Page 133 of Magical Mission
Layer by layer, I peeled off my jacket, my boots, and my clothes, letting them drop in a trail toward the bathroom.
The shower I stepped into was hot as steam curled up around me, turning the room into a cocoon. I let the water run over my shoulders, down my spine, across the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying all day.
Every conversation, every worry, every half-formed plan dissolved under the pressure of the water.
I braced my hands on the tiled wall and let myself breathe.
I couldn’t bring Celeste here.
Not yet.
But someday… maybe.
When the curse was gone. When the Wards stopped humming like warning bells. When I could say with certainty that this town wouldn’t take more from me than I was willing to give.
Someday.
I turned off the tap, wrapped myself in a soft towel, and wandered into the bedroom with hair dripping and limbs loose.
I collapsed onto the bed with a groan and didn't even bother pulling the blankets up. The mattress welcomed me with the kind of relief only a long, quiet day can earn.
I didn’t expect to fall asleep.
And I didn’t.
My mind was still moving slowly like leaves drifting in a lazy stream with thoughts of Celeste, Skye, and the mother dragon wrapped around her egg.
I was just starting to drift toward sleep when…
Knock knock.
A gentle, two-beat rhythm.
Not urgent.
But very deliberate.
I blinked and rolled toward the sound, then cleared my throat. “Come in.”
The door creaked open just wide enough to reveal a familiar face peering through.
Twobble wore his nightcap at a rakish angle, holding a very dignified, very sulking bulldog under one arm.
“I’m not staying,” Twobble announced, like he was delivering bad news to a dignitary. “I was heading to my quarters whenthis onefound me and insisted I correct an egregious oversight.”
My dad gave a huff that was somehow both weary and wounded.
I blinked. “Oversight?”
“He wasn’t invited in,” Twobble said pointedly. “To your bed. For the nightly snuggle session.”
I sat up and smiled, towel still clutched around my shoulders. “Oh, Dad.”
He squirmed free from Twobble’s arms, dropped to the floor with a grunt, and immediately padded over to the side of the bed with the air of someone who had suffered greatly and expected compensation.
“Youweremissed,” I said, patting the blanket beside me.
He snorted and climbed up in one disgruntled, floppy motion. Within seconds, he was burrowed beside me, his warm, wrinkled body already radiating comfort and dog loyalty.
