The cloud rumbled curiously.
Cassian looked up.
“You could choose your view.”
The cloud flashed.
Rain letters appeared.
OCEAN.
Maeve looked at Cassian.
“You know how to do that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I studied magical architecture.”
Maeve stared.
He stiffened.
She remembered.
His mysterious day-one history.
“Wait.”
Cassian turned away.
Maeve stepped closer.
“You’re an architect?”
“Was.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Cassian.”
He sighed.
“I trained in structural enchantment.”
“That sounds impressive.”
“It was.”
“Then?”
He looked at the cloud.
“My family objected.”
“To architecture?”
“To me working.”
Maeve frowned.
“What?”
Cassian’s jaw tightened.
“Old vampire families have opinions about professions.”
“What kind?”
“That employment is for people without estates.”
Maeve stared.
“That is the most obnoxious sentence I have ever heard.”
“Yes.”
“So you stopped?”
He didn’t answer.
Maeve understood.
“They made you.”
“No one makes me do anything.”
“Except family guilt.”
His eyes flashed.
Maeve softened.
“Sorry.”
Cassian looked away.
The cloud rumbled.
They stood in silence.
Finally Maeve asked, “Would you build the window?”
He looked at her.
“For the cloud?”
“For me.”
Something changed.
Cassian nodded.
“Yes.”
He came back that evening with tools.
Maeve stayed late.
They worked together.
Or rather, Cassian worked.
Maeve handed him things incorrectly.
“That is not a resonance wrench.”
“You said silver tool.”
“There are five silver tools.”
“Poor planning.”
“You organized them.”
“I did.”
“Then blame yourself.”
He looked at her.
Maeve smiled.
Hours passed.
At midnight, the new illusion window flickered to life.
Blue ocean appeared across the wall.
Sunlight shimmered on impossible water.
The cloud made a sound like a happy sigh.
Maeve looked at Cassian.
He was smiling.
Not at her.
At the window.
Pride.
Real pride.
She felt something inside her soften.
“You miss it.”
He looked over.
“What?”
“Building things.”
His smile disappeared.
Maeve walked closer.
“You’re good at it.”
“I’m out of practice.”
“You built an ocean for a cloud.”
“That sentence is less impressive than you think.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He looked at her.
For several seconds, neither moved.
The shop was quiet.
Pepper slept beneath the counter.
The storm cloud drifted happily near its new window.
Cassian’s hand rested on the table between them.
Maeve looked at it.
Then at him.
He noticed.
The moment stretched.
Then the cloud rained directly on both of them.
Maeve gasped.
Cassian closed his eyes.
The cloud flashed:
KISS.
Maeve stared.
“No.”
Lightning formed a heart.
Cassian began laughing.
Maeve pointed at him.
“This is your fault.”
“How?”
“You encouraged organized labor.”
She laughed too.
The moment broke.
But not completely.
Day Ten was the first time Cassian fed in front of her.
Maeve came home early.
He was standing in the kitchen with a sealed medical blood pack.
He froze.
Maeve froze.
Cassian immediately turned away.
“Sorry.”
Maeve frowned.
“For what?”
“You weren’t supposed to see.”
“Why?”
He said nothing.
Maeve set down her bag.
“Cassian.”
“I prefer privacy.”
She leaned against the counter.
“Okay.”
He looked at her.
She shrugged.
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
Something in his face relaxed.
Then Maeve looked at the label.
“Does that say B positive?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a flavor difference?”
Cassian stared.
“What?”
“I’m curious.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“I’m not discussing this.”
“Is O negative like vanilla?”
“No.”
“AB positive?”
“Maeve.”
“Fancy?”
He put the blood pack down.
“You are impossible.”
“Is there vampire wine pairing?”
Cassian stared for three seconds.
Then laughed.
Maeve smiled.
“There.”
“What?”
“You didn’t feel weird.”
His laugh faded.
Maeve realized what she had said.
Cassian looked at the blood pack.
“People usually do.”
“People are usually stupid.”
“That is statistically likely.”
She smiled.
Then her expression softened.
“You’re allowed to exist in your own kitchen.”
Cassian looked at her.
“Fake household.”
Maeve’s chest tightened.
“Still a household.”
The words stayed between them.
Cassian looked away first.
Day Twelve brought the Founders Festival rehearsal.
Moonridge insisted they perform in the residents’ showcase.
Maeve refused.
Moonridge threatened to reveal her teenage poetry.
Maeve agreed immediately.
Cassian found this deeply entertaining.
“What did you write?”
“Nothing.”
“You reacted strongly.”
“Teenagers are not legally responsible for metaphors.”
“What were the poems about?”
“Death.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow.
“You’re a witch.”
“I was fifteen.”
“Was there moonlight?”
Maeve glared.
“Shut up.”
“Ravens?”
“Cassian.”
“Black roses?”
“Keep talking and I’ll stake you with a curtain rod.”
His eyes glittered.
“Threatening your boyfriend?”
Maeve stopped.
Cassian stopped too.
The word had slipped out.
Boyfriend.
Neither moved.
Then Cassian looked away.
“Fake boyfriend.”
“Right.”
Maeve’s stomach sank unexpectedly.
“Obviously.”
They rehearsed a duet.
Not because either wanted to.
Because Moonridge chose the program.
Cassian could sing.
Maeve discovered this and became furious.
He had a low, rich voice that made even boring rehearsal lyrics sound indecently attractive.
Maeve missed her entrance twice.
Cassian noticed.
“You’re distracted.”
“No.”
“You missed your cue.”
“The cue was weak.”
“It was a piano.”
“I don’t trust pianos.”
Cassian smiled.
Maeve forgot the next line.
The rehearsal ended with Mrs. Davenport applauding wildly.
“Oh, you’re in love.”
Maeve choked.
Cassian became very interested in sheet music.
Mrs. Davenport smiled.
“You can fake many things.”
Maeve pointed.
“Don’t.”
“But not the way a man looks at—”
Moonridge turned the lights off.
Mrs. Davenport screamed.
Maeve stared upward.
“Thank you.”
Moonridge whispered through the walls.
“I was saving him.”
Maeve looked at Cassian.
He was gone.
Day Fifteen arrived halfway through the arrangement.
Maeve knew because Moonridge decorated the apartment.
HALFWAY TO DOMESTIC VALIDATION!
Golden letters floated over the breakfast table.
Cassian stared at them.
“I want to move.”
Maeve poured coffee.
“You live here.”
“Temporary.”
Her hand paused.
“Right.”
Cassian noticed.
Maeve continued pouring.
“What happens after day twenty-eight?”
“We unmerge the apartments.”