The charm glowed brighter as they walked, but its warmth carried something new—an urgency Maya didn't understand yet. It pulsed quicker, like a heartbeat gone anxious, and the small tug it always gave now felt more like a firm pull.
Rowan noticed immediately.
"It's reacting differently," he muttered.
"Is that bad?" Maya asked.
"Magic doesn't usually panic unless something's wrong."
Maya swallowed. "Magic panics?"
"Everything panics," Rowan replied. "Even things that shouldn't."
He said it so calmly that Maya wondered just how much he actually knew… and how much he was hiding.
The two turned onto Evergreen's main street. Christmas lights glittered overhead, but the festive glow somehow felt muted around them. People were preparing for the evening celebration—the choir warming up, vendors setting up food carts, children chasing each other with mittens too big for their hands.
The world continued normally.
Yet for Maya, nothing felt normal anymore.
Especially the charm in her hand, which pulsed again—hard enough to make her gasp.
Rowan's instincts sharpened instantly. "What happened?"
"It pulled," Maya said. "Hard."
"Where?"
She pointed down a narrow street behind the bookstore—a half-lit lane few people used in winter.
Rowan's jaw tightened. "Stay close."
"I am close," she grumbled, trying to keep up with his long strides.
"I meant—closer."
Maya quickened her pace until their shoulders nearly brushed. Rowan seemed… relieved. Or maybe that was just her imagination. He scanned every doorway, window, and alley with a level of alertness that made Maya's stomach twist.
"Rowan… do you think something is after us?"
"No," he said sharply. "Not us."
"That's reassuring."
"It's after the charm," he corrected.
"Oh. That's worse."
"Yes."
They turned onto the quiet side street. The air was colder here, the shadows deeper. A gust of wind blew snow across the pavement in quick spirals.
Maya felt it first—a prickle at the back of her neck.
Like someone watching.
Rowan stopped walking. "Do you feel that?"
"Yes." Her voice was small. "Someone's here."
"Stay behind me."
Before Maya could argue, the charm flared—bright, frantic, almost blinding. Rowan grabbed her wrist and pulled her close as a figure stepped out from behind a parked car.
A tall silhouette. Too still. Too silent.
Maya's breath hitched. "That's the person from the courtyard."
Rowan didn't deny it.
The figure didn't move at first, simply watched them with a stillness that made Maya's heart pound. No face was visible beneath the hood, but she felt the weight of their stare like ice pressing against her skin.
Rowan stepped forward slightly, shielding Maya with his body.
"Say something," Maya whispered.
"I will," Rowan murmured, "if they decide to breathe like a normal person."
"Can we leave?"
"Not yet."
The charm pulsed violently again.
The stranger finally moved—a single step forward.
"Maya," Rowan said softly, "back up."
She did without questioning.
Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, the charm ripped free from her fingers and floated between them, glowing gold.
Rowan swore under his breath. "That shouldn't happen."
"What does it mean?" Maya whispered.
"It means the charm sees danger."
The stranger lifted their head.
A voice—low, cold, almost melodic—slipped out:
"It begins."
The entire street seemed to shiver.
Before Rowan could respond, the stranger turned and swiftly disappeared into the alley.
Just like that.
Gone.
Maya staggered forward. "Wait—!"
"No," Rowan snapped, grabbing her before she followed. "Do not chase someone into a dark alley. That's how people in horror movies die."
"I wasn't going to—"
"You absolutely were."
"Okay maybe a little."
Rowan exhaled through his nose, clearly frustrated but relieved she hadn't gotten herself killed.
The charm drifted back down into Maya's palm, still warm, still glowing, but calmer now. Whatever threat it sensed had passed—or moved out of reach.
Rowan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is escalating faster than I expected."
"What is escalating?!" Maya asked. "I thought this was like… holiday magic. Good magic. A miracle."
Rowan looked at her with a seriousness that made her heart slow.
"All magic," he said quietly, "has two sides. Light… and shadow. If fate chooses someone, something else usually takes interest too."
"That sounds ominous," Maya whispered.
"It is."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Rowan looked up at the sky.
Clouds were gathering—thick, heavy, and darker than typical winter clouds. The wind had picked up, turning sharp, almost metallic.
"Snowstorm," he muttered.
"Tonight?" Maya asked.
"Very soon. And it's not normal," Rowan added. "Weather doesn't shift this fast unless something is pushing it. Magical disturbances can affect the environment."
"You're saying that the charm is… changing the weather?"
"No," Rowan corrected. "I'm saying something else might be reacting to the charm."
Maya swallowed. "Can we go home now?"
Rowan nodded reluctantly. "Yes. But I'm walking you."
"What? No—you don't have to—"
"Something followed us," he snapped. "I'm not letting you walk alone."
Maya blinked. He wasn't asking. He was determined.
Protective.
And somehow that made her feel warmer than the charm's glow.
They made their way back toward the square, but the snow had already begun to fall faster—thicker flakes, whipped by wind that didn't feel natural. Vendors were rushing to close their stalls, and parents hurried their children home. Lamp posts flickered slightly, as if magic had brushed against their circuits.
Maya hugged her coat tighter. "This doesn't feel like a normal storm."
"Because it isn't."
"Do you think… the charm is in danger?"
"No," Rowan murmured. "You are."
That sent a chill straight down her spine.
"Me? Why?"
Rowan hesitated. His eyes flicked to her hand—the charm glowing softly against her skin.
"Because," he said slowly, "things like this don't choose randomly. They choose someone important. Someone connected to a larger pattern. Someone fate wants."
"And someone else doesn't want," Maya whispered.
"Exactly."
They reached the center of town as the snow thickened into a white curtain. People hurried inside buildings, and lights across the square flickered ominously.
"We need shelter," Rowan said. "Your place. How far is it?"
"Four blocks," Maya said. "Maybe five if we go around the bakery—"
A sudden gust slammed between them, nearly knocking Maya backward.
Rowan grabbed her arm instinctively. "Stay with me."
"I am trying!" she yelped as the wind whipped her hair across her face.
The charm glowed brighter.
The storm intensified.
"Maya," Rowan said over the wind, "we're not making it to your place."
"Then where?!"
Rowan scanned the street, eyes sharp and calculating.
And then he saw it.
"The old library," he said. "It's closest, and it's sturdy."
Maya hesitated. "It's been closed for years."
"Doors still work."
"So we're breaking in?!"
"Borrowing shelter," Rowan corrected. "Let's go."
He grabbed her hand this time—not just her wrist—and the charm flared like a spark between their fingers. Maya didn't have time to ask questions; the storm howled again, forcing them to run.
They sprinted across the snow-covered street toward the abandoned library. Rowan threw his weight into the side door—
It creaked—
Groaned—
Then burst open, wind slamming through behind them.
Rowan pulled Maya inside and shut the door hard.
Silence.
Darkness.
Only their breaths filled the air—his steady but heavy, hers trembling with adrenaline.
Maya leaned against the wall. "That… was… terrifying."
Rowan exhaled. "We're safe. For now."
The charm finally dimmed to a soft glow, as though relieved.
Maya looked up at Rowan—snow melting in his hair, eyes still sharp, chest rising and falling with slow control.
He looked dangerous.
He looked powerful.
He looked like someone who had fought storms before—inside and out.
Rowan met her gaze.
"From now on," he said quietly, "you're not facing this alone."
Maya stared at him, heartbeat loud in her ears.
"Why?" she whispered.
Rowan hesitated.
The charm pulsed.
"Because," he said finally, "fate won't leave you alone. And neither will I."
Maya's breath caught.
Outside, the storm raged.
Inside, destiny settled between them—quiet, undeniable, glowing.