Felix stood at the edge of the inn's property, his lute held like a divining rod. The morning mist made it hard to see exactly where the boundary lay, but he could feel it – a gentle tension, like a string about to be plucked.

"Are you sure about this?" Pip called from the porch, where she was pretending not to hover nervously. "The last musician who tested their binding ended up speaking in rhyming couplets for a month. At least, according to Lady Corvina's records."

"We need to understand how it works," Felix replied, taking another careful step. He played a questioning chord, and the air itself seemed to vibrate in response. "Besides, I can't spend the rest of my life wondering exactly how far 'about a mile' is."

Gus looked up from where he was methodically measuring the distance with a length of enchanted string. "Fifty more feet until the traditional boundary. Though the exact distance tends to vary based on—"

The air shimmered, and Felix's next chord turned sharply discordant. A sensation like homesickness hit him so strongly his knees buckled.

"That would be the boundary," Gus noted calmly, marking the spot with a stone that looked suspiciously like one of his fingers.

Pip rushed forward to help Felix up, but he was already straightening, a look of concentration on his face. "Wait," he said, playing the same chord again. The discomfort returned, but this time he pushed through it, adding notes that somehow made the boundary shimmer visibly.

"Fascinating!" Lady Corvina materialized from her raven form, nearly dropping her ledger in excitement. "The binding is responding to the music. It's never done that before!"

"Because no one else tried to sing to it," Felix muttered, his fingers picking out a melody that seemed to weave through the barrier's magic. The shimmering boundary began to pulse in time with his music.

Before anyone could respond, the inn's front door chimed. Through the mist, they could see a figure standing in the doorway – or trying to. A young woman kept attempting to step outside only to find herself back in the lobby.

"Oh dear," Lady Corvina consulted her guest book. "Miss Marina Stone. Checked in last night. Apparently having some trouble checking out."

"I don't understand!" the woman called, her voice carrying a hint of panic. "I have meetings! Important ones! Why can't I leave?"

Felix's boundary-testing melody caught the edge of her voice, harmonizing with her distress. The inn's walls creaked in what sounded almost like recognition.

"The inn," Pip said slowly, watching the golden threads in the guest book begin to glow, "thinks she needs to stay."

"Like me," Felix added, his music shifting to mirror the inn's strange harmonics. "But different. I'm bound by magic, she's bound by..." He played a questioning sequence of notes.

"Need," Gus finished. "The inn knows the difference between wanting to leave and being ready to leave."

Marina appeared in the doorway again, this time with her bags. "This is ridiculous! I demand to—" She stepped forward and found herself back in the lobby. "How is this even possible?"

Pip looked between Felix testing the magical boundary and Marina testing a very different kind of limit. "I think," she said, pulling out her aunt's notebook, "we're about to learn a lot about different ways of being bound."

The mist swirled, and Felix's music caught an echo of other voices – past guests who had found themselves unable to leave until they found what they didn't know they were looking for.

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"Tell me about these meetings," Pip said, guiding a frustrated Marina to the parlor while Felix continued his boundary experiments outside, his music drifting in through the windows.

"They're important," Marina insisted, checking her pocket watch for the third time in a minute. "Very important. Life-changing, even. I'm supposed to be accepting a partnership at my firm today and—" She tried to stand and found herself sitting right back down. The chair creaked sympathetically.

"The inn," Lady Corvina observed, materializing with a fresh pot of tea, "seems to think there's something more important."

"Than a career-making partnership?" Marina laughed incredulously, then stopped as Felix's music shifted to a minor key that somehow perfectly captured the hollow echo in her voice.

Outside, Felix called out, "Pip! I think I found something!" His melody had changed, becoming something that pushed against the boundary like waves against a shore. The mist swirled in patterns that matched his notes.

"The binding isn't solid," he explained as Pip joined him. "It's... responsive. Like it's listening." He played a sequence that made the barrier ripple. "I think I can stretch it, just a bit, if I—"

He struck a chord that seemed to bend space itself. For a moment, he stepped beyond the boundary without the usual discomfort. But in the parlor, Marina suddenly burst into tears.

"I can't take the partnership," she sobbed as Lady Corvina offered a handkerchief that seemed to appear from nowhere. "I don't want it. I've never wanted it. I've spent ten years doing what everyone expected, being who everyone expected, and I just... I can't anymore."

Felix's music caught her words and wove them into his boundary-testing melody. The inn creaked in harmony, and suddenly the connection became clear.

"You're both trying to push past boundaries that are trying to protect you," Pip realized. "Felix's is magical, but yours..."

"Are equally real," Gus finished, entering with a tray of cookies that somehow managed to look understanding.

Marina wiped her eyes. "I wanted to be an artist. Before everyone told me to be practical. I still paint, sometimes, in secret." She pulled out a small sketchbook that had been hidden in her briefcase. "I was going to give it up entirely after accepting the partnership. Too childish, they said."

Felix's music drifted in, now carrying notes of possibility and hope. The inn seemed to lean in, listening.

"The inn," Lady Corvina said gently, "has a way of keeping people until they find what they need to hear." She gestured to Felix through the window. "Some bindings are magical, some are of our own making."

Marina opened her sketchbook, revealing stunning watercolors of everyday scenes transformed by imagination. "I have enough saved," she whispered. "I could... I could take some time. Study properly."

The front door swung open invitingly.

"Or," Pip suggested, "you could stay a few days. We have an excellent room for painting – best light in the inn, according to the windows themselves. And it seems we're learning a lot about boundaries today."

Outside, Felix had discovered that by playing certain notes, he could extend the inn's influence slightly beyond its normal reach. "It's like the magic knows the difference between testing limits and breaking them!" he called excitedly.

"Yes," Marina said, looking at her sketchbook with new eyes. "I believe it does."

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Guest Book Entry: "Marina Stone: Came to break free, stayed to be free instead. P.S. - Left a small watercolor of the inn in payment. The windows were very particular about their angles."

New Verse of Felix's Inn Song: "Where boundaries bend but never break, And limits learn to dance, The Last Stop Inn holds what we need, Until we take the chance..."

Lady Corvina's Chronicle Entry: "Remarkable developments in binding magic theory! Musical resonance creates flexible boundary conditions, while emotional barriers demonstrate parallel magical properties. Query: Are all boundaries simply variations on the inn's foundational magic? Note: Investigate correlation between artistic expression and magical liberation. Additional Note: Marina's watercolor proves inn appears differently to those seeing with heart rather than eyes."

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As evening fell, Felix played a duet with the boundary while Marina set up an easel in the garden. The inn settled around them both, its magic holding them exactly as tightly as they needed – and not a note more.

"You know," Pip said, watching Felix extend his musical influence just far enough to add atmosphere to Marina's painting spot, "I think we're all bound to something. The inn just helps us choose what."

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The guest book's pages flickered to an entry from years ago, showing another musician testing another boundary. Below it, in Aunt Maple's handwriting: "The trick isn't breaking free, it's finding what holds you in the right way."