The morning after saving the world (again) is always the weirdest.

You’d think there’d be more fanfare—parades, maybe a gift basket or two. But nope. In Whispering Pines, it usually means waking up to some new magical anomaly determined to ruin your breakfast. Case in point: my coffee mug.

“Don’t ignore your responsibilities,” it says, steam swirling into words above the chipped ceramic.

I narrow my eyes at it. “Do you want to stabilize the ley lines? No? Then stop giving me sass.”

The mug doesn’t respond—thankfully. I’m not in the mood to lose an argument to crockery again. I take a sip and lean back in the booth at Rosie's Diner, letting the familiar chaos of the town wash over me.

Melody perches on the counter, charming the coffee machine into brewing what she swears is “liquid happiness.” Finn and Grumps are at their usual table, engaged in an increasingly animated debate about whether the glowing tree in the woods is secretly planning an uprising. And Lucian… well, Lucian is Lucian, leaning against the jukebox, looking broody but somehow managing to make it fashionable.

I let their chatter wash over me, trying to ignore the tension coiling in my chest. The convergence is over. We won. But it doesn’t feel like winning when the town keeps reminding me how close we came to losing.

“Do you think it’s going to hold?” Melody’s voice breaks through my thoughts. She’s watching me, her fingers still resting lightly on the coffee machine.

“For now,” I say, swirling my coffee absently. “But I can feel it shifting. It’s like the ley lines are waiting for something—someone—to push them again.”

Grumps snorts from his table. “Let ‘em try. This town’s been surviving magical nonsense longer than I’ve been here.”

“You’re a literal dragon,” Finn mutters. “Not all of us have scales to fall back on.”

“And not all of us have fur to hide behind,” Grumps retorts, smirking.

Their bickering pulls a small smile from me, but it doesn’t last. The ley lines hum faintly in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of everything we’ve fought for—and everything we still might lose.

The diner itself hasn’t escaped the convergence entirely. The menus on the walls now glow faintly and update themselves every few seconds. Today’s specials include Temporal Tamales and Prophetic Pancakes (“Order at your own risk!”). Madame Esmeralda has declared the changes “charming” and is already selling enchanted fortune readings on the side.

And then there’s me. Zoe Moonwright, Lightbearer, ley line stabilizer, and semi-official crisis manager for Whispering Pines. If someone had told me a year ago that this would be my life, I’d have laughed and gone back to my safe, boring shift at Rosie's. Now? I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

The ley lines thrum faintly in the back of my mind, like a heartbeat I can’t ignore. I can feel the town—the magic, the people, the everything. It’s overwhelming sometimes, but it also makes me… me.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Lucian’s voice breaks through my reverie, smooth and just the tiniest bit smug.

I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a terrible deal. My thoughts are worth way more than that.”

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He smirks, sliding into the booth across from me. “I’ll throw in a brooding glare. Limited-time offer.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” I say, but I’m smiling.

“Something’s bothering you.” He’s not asking. Of course, he’s not. Lucian has this unnerving way of seeing right through me, which is both annoying and oddly comforting.

I shrug, swirling the last dregs of coffee in my mug. “It’s just… things are quiet. Too quiet.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “You don’t trust the calm.”

“Nope. Calm in Whispering Pines usually means we’re about five minutes away from something exploding, glowing, or trying to eat us.” I sigh, setting the mug down. “And the ley lines feel… restless.”

Lucian nods, his expression unreadable. “Then enjoy the calm while it lasts. You’ll need the rest.”

Great. Another cryptic nugget of wisdom from Whispering Pines’ resident vampire. Just what I need.

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The day passes in a blur of half-finished errands and magical weirdness. By sunset, I find myself on the roof of Pixel & Fangs, watching the town settle into its new rhythm. The stars are brighter than usual, scattered across the sky like spilled glitter.

I take a deep breath, letting the cool air and faint hum of magic steady me. The ley lines pulse gently beneath my feet, a constant reminder of everything we’ve fought for.

The Bureau might be gone, but their presence lingers like a bruise—something you forget about until it aches. I don’t trust their retreat. People like them don’t give up; they regroup. And when they come back, they’ll be smarter, faster. Maybe smarter than we are.

“Hey.”

I turn to find Melody climbing up the ladder, carrying two cups of cider. “Figured you could use this,” she says, handing me one.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip. It’s warm and sweet, with just enough of a kick to make me smile.

We sit in companionable silence for a while, watching the lights of the town twinkle below. It’s nice—peaceful, even. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is lingering at the edges, just out of reach.

Back inside, I can hear Finn and Grumps arguing again, Raven’s sarcastic laugh cutting through the noise. Melody’s voice rises above it all, teasing someone about their terrible reflexes. It’s all normal—at least, as normal as Whispering Pines gets. But normal feels fragile now, like a painting that might peel away if you touch it too hard.

And me? I’m supposed to keep it all together. The Lightbearer, the anchor, the stabilizer. But what happens when the thing holding everything together is the thing threatening to break?

“Do you think it’s really over?” I ask finally.

Melody tilts her head, considering. “Not a chance. But we’ll deal with whatever’s next, same as always.” She grins, nudging me with her elbow. “Besides, you’ve got this whole Lightbearer thing down now, right?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m making it up as I go.”

“Good. That’s how the best plans start.”

She stands, stretching before heading back to the ladder. “Don’t stay up here too long. We’re trying to teach Grumps how to play DDR, and it’s as hilariously awful as it sounds.”

“I’ll be down in a bit,” I promise, watching her disappear over the edge of the roof.

I turn back to the stars, the faint flicker of a shadow catching my eye. It’s gone before I can focus on it, but it leaves a chill in its wake.

“Yeah,” I murmur to myself. “Not over.”

For a moment, I swear I can feel her—Dark Zoe—lingering at the edges of my mind. Not gone, just… waiting. The ley lines pulse faintly beneath me, their rhythm just slightly off, like they’re holding their breath. Whatever’s out there, it’s not finished with me. And I’m not finished with it.

And then… I feel it. A presence—not dark Zoe, not the ley lines, not the town, but something else.

I glance over my shoulder and freeze.

You.

Yeah, I see you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching, following along with every ridiculous twist and turn. It’s a little unnerving, if I’m honest. Like having a very quiet cheerleader who never leaves.

But hey, I get it. Whispering Pines is a hard place to look away from. And as much as I’d like to say we’ve got everything under control… well, let’s be real. We’re just getting started.

So stick around, why don’t you? Things are about to get interesting.

I smile, raising my cup to you like a toast. “See you soon.”

The stars flicker above me, and the hum of the ley lines grows just a little louder.