Page 144 of Gathered Sparkle

It’s fine if Levi wants to play magician, but I’m not into that shit.

He chuckles, reaching into his pocket with one hand while steering with the other. “Silly tricks, huh?” He pulls out a coin,holding it up between us. “Two sides to a coin, Koen.” He flips it between his fingers like it’s weightless. “You and Levi, you’re like that. Heads and tails. Opposites, but part of the same thing.”

I watch as he tosses the coin into the air. It spins, catching the light, and then—nothing. It’s gone.

“Sometimes it spins.” His voice takes on that theatrical tone he uses on stage. “Sometimes it falls.”

I glance around, half expecting to find it on the dashboard or in the cup holder, but there’s no trace of it.

“Cute.”

“Who said magic has to be cute? You’re not Levi. You don’t need the pigeons and illusions. You’ve got a mind for strategy… for reading people. You could be a mentalist, Koen. Get into their heads. No silly tricks, just skill. Real skill.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, leaning back into his seat. “But it’s better than getting yourself behind bars for racing. Think about it. You, Levi,the Magic Twins. That will get you rich as hell. You keep your license this time, and you can buy every car you’ve ever dreamed of.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Big dreams, Uncle Oscar.”

“Dream big, Koen.”He glances at me. “But be safe. And keep Levi safe. You’re not just two sides of a coin. You’re stronger together. Don’t throw that away over some need for speed.”

I look at him, the words settling in my chest. Oscar’s not talking about cars and magic—he’s talking about the weight of everything we’ve lost and everything we still have.

“Yeah,” I murmur, turning back to the road. “I’ll think about it.”

He smiles, shifting gears as the Mercedes roars forward. “Good. Now stop sulking and help me figure out how to break itto Levi that twenty pigeons in his room are nineteen too many without him staging a full-blown meltdown.”

I laugh despite myself. “Good luck with that. You know he’s going to call it artistic expression or some crap.”

Oscar grins. “Yeah, well, he can express himself all he wants in the garage. I’m not negotiating with pigeons.”

The memory fades, but the weight of it lingers, pressing down on my chest.

Sitting in the Bronco, I stare out at the parked Mercedes in front of us.

The same car Oscar and I drove home that day, his words about coins, Levi, and me still ringing in my ears.

I glance at Novalee in the passenger seat beside me. She’s quiet, her hand resting lightly on her bracelet, her gaze fixed on the park we’ve parked next to, and I let myself look at her.

Mine.

Then I follow her gaze.

Nicholas is in the distance, guiding a group of kids through a parkour course like he’s been doing this his entire life. Which, in a way, he has.

I remember doing that with him, going to this park and training backflips and shit every week. It was always more his kind of thing than mine. Mine were cars. But since he did my hobby with me, I figured we could do something he enjoyed every week too.

It was fun.

Just as much fun as these kids seem to have. They laugh and cheer as he encourages them, his smile easy and genuine.

And Novalee is watching him.

It’s not only the way her eyes linger, tracing his every move, but it’s the micro expressions she can’t hide.

The faint lift at the corners of her mouth—a flicker of joy.

The slight furrow of her brow—a pang of longing.

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