The yarn kept slipping through my fingers.
Not because I didn't know how to move my hands, but because my mind wouldn't stop running. Thoughts, images, doubts… all at once. Every time I tried to focus, something broke—the weave twisted, turned uneven, shapeless… as if my own thoughts were tangling themselves into it.
Buganvilla watched in silence.
"Breathe," she finally said. "You're not knitting wool. You're organizing possibilities."
That didn't help.
I tried going faster.
A mistake.
The weave became too tight, too rigid… as if it might snap with the slightest movement. As if the pressure inside me had transferred directly into my hands.
I tried slowing down.
Worse.
The threads became heavy, clumsy, tangling into each other as if they had a will of their own… as if they were resisting me.
I dropped the yarn in frustration.
"I can't," I murmured.
"You can," she corrected. "Just not today."
I looked up. Buganvilla was watching me with a calmness that only made me more restless.
"Magic isn't commanded," she added. "It's negotiated."
Negotiated.
I couldn't even control my own thoughts… how was I supposed to negotiate with reality?
My grandmother cleared her throat from the kitchen.
"That's enough for today," she said. "She has to go to work."
That brought everything rushing back at once.
The contract.The radio station.The world that didn't stop just because I was learning how to weave spells.
I carefully put the yarn away, as if it were something fragile… even though, at that moment, it felt more like a silent enemy than a tool.
Before I left, Buganvilla took my hand and placed a ring in it.
It was simple… but beautiful.
Red and gold tones, like a sunset trapped in metal. I found myself staring at it a little longer than necessary.
"This one has a flame spell," she explained. "It's used to purify malignant entities… and to burn creatures from other realms, if necessary."
She didn't say it dramatically. She said it like someone explaining how to use a fire extinguisher.
I nodded in silence.
Then she continued explaining: the energy stored in the ring, how some magical objects activated spells already embedded in them, while others worked as support… or emergency reserves for witches and shamans.
That's when I understood.
What Nyx had given me wasn't just protection.
It was part of her power… condensed into someone else's will.
A safeguard.
And a battery.
If I learned to use her essence… I could access a fraction of her strength.
The idea sent a chill down my spine…and at the same time… made me feel alive.
On public transport, I tried to knit.
Bad idea.
Every jolt of the vehicle warped the weave. The stitches tightened, loosened… broke. As if the world itself didn't want me to move forward.
I frowned.
Maybe… this wasn't for me.
The thought slipped into my mind too easily.
And with it… the nervousness returned.
I looked out the window.
People in neatly pressed suits. Backpacks. Coffee cups in their hands. Clear routines. Defined paths.
A normal life.
For the first time… I felt jealous.
A quiet, sharp feeling.
The stability. The simplicity. Not having to worry about creatures from other worlds, strange contracts… or powers you don't understand.
I swallowed.
But I had already made a decision.
This… was just a stumble.
A small bump in something much bigger.
I wasn't going to turn back.
I took a deep breath… trying to convince myself of something I didn't fully understand yet.
Then, without meaning to… my thoughts drifted.
Iztli.
His image appeared with unsettling clarity.
His warm, dark skin.His well-defined muscles—strong, but natural… not exaggerated.The way he moved… light, silent… almost dangerous.And that wild edge in his gaze… that never completely disappeared, not even when he was calm.
I smiled faintly.
Who would complain about living with someone like that?
A soft warmth rose to my cheeks.
I still had too many doubts about him… too many. I didn't really know him. I didn't understand his world… or his intentions.
But a part of me…
wanted to.
Wanted to get closer.Wanted to find out what was behind that look.Wanted… something more.
I shook my head, trying to pull myself back.
"Focus, Izel…"
I tightened my grip on the needles.
And then—
"Ah!"
I pricked my finger.
I dropped everything immediately.
"What the hell…?"
I stared at the small bead of blood forming on my skin… then at the completely ruined weave in my hands.
I sighed, leaning back against the seat.
Knitting…
definitely didn't seem like my thing.
And yet…
I wrapped the yarn around my fingers once more.
Because somehow…
I knew I couldn't give up.