sarcasm came from Rio, who was leaning lazily against the banister of the stairs, one ankle crossed over the other as she inspected her perfectly painted nails. Her voice carried the exact mix of velvet and bite that made every sentence feel like a performance.
Jen rolled her eyes instantly. “Dramatic much? We’re five minutes late, Rio. Don’t have a cow.”
Rio’s gaze slid up, her mouth curving like a cat who’d found its prey. “Five minutes can be the difference between life and death, sweetheart. But sure—let’s call it fashionably late.”
Alice lifted a hand in mock surrender, grinning. “Now, now, children. Let’s not fight.” She shot Rio a sideways glance, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is it serious?”
The playfulness drained from Rio’s expression. She gave only a small nod before turning on her heel. “Everyone is waiting.”
They followed her into the living room. Agatha sat in her usual armchair, the dark fabric framing her like a queen deep in thought. Her gaze was fixed on some point beyond the room, far away, until Rio slipped smoothly into her lap. Without asking, Rio draped herself sideways across Agatha’s chair, one long leg hanging over the armrest, the other across Agatha herself, as if the position was her rightful claim. On the couch, Wanda leaned in close to Lilia, her hand resting lightly on the older witch’s arm as she whispered something soft. She sent Alice a look, one that said I knew you’d be late. Jen tugged Alice toward the couch, and they slid into the wide cushions beside Wanda and Lilia.
The moment they settled, silence swept the room. It wasn’t the casual kind of quiet that came before small talk. That silence, weighted and heavy, pressed against Alice’s chest. Her stomach tightened. For the first time, she wondered if there were fractures in the coven she hadn’t noticed, small cracks forming beneath the surface she hadn’t been aware of. Agatha’s husky voice finally cut through, low and deliberate.
“The barrier was broken.”
Alice’s breath hitched. Her eyes darted to Agatha, then around the room, gauging the others. For a beat, no one spoke.
Finally, Alice broke the silence. “I… felt something last night.” She waited until Agatha’s brazen gaze landed on her before continuing. “It was like… tiny shocks. Before Lucy ran off and found the crash site.” She waved her hands vaguely, her nerves showing. “It wasn’t big, but it was there.”
Agatha’s stare was unblinking, heavy enough to make Alice’s skin prickle.
Then Wanda’s voice, warm and steady, rose to fill the space. “I felt it too,” she said, her tone less a confession and more a gentle reassurance.
Agatha’s gaze swept the room. “Anybody else?”
Jen shook her head, lips pressed thin. Rio’s hand, idly draped across Agatha’s shoulder, lifted in a languid flick. “Not me.” Her eyes slid toward Lilia.
“I’m always feeling things,” Lilia said with a shrug, her voice soft, carrying the weight of centuries. “It is the price of my magic, my dear.”
Agatha hummed, a low, thoughtful sound, before her gaze flicked back to Wanda and Alice. Her eyes lingered, unreadable, before drifting somewhere far again.
Rio tilted her head, curls spilling like ink over Agatha’s shoulder. Her voice lost some of its sharpness when she spoke next. “Agatha and I reset the barrier right after she felt it break.” She was speaking to the room, but her eyes, her nerves, were angled toward Lilia. Her tone cracked just slightly. “Do you… Do you think…?”
The question hung, raw and unfinished.
Lilia gave her a kind, sorrow-tinged smile, the kind a grandmother might give when she had no answers but infinite patience. “I don’t know, my dear. Time will tell. It always does. We cannot rush it…it moves on its own terms.”
Rio blinked, hard, as though trying to rid herself of the frustration that prickled in her chest. Cryptic, yes, but she knew Lilia was right. She always was. Still, she leaned forward, intruding on Agatha’s space with the practiced ease of someone who belonged there. One painted finger hooked under Agatha’s chin, turning her head back from that faraway place.
“My love,” Rio murmured, softer than before, almost pleading. “What are you thinking?”
Agatha’s blue eyes met hers briefly, piercing, full of something deep and dangerous. But they shifted away just as quickly, sliding past Rio, past the room itself, to rest on someone else entirely.
“Alice, the girl you brought in from the car crash, what was her name?”
“Y/N,” Alice answered softly, almost reluctant to say it aloud in this heavy room.
Agatha rolled the name around on her tongue like a piece of candy, tasting the sound. “Y/N…” her voice dipped lower, as though it carried a spell of its own. Her piercing gaze lifted, meeting no one in particular, but it felt like she was staring through every one of them. “Do we think she is a witch? The barrier was broken shortly before you found her.”
Alice shook her head quickly. “I highly doubt it. I didn’t feel any magic residing in her. But you and Wanda would know for sure—better than me, at least. Besides…” she hesitated, glancing at Jen before pressing on, “she doesn’t even speak. Can’t cast spells if you can’t speak.”
Wanda snorted, low and sharp. “You know damn well that’s not true, Alice. Or have my lessons not been sticking with you?” Her crimson-painted lips quirked upward in a knowing smile. “A powerful witch can cast a wordless spell. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Her head tilted slightly, red hair falling forward as her eyes gleamed. Alice went to make a sarcastic retort, then froze. Her mouth refused to open. Though her throat worked, no sound came. Instantly, she reached for Jen's hand, her wide eyes darting over to her.
“Wanda!” Jen snapped.
Wanda smirked, smug but soft. “Can’t say anything if you haven’t a mouth, can you?” She flicked her wrist, and Alice immediately gasped, dragging in air like she’d been drowning.
“That’s not fair, Wanda!” Alice coughed, indignant. “You have chaos magic. Obviously you’re powerful! Don’t do that again!”
Wanda’s raised brow said she’d do it again in a heartbeat. The rest of the coven chuckled, used to the push and pull of mentor and student. Even Agatha’s lips twitched at the corners.
Rio, however, waved a dismissive hand. “Cute trick, Maximoff, but we’re wandering. You said she’s mute?” Her sharp green eyes landed back on Alice, her tone halfway between curiosity and suspicion.
Alice nodded, still sulking. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve heard her say a single peep.”
Rio’s attention shifted to Wanda again. “Were you able to pick anything up from her?”
Wanda leaned back into the sofa, folding one leg beneath her as she thought. “Magically, no. But it was strange. I tried to look inside her thoughts, and it was like she prevented me from entering. That rarely happens to me. But at the same time—” she hesitated, searching for the words, “I could feel emotions pouring out of her. Strong ones. Raw. It was almost unbearable.” Her fingers tapped against her thigh. “A powerful enough witch could block my telepathy. But to mask their magical scent?” She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“My own barriers would have alerted me,” Lilia said, her tone calm but edged with quiet concern. “And they didn’t stir. Not even once.”
Rio sighed through her nose, rubbing at her temple. “Last night, when I treated her wounds, she didn’t strike me as anything unusual. Nothing magical about her. If anything, she just seemed… like a frightened, broken girl who’d been through hell.”
There was a pause within the group.
“Well, it has to be something.”
Agatha’s voice cut in, harsh enough to make Alice flinch. The elder witch straightened in her chair, her expression carved in stone. “Someone broke the binding spell. I can feel it in my magic. In the way it itches under my skin. Something is not right.”
Her gaze snapped toward Rio, the look so sharp it could have been a blade. For a fleeting second, it felt like the two witches were speaking silently, carrying on a conversation only they could hear.
Agatha turned her attention back to the room. “We told you we cast a spell to create a barrier. To protect the town, to keep our magic hidden from prying eyes and the non-magical folk. That part was true.” Her mouth curled, voice dropping to a near-growl. “But it wasn’t the whole truth.”
Rio’s voice softened, but her words landed like stones in water. “We also wove another spell into it. An echo thread. It’s part of an old prophecy, meant to draw in The Lost Witch.”
Lilia shifted forward, her hands folding neatly in her lap as though preparing to recite scripture. “The Lost Witch is said to be one born with the power of emotion, instinct, and primal nature. Not just another witch, but a keystone. The one who completes the coven and balances it so that the full measure of power can flow through us all.”
Rio’s lips pressed thin. “The echo thread was meant to bind itself to her when she came. And I’m assuming…” her gaze flicked to Agatha, “that has changed?”
Agatha gave a single, heavy nod.
“Wait—what does that even mean?” Alice blurted out, her voice high and thin.
Jen’s head snapped toward her before slowly returning to Agatha. She already understood, and the realization lit her eyes with accusation. “It means someone crossed into this town who could possibly belong to our coven.” Her voice trembled, but her anger kept it at bay. “Is that why we’ve never felt complete? Why, even after finding my soulmate, my coven, I still carry this ache in my chest? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Her hands tightened into fists against her thighs. “And why can’t we feel this witch like we feel each other?”
The room bristled with unspoken emotion, every woman tensing under the weight of that question. Agatha’s eyes narrowed to slits, her spine straightening until she seemed to tower despite sitting. Her magic stirred in the air like a gathering storm.
“That,” she growled, voice low and thrumming with restrained power, “is the question I’d like to fucking know.”