The sign outside Rosie's Diner sways gently in the breeze, and I sit on top of it, surveying the battlefield—or what humans insist on calling "Main Street." Smoke rises from a shattered lamppost, magical sparks fizzle in the cracks of the pavement, and Zoe Moonwright, Lightbearer and professional chaos magnet, sits cross-legged on the curb looking like someone shoved her through a glitter cannon. I fluff my feathers. "And people say pigeons make a mess."

The rest of her merry band of magical misfits stumbles out of the diner, arguing over who owes who a coffee. It’s almost impressive, their ability to turn minor catastrophes into major ones. "Heroes," I mutter. "They couldn’t organize a breadcrumb trail, let alone save a town. But hey, at least they’re entertaining."

I flick a wing toward Zoe. The so-called Lightbearer. She’s come a long way from the clueless waitress who couldn’t tell a ley line from a lunch order. Now she’s zapping shadows and stabilizing magical nexuses like she was born for it—which, apparently, she was. I hate to admit it, but she’s starting to grow on me. Like moss. Glowy, impulsive moss. Then there’s Finn. The werewolf with a heart of gold—and the decision-making skills of a squirrel on caffeine. He’s loyal, sure, but if I see him try to charge into one more fight without a plan, I’m going to start dropping acorns on him. From great heights.

Melody, the siren, has a voice like a symphony and the confidence of a middle schooler at a talent show. Her powers could rewrite reality if she’d stop doubting herself for five minutes. She’s lucky I like her. And by "like," I mean "tolerate because she brings me leftover pancakes." Lucian, our resident vampire, is broody, dramatic, and prone to unnecessary flourishes, but at least he knows how to fight. He’s probably still haunted by some tragic backstory he hasn’t shared with anyone. Vampires are like that. They hoard angst like it’s treasure. Finally, Raven, the half-demon. Sharp, dangerous, and very good at pretending not to care. Honestly, I respect her. She’s the only one here who knows how to wield her magic without turning it into a town-wide spectacle.

And then there’s me. Frank. The only one in this mess with an ounce of sense—and wings, of course. Superior creatures, crows. If I were in charge, this town would be running like clockwork. Instead, I get to watch these magical disasters in action.

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Whispering Pines, for all its quirks, is holding together by a thread. A frayed, overstressed, about-to-snap thread. The ley lines are cracking, the shadows are getting smarter, and the mayor is one enchantment away from turning City Hall into a magical nuke. But sure, let’s argue about whose turn it is to buy coffee. I glance down at Zoe, who’s trying to brush ash off her shirt. “Lightbearer,” I squawk. “Maybe start with keeping your own wardrobe intact before tackling interdimensional shadows?” She doesn’t look up. Humans. No appreciation for constructive criticism.

And then there’s the mayor’s Protocol Omega. What genius thought it was a good idea to trap all the ley line magic in a pressure cooker? I’d intervene, but the last time I tried to give humans advice, they started calling me a witch’s familiar. Honestly, the disrespect. Still, I can’t deny they’re improving. Take tonight’s little shadow showdown, for instance. Zoe actually remembered to use her light magic before Finn went full werewolf. Melody sang a tune that only mildly destabilized reality. And Lucian? Well, he didn’t brood through the whole fight, so that’s progress. Even I have to admit it: they’re starting to act like a team. Kind of. If you squint.

I hop to another perch as Zoe stands, her hands glowing faintly with leftover light magic. “We can do this,” she says, her voice stronger than I’ve heard it before. “Together.” Finn grins, Melody nods, and Lucian mutters something broody but supportive. Raven rolls her eyes, but even she looks impressed. “About time,” I mutter. “I was starting to think I’d have to fix the ley lines myself.”

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The shadows? They’re not done. And that weird doppelgänger version of Zoe? She’s lurking out there, plotting. I saw her reflection the other day in the bakery window—creepy smile, eyes like a storm. She’s trouble. The ley lines are humming louder than they should, too. Cracks spreading like spiderwebs. Something big is coming, and these humans are barely holding it together.

Not that I’m worried. I’ll just sit back, enjoy the chaos, and step in if things really go south. That’s the crow way. The group wanders off toward Pixel & Fangs, already arguing about tomorrow’s plan. I flap my wings, preparing to leave, but pause for one last look at the town. “Stick around,” I mutter to the unseen audience. “Things are about to get messy. And if they don’t? Well, I’ll make sure they do. After all, what’s the fun in peace and quiet?” With a caw that might be mistaken for laughter, I take off into the sky, leaving Whispering Pines to its next disaster.