Page 77 of Knot Your Karma
Destiny watches this entire exchange with fascination, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her mouth as she realizes what just happens. “Shit,” she says finally, voice thick with something like amazement. “You actually mean it. All of you.” She looks at Karma with wonder. “Mija, these men are talking about you like you’re something precious they find instead of something convenient they’re using.”
“Is that good?” Karma asks hesitantly. “Because honestly, I have no frame of reference for whether being treated like something precious is normal or if you’re all just really committed to making me feel less like a disaster.”
“That’s everything,” Destiny says, her voice going soft in a way I’ve never heard before. “That’s everything I want for you after watching Blake make you smaller every day.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying the way we naturally position ourselves around Karma—not crowding, but creating an unconscious protective circle that includes her in the center without trapping her there.
“So what time are you leaving?” she asks, checking her phone as she moves to flip the last chairs onto tables.
“Seven PM,” Adrian answers with typical precision. “Gives us time for dinner in Boston, hotel check-in, and final preparation before tomorrow night’s meeting.”
“And you’ll call me immediately after?” Destiny fixes each of us with stern looks that promise creative violence if we disappoint her. “I don’t care if it’s eleven PM, I want to know she’s safe.”
“You’ll be our first call,” I promise, and mean it.
“Good.” Destiny moves to collect empty mugs with efficient movements. “Now get out of my coffee shop and go handle business. And remember—if anyone hurts my girl, I know exactly where you live and how you take your coffee.”
“Noted,” Reed says solemnly.
“Understood,” Adrian confirms.
“Appreciated,” I add, standing to help clear the table because my mother raises me with manners.
Karma rises more slowly, processing everything that just happens. “Des, thank you. For being protective without being impossible.”
“I’m never impossible, Mija. I’m thorough.” Destiny pulls Karma into a fierce hug, whispering something in Spanish that makes Karma laugh and tear up simultaneously. When they separate, Destiny’s expression has gone completely soft. “Go get your compass back. And bring these boys home safely.”
“I will,” Karma promises, voice only wavering slightly.
We gather our bags and head for the door, but I notice the way other customers watch us—not just idle curiosity, but the way people look when they recognize something significant happening. Destiny’s fierce protective energy has marked us as worthy of her girl, and in a town this size, that’s better than any reference letter.
As we reach the exit, Destiny calls out:
“Oh, and Declan?”
I turn back, hand on the door handle.
“She’s worth whatever Sterling’s asking. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”
The words hit like truth, settling in my chest with absolute certainty. “I know she is.”
“Good. Because if you ever forget, you’ll answer to me.”
Outside, October evening air carries salt and the promise of early frost. The rental car sits at the curb—silver sedan thatlooks unremarkable but handles emergency situations according to Adrian’s exhaustive specifications.
“Well,” Reed says, settling bags in the trunk with his usual efficiency, “that was either successful pack approval or the most elaborate setup for our collective murder I’ve ever witnessed. I’m choosing optimism.”
“She approves of us?” Karma asks, like she can’t quite believe it.
“Destiny approves of us,” I tell her, opening the passenger door and waiting while she settles in. “In bestie language, that’s practically a royal blessing.”
“She didn’t actually threaten violence,” Adrian adds, doing a final systematic check of our emergency supplies. “That’s high approval from protective friends.”
“She threatened creative life destruction, not violence,” Reed corrects, sliding into the back seat. “That’s sophisticated approval. Also slightly terrifying, but mostly reassuring that someone’s been looking out for you properly.”
Karma settles into the passenger seat. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. Driving to Boston tonight to confront a potentially dangerous collector tomorrow about a compass I stole from my abusive ex-boyfriend. This feels like something that happens to other people.”
“Other people don’t have pack like us,” I point out, starting the engine and feeling it purr to life. “Other people handle crises alone.”
