Chapter 170

Sofia. We didn’t move from that spot for a long time. Just stood there in the kitchen like a couple of emotionally dehydrated ghosts haunting the sticky air, where burnt cinnamon and sweetened regret clung to the walls. The smell was half overcooked pancakes, half defeat. My hoodie—his hoodie, which had officially crossed over into “mine by domestic conquest”—was warm with Arsen’s scent and a faint hint of vanilla coffee. The same vanilla coffee I’d spilled that morning in my panic to stop Lorelai from base-jumping off the bookshelf with a stuffed unicorn strapped to her back. She had declared it a “mission from the Fairy Council,” and honestly, I couldn’t argue with her commitment to the role. “I think I like it here,” I said softly. The words hung in the quiet like a snowflake you’re afraid to breathe near, delicate and holy. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. He just looked at me—really looked—and then gave me the gentlest shoulder bump, like he needed to physically share the weight of m