Logan's entire face tightens, turning my good mood sour.
I keep my eyes fixed on positioning the last wardstone, running my fingers along its cool edges with deliberate precision. This is where I'm comfortable—in the meticulous, methodical creation of security. When I place each stone, I feel whole again, competent. I press my thumb against each glowing glyph, as if to assure myself they're working. That my magic is working.
Their magic hums in the air.
I can't help but smile as I complete the connection, watching the faint shimmer of protection ripple across the room. For a second, I forget our tension in the pure satisfaction of crafting a perfect ward network.
"You'll tell me if you want to," he says, voice low.
What the heck? This wasn't a relationship test. It was an invitation for him to ask, not seeing if he cares.
My brief high is squashed under all the tension again.
Relationships suck.
