If someone were to craft a magical torture method that didn't involve hot pokers or soul extraction, it would probably look exactly like this: one witch, three aunts, twelve kinds of herbal tea, and a conversation that made me want to astral-project directly into oncoming traffic.
The sitting room was too bright. Over-decorated in clashing floral prints and gilded frames, it smelled like sage, lemon verbena, and nostalgia for a time that probably never existed. The windows were open—because of course they were—and Diana's laugh floated through them like cursed birdsong.
"I don't need a mate," I said flatly, for the seventh time. "Or a soulmate. Or a casual magical entanglement. I'm good, really."
Belladonna looked wounded. "Darling, this isn't about what you need. It's about what your soul was crafted for."
"My soul was crafted for caffeine and spite."
"That's not funny," Morgan said.
"It wasn't meant to be."
Selene poured more tea. "We know you're hurting. But it's been seven years. That kind of loneliness isn't healthy. Maybe a bond would—"
"Kill everyone. Right. Yes. I remember."
They all paused. They didn't get it. They couldn't. They still thought I was traumatized from that vampire who tried to bond me during sophomore year and ended up exploding a bathroom stall and part of his own dignity.
They didn't realize I wasn't broken. I was weaponized.
Belladonna leaned in. "Diana's going to the gala tonight."
Boom. There it was. Casual as a lightning strike.
"I heard," I said mildly. "Is she wearing the red dress or the silver one?"
Morgan blinked. "How—?"
"Just a guess."
Technically, I didn't know yet. My vision earlier had been too blurry, too distorted by shielding spells already forming around Diana. But I had my suspicions. The red dress was a signal to every creature within six magical miles: This girl is radiant, available, and open to imprinting.
A literal walking beacon.
"She's been invited by the fae ambassador himself," Selene said. "That's incredibly rare. And you remember Prince Laziel."
Oh, I remembered. He had eyes like grief and cheekbones that could slice throats. He was all soft smiles and tragedy-laced promises, and he had absolutely no business touching Diana.
"Isn't he in exile?" I asked, sipping my tea.
"He's returned," Morgan said. "Temporarily."
"Like an infection."
Belladonna gave me The Look—the one that said be nice or I will hex your shampoo again.
Selene continued, "Diana's nervous. You should help her get ready. It would mean a lot."
"That sounds like a trap."
"No," Belladonna said gently. "It sounds like love."
I forced a smile. "You know, I think I'm allergic to this tea. Is that mugwort? My throat's closing."
Morgan rolled her eyes. "Gray."
"What? I could die."
"You can't. You're under four separate protection spells."
"Right," I muttered. "Forgot how safe I am. Wrapped in magical bubble wrap while my cousin skips into her doom."
They all looked at me then. Really looked. And for a second, I thought Morgan saw too much. Her brow furrowed slightly.
"You're afraid," she said quietly.
I barked a laugh. "Of a party?"
"Of something."
"I'm afraid of Diana causing a magical implosion that tears apart reality and kills half the Council." I smiled brightly. "Oh wait—that already happened."
Silence.
I stood.
"I should go," I said. "Got a lot of work to do. Souls to contract. Mirrors to polish."
"You're not staying for dinner?" Belladonna asked.
"No. I'm avoiding calories and unsolicited matchmaking."
Selene raised a brow. "Gray—"
"Tell Diana she looks beautiful," I said, already halfway to the mirror.
I paused at the ornate frame, fingers curling around the edge.
"And if she so much as brushes fingers with Laziel," I added, "I swear by the First Flame, I will summon a minor plague."
Belladonna flinched like she wasn't sure if I was kidding. Selene blinked once, slowly. Morgan, of course, didn't even twitch.
"Minor," I clarified, raising a finger. "I'm not unreasonable. Something mild. Maybe facial boils. Definitely nonlethal."
Morgan finally spoke, her tone too smooth. "Gray—"
"I'm just saying," I continued, "if one more ancient man-child with a tragic backstory looks at Diana like she's the last dessert on the fae banquet table, I will start hexing wineglasses."
"You wouldn't."
"I've already tagged the punch bowl with an allergic reaction charm keyed to arrogance."
Selene choked on her tea.
Belladonna pinched the bridge of her nose. "Gray. It's a diplomatic event."
"Oh good. That means no one will want to start a war over a rash." I smiled sweetly. "Unless they're fae, of course. Then it'll just be performance art."
"Gray…"
"Good talk," I said, pivoting on my heel and heading straight for the mirror.
"Gray," Morgan said, in the voice that stopped rain and blood feuds alike. "Sit down."
My hand hovered above the carved edge of the mirror's frame. I didn't turn around, but I didn't step through either. When a witch of Morgan's caliber tells you to sit, you don't argue. You listen—and you brace.
I turned slowly, like a hinge in a cursed door, and crossed back to the table.
Belladonna had folded her hands. Selene was unusually still, her teacup hovering mid-air. Morgan was staring at me the way you only look at something you finally understand—and wish you didn't.
"You've been... different," Morgan said slowly. "More than usual."
"I've been sarcastic and undercaffeinated. That's standard."
"You knew Laziel would be at the gala," Selene said. "Before we told you. You've made two binding gestures in this conversation, one to the First Flame and one to the Veiled Accord. Both require intimate knowledge of old law."
"And you've been calling the future like someone who's already seen it," Belladonna added, not unkindly.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. "So what? Maybe I read ahead."
Morgan didn't smile. "You're an old soul."
The air shifted, just slightly. Like something sacred had been named aloud.
"Not just metaphorically," Selene said. "We're not talking reincarnation. We're talking retention."
"The Laws of Return," Morgan said, steepling her fingers. "When a soul carries its memories back across the veil into a new timeline, it becomes what the ancients called a recall-bound echo. It happens once every few hundred years. It's not... encouraged."
"Because it usually means that soul is trying to change something," Belladonna murmured. "And time doesn't like being changed."
My throat went dry. "How long have you known?"
"We didn't," Morgan said. "Not for certain. Until now."
Selene finally set her cup down. "You don't act like someone guessing. You act like someone remembering."
I didn't deny it.
"What happened?" Belladonna asked, gently now. "In the other life?"
I stared at the teacup in front of me. It had a chip on the rim. It would have annoyed me before. Now, it felt like a metaphor.
"Diana became the Beloved," I said. "She bonded six men. Powerful ones. Each link amplified her magic. And each bond unbalanced the world a little more."
Their faces didn't change, but the air thickened.
"When the sixth bond completed," I continued, "something cracked. The Veil split. Magic bled into the mortal realm unchecked. Cities collapsed. The Council went dark. You were all gone."
Selene looked like someone had just stolen all the air from her lungs. Belladonna reached for Morgan's hand.
"You came back," Morgan said slowly. "To stop it."
I nodded. "I don't want to fix everything. I'm not here to be some magical messiah. But if I can keep her from making the same choices…"
"You'll change the outcome," Morgan said. "Yes."
Belladonna swallowed. "There are rules, Gray."
"I know."
"You can't interfere directly with a soulbond before the spark manifests. It breaks the Accord."
"I know."
"You can't eliminate a mate without consequence," Selene added. "Each mate is protected by the binding law. If they're marked, they're shielded."
"I'm aware."
"You can delay. Redirect. Obscure," Morgan said, eyes narrowing slightly. "But if you shatter a bond after it's formed, the backlash can kill the bonded—and you."
"Wouldn't be the first time," I muttered.
Belladonna flinched. "Gray…"
"You can't go it alone," Selene said, quietly but firmly. "You'll unravel. You always do."
Morgan leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "Do you want help?"
I hesitated.
I didn't trust them with this. But I also knew I couldn't do it alone. Not this time.
"Not yet," I said. "But don't get too comfortable. I might come crawling back."
"We'd prefer walking," Belladonna said, rising.
"Or gliding dramatically," Selene added. "With maybe a wind machine."
Morgan gave a short nod. "Then go. And remember—delay is not denial. If you break too much, time may fix it in ways you don't expect."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, standing again.
"And Gray?" Morgan added, just as I reached the mirror once more.
"Yeah?"
"Don't let the Tooth of Naevor touch your skin directly. It bites back."
I paused. Blinked.
"…You knew I took it?"
"We know everything," Selene said sweetly as any seer would do.
"Except how to mind your own business," I muttered, and stepped through the mirror before they could say anything else.
But deep down, I was relieved.
Because now they knew the stakes.
And for the first time in this loop, I wasn't entirely alone.