Page 78 of Knot Your Karma
“And we’re not just getting the compass back,” Reed adds from the back seat, voice carrying that diplomatic optimism that makes impossible things seem manageable. “We’re proving that Blake’s biggest mistake becomes our greatest blessing.”
“The compass that’s supposed to represent his new beginning gets to represent ours instead,” Adrian says quietly, settling back with his usual careful precision. “Better symbolism. Stronger foundation.”
As we pull away from the curb, I catch sight of Destiny in the coffee shop window, flipping the sign to “CLOSED” while raising her mug in what looks like both blessing and warning combined.
Two hours to Boston. One night to prepare. One potentially dangerous meeting with Sterling Ashworth tomorrow. One chance to secure our future together.
The dashboard clock glows 5:47 PM as we merge onto Route 95 North. Rush hour traffic flows around us, but inside our rental car, everything feels focused, purposeful. Karma’s hand finds mine on the gear shift, her fingers lacing through mine with growing confidence.
“Ready?” I ask, checking mirrors as we settle into the travel lane.
“Ready,” Karma says, and her voice carries determination instead of anxiety for the first time all day.
“Let’s go get our compass,” Reed says cheerfully from the back seat. “And show Sterling exactly what pack unity looks like when someone underestimates us.”
Karma
Two hoursinto our drive to Boston, I’m beginning to understand why pack bonding traditionally happens in large territories with plenty of space to spread out.
Declan’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel as he navigates another construction detour. “Boston wasn’t designed for cars,” he mutters from the driver’s seat. “Or logic. Or people who actually need to get places.”
In the passenger seat, Adrian monitors road signs with tactical focus. I switched to the back seat at our last rest stop—something about being surrounded by pack felt more grounding than riding shotgun—and now Reed and I share the space, pack scents mixing until the air itself thrums with nervous energy. The rental car feels smaller with each mile.
“Take the next exit,” the GPS announces for the third time in ten minutes.
“Someone ate the last of the trail mix,” I mutter, digging through empty wrappers scattered across my lap. “I’m hypoglycemic when nervous.”
“Stress eating,” Adrian admits, his storm-gray eyes meeting mine in the side mirror. “I’ll grab more at the next stop.”
The small conflict dissolves immediately, but the underlying tension remains—we’re all on edge about tonight. About Sterling’s private viewing, about whatever test he has planned, about walking into his territory where he controls every variable.
“There’s a Dunkin’ at the next exit,” Declan offers, which is peak Boston problem-solving. “Coffee and something substantial before we check into the inn.”
“I love how your answer to everything is Dunkin’ Donuts,” I say, adjusting my seatbelt as he signals to change lanes—which in Boston traffic is less signal and more declaration of intent.
“Dunkin’ is reliable. Dunkin’ doesn’t judge. Dunkin’ doesn’t try to manipulate maritime antique experts into compromising situations.” His blue eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. “Unlike certain millionaire collectors we’re about to confront.”
Right. Sterling Ashworth. The reason we’re driving to Boston instead of staying home where I can pretend my biggest problem is organizing vintage maritime equipment.
“Let’s recap the plan,” Reed says from beside me, shifting into diplomatic strategy mode. Ocean breeze sharpens with focus. “Karma handles maritime expertise and authentication. Declan manages the overall negotiation strategy. Adrian covers security and threat assessment. I provide diplomatic support and creative problem-solving.”
“And if Sterling tries to separate us or put me in a compromised position?” I ask, though we’ve covered this multiple times.
“Pack stays together,” Adrian says firmly, his construction-strong hands relaxed despite the tension radiating from his sandalwood scent. “No individual consultations, no private conversations, no divide-and-conquer tactics.”
“What if he insists on testing my knowledge alone?Authentication work sometimes requires private examination.”
“Then we politely explain that the pack operates as a unit,” Declan replies, taking the Dunkin’ exit with decisive precision. “Sterling can accept our terms or we walk.”
“Even if walking means losing the compass?”
The question hangs in the car air, mixing with our combined scents as my pack processes the implications. Because that’s the real fear, isn’t it? That Sterling will demand impossible terms, and I’ll be the reason we lose Blake’s family heirloom after coming this far.
“Especially if walking means losing the compass,” Reed says with absolute certainty. “The compass doesn’t matter more than pack safety.”
“But it’s our bonding ceremony?—”
“And there’s only one Karma,” Adrian interrupts, his voice carrying quiet steel that makes sandalwood spike protective and warm.
