“And the inspection?”
“Partly.”
“Can you refuse?”
“Yes.”
Hope rose.
Then he said, “But I would lose promotion eligibility permanently.”
Hope fell.
Clara nodded.
“That’s important.”
“Yes.”
“Your family will be happy.”
He didn’t answer.
Clara busied herself with jars.
Adrian stepped closer.
“Clara.”
“You should take it.”
“I haven’t decided.”
“It’s your career.”
“I know.”
She smiled too brightly.
“And I’m not actually your wife.”
The words hurt both of them.
She could tell.
Adrian’s face closed.
“Right.”
The rest of the afternoon felt colder.
That evening, they attended the required public social appearance.
The annual Willowwick Lantern Festival filled the town square with floating lights, music, food stalls, and enough magical decoration to violate several national regulations.
Clara wore a blue dress.
Adrian wore a dark suit.
When she came downstairs, he stared.
Clara stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was clearly something.”
“You look beautiful.”
She forgot how stairs worked.
“Thank you.”
He offered his hand.
She took it.
At the festival, everyone treated them like newlyweds.
Because technically they were.
Mrs. Peabody made them take photographs.
Ivy forced Adrian to win Clara a stuffed dragon at a ring-toss booth.
He became alarmingly competitive.
“You missed,” Clara said.
“The ring was enchanted.”
“The child before you got six.”
“The child cheated.”
The child, standing nearby, gasped.
Clara laughed until she cried.
Adrian finally won.
He handed her the dragon.
“I hate this town.”
“No, you don’t.”
He looked around.
People danced beneath floating lanterns.
Children chased sparks.
A bakery stall sold cinnamon stars.
The clock tower sang off-key.
His expression softened.
“No,” he admitted.
“I don’t.”
Music started near the fountain.
Couples gathered.
Clara looked toward Adrian.
He looked at her.
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard the question.”
“You were going to ask me to dance.”
“I was going to demand.”
“Worse.”
She pulled him anyway.
Adrian danced exactly the way she expected.
Perfectly.
Properly.
Annoyingly.
Clara deliberately stepped on his shoe.
He looked down.
“Was that intentional?”
“Prove it.”
He spun her.
She laughed.
For several minutes, everything else disappeared.
No audit.
No department.
No deadline.
No accidental marriage.
Just Adrian’s hand around hers.
Then the bond burned.
Clara gasped.
Adrian stopped.
The golden thread turned red.
Around them, lanterns flickered.
A crack appeared in the magic between their wrists.
“What is that?” Clara whispered.
Adrian’s face went pale.
The festival assessor rushed toward them.
“Don’t move.”
“What’s happening?”
The assessor examined the thread.
Then looked at both of them.
“The bond is destabilizing.”
Clara’s heart hammered.
“Why?”
The assessor hesitated.
“Conflicting intent.”
Adrian frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means one or both bonded parties is emotionally resisting the relationship while simultaneously strengthening it.”
Clara stared at Adrian.
Adrian stared at Clara.
The assessor continued.
“If it continues, dissolution becomes dangerous.”
Clara’s stomach twisted.
“What do we do?”
“Decide what you actually want.”
Simple.
Terrible.
Impossible.
That night, they slept separately.
Adrian on the couch.
Clara in her room.
Neither slept much.
Day Six began with silence.
The golden thread remained red.
Clara made coffee.
Adrian drank it.
No jokes.
No arguments.
The apartment behaved.
Even Biscuit stayed quiet.
Finally Clara couldn’t tolerate it.
“Do you want the bond?”
Adrian looked at her.
She forced herself to continue.
“Not the accident. Not the paperwork. Us.”
His face tightened.
“Clara.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m leaving in two days.”
“I know.”
“You have your life here.”
“I know.”
“My career is in the capital.”
“I know.”
“You hate rules.”
“You alphabetized my spice rack.”
“It was unusable.”
“You color-coded my permit folders.”
“You’re welcome.”
Despite herself, Clara laughed.
Then her eyes burned.
“That’s the problem.”
“What is?”
“You fit here.”
Adrian went still.
Clara looked down.
“And I don’t want you to.”
“Why?”
“Because if you fit, then losing you matters.”
He stepped closer.
“Clara.”
She backed away.
“You should take the transfer.”
“Stop deciding for me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
His voice sharpened.
“You keep assuming I want what everyone expects me to want.”
“That promotion matters.”
“It does.”
“Then take it.”
“What if something else matters more?”
Her heart stopped.
She looked at him.
Adrian’s expression was raw now.
No auditor face.
No control.
“Do you think I enjoy being the version of myself everyone approves of?”
Clara said nothing.
He continued.
“My grandmother planned my career before I was old enough to choose one. Every promotion, every office, every expectation.”
“Then choose differently.”
“I’m trying.”
“Then choose.”
He stared at her.
“Would you ask me to stay?”
Clara couldn’t speak.
Because suddenly it was real.
Not magical.
Not funny.
Not accidental.
A choice.
She wanted to say yes.
But if he stayed and regretted it?
If he lost his career?
If he eventually looked at her shop, her chaos, her ridiculous enchanted objects and saw only the life he had sacrificed?
Clara stepped back.
“No.”
Adrian’s face changed.
She hated herself instantly.
“No?”
“You should go.”
The red thread cracked.
Adrian looked down.
Then back at her.
“Understood.”
He picked up his coat.
Clara almost stopped him.
Almost.
The door closed.
The apartment went silent.
Biscuit jumped onto the table.
“You are an idiot.”
Clara sat down.
“I know.”
“No. I need you to understand the scale.”
“Not now.”
“Catastrophic.”
“Biscuit.”
“He loves you.”
She looked up.
Biscuit’s expression was unusually serious.
“You don’t know that.”
“I am literally connected to your emotional field.”
“You said government employees smell like loneliness.”
“They do.”
“He has a career.”