Marla had survived, but something in her had cracked deeper than magic could fix.
She spent days in silence, staring into pools of still water, murmuring lost incantations, half-afraid her own magic might turn against her.
It was Lucky who stayed beside her.
They lit candles each night. Talked about meaningless things—pastries, old crushes, the time Marla accidentally turned a bird into a frog.
Slowly, laughter returned.
One night, Marla reached out and held Lucky's hand.
"I never believed in destiny," she whispered. "But maybe I believe in you."
Lucky smiled. "Then let's write our own."
And for the first time in weeks, Marla slept soundly.