Finn

  I hadn’t meant to step inside.

  Okay, that was a lie. I had meant to step inside—I just hadn’t anticipated how overwhelming it would feel.

  Her space. After all this time, I was standing in it. It was exactly what I’d expected and yet nothing like I’d imagined. Clean lines and subtle touches, understated but undeniably hers. The walls themselves carried a quiet strength, much like her. And there she was, standing by the kettle, her snakes coiled tightly and watching me as intently as she was.

  For years, I’d imagined this moment—meeting her, being close to her—but imagining couldn’t prepare me for the weight of it. The stories hadn’t done her justice. My visions of her had been fleeting, fragmented—like trying to piece together a person from half a dream. But now, seeing her in a whole, unbroken moment? Breathtaking. Not soft or idealized. It was the kind of beauty that made your instincts sharpen instead of relax, The myths had never captured that—the way the air around her felt denser, charged.. Her hair was thick and dark, cascading to her lower back in waves that framed the snakes shifting through it. Each one moved with fluid purpose, their personalities unmistakable in every flick of their tongues. Noodle, bold and curious, had already tested me. Now the others watched with guarded interest, though Viper’s faint hiss still rang in my ears.

  I stayed near the edge of the room, careful not to crowd her. “You’ve got a nice place,” I said casually, letting my gaze sweep over the room again. She didn’t answer, but her eyes flicked to me—sharp and unreadable. Every vision I’d ever had of this moment led to the same conclusion: if I left her alone tonight, things would spiral. Quickly. Violently. The details were fragmented, the reasons unclear, but the outcome was always the same. I had to stay. Even if staying meant pushing too hard. Even if it meant she would hate me for it. The visions had never shown me a version of this night where she thanked me. Only versions where I walked away and regretted it.

  She turned back to the kettle, her shoulders stiff as she moved through her kitchen, wiping an already clean surface. The tension in the room was thick, and I wasn’t making it any better. But I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing the cool metal of the small object I’d brought with me. It wasn’t much—just a keychain I’d picked up weeks ago, a Medusa head with an engravement beneath it. It had felt like a quiet rebellion against the stories they’d told about her. She deserved better. But it wasn’t just a gesture. I’d worked a protection spell into the metal—not a flashy one, but strong enough to shield her from anything unnatural that came too close. It wouldn’t stop Poseidon himself, but it might buy her a moment. A breath. A chance.

  “Here,” I said, holding it out.

  She glanced at the keychain, her brow furrowing. “What’s that?”

  “A present,” I said, setting it on the counter.

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  Her snakes stirred, their movements sharper, like they were trying to figure out if this was some kind of trick. Slowly, she picked it up, turning it over in her hand. The warding in the metal shifted faintly against her palm, subtle but deliberate. Her eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly—she felt it. Of course she did. When she read the words, her lips parted slightly in disbelief.

  “‘Petrify the patriarchy?’” she repeated, her voice laced with confusion.

  I shrugged, keeping my tone light. “Seemed fitting.”

  Her gaze shot to mine, and for a moment, I thought she might laugh. Instead, she set the keychain down, her expression hardening. “You’re not funny.”

  I let a faint smile tug at my lips. “I wasn’t trying to be.” It was funny, and we both knew it.

  She didn’t smile, but her fingers lingered on the keychain, tracing the edges of the metal. “Why would you give me this?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

  “Because you deserve better than the stories they’ve told about you,” I said. I was going for casual. It didn’t land.

  Her gaze dropped to the counter, her shoulders stiffening slightly. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Noodle wants to see it,” I said, smirking as I reached for the keychain and plucked it from her hand.

  She gasped, eyes narrowing. “Give it back.”

  I held it out toward the snakes, grinning as Noodle stretched forward to inspect it. “She’s curious. Can you blame her?”

  “It’s rude to take things from people,” she snapped, snatching it back. “Especially gifts.”

  I held back a laugh as she raised the keychain, letting the snakes get a better look. “Thena seems to like it,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Her gaze snapped to mine, sharp and probing. “How do you know Thena’s name?”

  I hesitated, cursing myself internally for the slip. Up until now, I’d been careful to only use their names if I’d heard her say them in this timeline. “Oracle,” I said, tapping my temple. The word leaving my mouth before I could decide whether it was a mistake. “Visions and the like.” Her suspicion tightened instantly, and I felt it land like a stone in my chest. Too much. I’d given her too much.

  Her eyes narrowed further, suspicion tightening her frame. “And how much, exactly, have you seen?”

  “Enough to know I shouldn’t have said that,” I admitted with a faint, self-deprecating smile.

  Her snakes hissed softly, the tension in the air thickening again.

  “You need to go,” she said, her voice low and clipped.

  Her command pressed down on me, but I couldn’t leave. Not yet. The visions weren’t just warnings; they were maps, showing me the paths we couldn’t afford to take. If I walked out tonight, I’d be condemning her to one of those futures.

  “I need your number,” I said, dropping the pretense of casualness entirely.

  She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Why?”

  “So when your ward shifts, or someone tests it, I’ll feel it. I need a way to warn you fast.”

  Her jaw clenched, her snakes shifting uneasily. “What do you know of my wards?”

  I raise my eyebrow at the question. She’s not ready for the answer. Instead, I shrug, slipping my phone from my pocket. “I’ll just come back in an hour.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, her frustration practically radiating off her. She grabbed the phone, her fingers moving quickly before shoving it back into my hand. I hit call. Nothing.

  “Wrong number?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “It was a typo,” she said flatly.

  “Sure,” I said, handing the phone back. It definitely wasn’t a typo. This time, when she returned it, the call went through—her phone ringing faintly from somewhere inside.

  “Happy now?” she snapped.

  “Ecstatic,” I said, a grin tugging at my lips. “I’ll see you soon, Isla.”

  The door slammed shut, rattling the frame. She’d let me in, even if only a little. That was more fragile than any spell I could cast. I couldn’t screw this up. Not when I’d finally stepped into her world.