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The city smelled like wet stone and warm bread. Smoke curled from chimneys painted gold by the morning sun, and flags fluttered lazily from crooked rooftops, their colors faded from wind and time. Shane Hollander moved carefully through the narrow streets, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn coat, eyes fixed on the cobblestones. He liked it better this way: quiet, predictable, safe.
But the soldiers appeared before he could duck into an alley.
Their boots clicked on the stones, hard and rhythmic, and their eyes lingered on him like he was a loose stone they wanted to kick aside. Shane froze. He counted exits: a market stall to the left, a cart spilling apples to the right, a narrow stairway that climbed toward the rooftops. None offered a clean escape.
Then a hand, warm and certain, settled on his elbow. Shane jerked, startled, and looked up.
Blue eyes, sharp and startlingly clear, held him like a lens focused on every detail. Golden hair fell around Ilya’s face in careless waves, catching the sunlight in strands that almost glowed, and a small mole above his left cheekbone made his grin impossibly personal. Tiny silver rings glinted on his fingers, and a delicate chain with a single amethyst caught the light as he moved it reminded Shane of stars trapped in jewelry, impossibly perfect.
“There you are,” the voice said softly, lilting in a way that made Shane’s chest tighten. “Sorry I’m late. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart.”
The word felt alive, spun around him like a ribbon of heat. Shane’s freckles prickled in the sunlight, his throat tightening as if he could feel the weight of the words on his skin. He wanted to say something clever but the clever words dissolved before they left him.
Ilya because he couldn’t possibly be anyone else gently led Shane past the soldiers. The men hesitated, eyes narrowing, but the wizard’s presence seemed to bend the air itself. Shane felt the tension in the street fold, slacken, as if the city itself knew to let him pass.
“Move along,” Ilya murmured, his grin sharp, teasing. “Nothing to see here.”
The soldiers shuffled off, muttering. Shane exhaled so hard he wondered if the city could hear it.
“You’re…” Shane faltered, gaze following the figure beside him. “You’re… I mean-”
Ilya’s grin softened, ever so slightly, and he tilted his head. “I’m Ilya. And you, Binder…” he let the word hang like a feather, “…you’ve got a knack for surviving.”
Shane blinked. His freckles warmed under the sun, almost like they were glowing, and he whispered, “I—I… thank you.”
“No,” Ilya said, brushing imaginary dust from Shane’s sleeve, rings flashing. “Don’t thank me. You did exactly what you needed to do. You’re clever, and brave. And…” He leaned just a fraction closer, voice dipping low, “…that’s my boy.”
The words landed on Shane’s chest like a promise. His heart, already tight, loosened in a way that made him dizzy. The city felt sharper now the colors brighter, the smells richer, the sun warmer on his skin. For a moment, he was visible. Real.
Then Ilya stepped back, hands raised in the casual, charming way he had perfected. “I have things to attend to,” he said, eyes sparkling. “You stay safe, sweetheart. I’ll see you again.”
And with a small hop and a flick of his cloak, the jewelry catching the sunlight one last time, he was gone, leaving Shane in the middle of the cobblestones, chest still pounding, blinking after him.
The streets carried on as if nothing had happened. But Shane didn’t feel invisible anymore. Not entirely. He swallowed hard. He’d never forget the way the sun caught Ilya’s hair, the way those small rings flashed in motion, the mole that somehow made him feel seen. Or the warmth in the word sweetheart… and the weight of that’s my boy.
The bell over the bookstore café door jingled cheerfully, but Shane barely noticed. The air smelled of fresh ink, warm paper, and roasted coffee beans, mingling with the faint sweetness of pastries cooling on the counter. Sunlight poured through tall, slightly grimy windows, catching the golden flecks in Shane’s freckles as he stepped inside.
Stacks of books hardcovers, chapbooks, tiny hand-printed zines—crowded every shelf and tabletop. The hum of a brewing espresso machine kept time with Shane’s racing heartbeat.
“Shane?” a voice called from behind the counter.
He froze. Liam, perched behind the register, looked up. Shane blinked. Liam was… pretty. Not in the sharp, attention-demanding way of someone who turns heads in the market, but in the way that made people notice him anyway: bright, perceptive eyes that caught the light, a tilt to his lips that suggested amusement or mischief, and hair that fell just so, framing a face delicate and expressive, with a faint smattering of freckles along his nose. He had a natural, understated charm that made him unforgettable once you’d met him.
“You look…” Liam trailed off, then blinked, reassessing. “…different.”
Shane hesitated. The truth was he felt different. Taller, maybe thinner in some ways, but heavier in others. The curse still crawled through him like cold ink in his veins.
“I…” He swallowed. “I just-”
“Just what?” Liam folded his arms, gaze softening only slightly. “Just ran with that wizard?”
Shane flushed, freckles warming in the sunlight. “I—I—he just… helped. Nothing more.”
Liam stepped closer, eyes scanning Shane from head to toe. “You’re not okay, are you?”
“I’m fine,” Shane said quickly, brushing past him to the counter. “Really.”
Liam’s frown deepened. “You always say that. Always acting like you’re fine because you don’t want to bother anyone.”
Shane’s fingers brushed the smooth spine of a freshly bound book sitting on the counter. He wanted to respond, but the words felt small. Then Liam’s hand rested gently on his wrist. Warm. Steady.
“You don’t get to hide like that,” Liam said softly. “Not from me. Not from anyone who cares about you. And yes, I saw him. I saw Ilya. Flying you down the street like you were weightless. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice it either.”
Shane looked down at their hands. “…I did notice.”
“You look… lighter,” Liam murmured, studying him as if trying to weigh the change with his eyes alone. “Not because of magic. Well, maybe a little…but because you finally feel like someone’s paying attention.”
A small laugh escaped Shane, despite the tension. “Someone’s paying attention… or someone’s following me everywhere?”
Shane wiped his hands on his coat, trying not to fidget with the edges of a freshly bound book. Liam leaned against the counter, grinning.
“You really think Ilya didn’t… you know… steal a piece of your heart?” Liam teased, tilting his head. “He’s got that habit. You’re lucky he doesn’t do it to everyone.”
Shane rolled his eyes, cheeks warming. “He only does that to… beautiful people. And I’m definitely not…”
“Ah, come on,” Liam said, laughing softly. “You’re plenty pretty in your own way. Don’t hide it. Ilya notices, I promise.”
Shane blinked. “I… noticed, okay? But that doesn’t mean-”
“Sweetheart,” Liam interrupted, teasing, “you know exactly what I mean. He likes to… pick hearts. But mostly from people who catch his attention. And, you-you definitely caught it.”
Shane groaned softly, brushing a hand over his face. “I just want to fix books, Liam. Not… be noticed by a heart-stealing wizard.”
Liam smirked, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Well, if you get into trouble, you’ll have me to warn you. And don’t forget about… you-know-who. The Witch of the Waste. She’s not the type to let things slide. But that’s her problem, not yours.”
Shane snorted. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, little brother.”
“Little? Don’t let the freckles fool you,” Liam said with a wink. “I can be just as scary as Ilya when I need to be.”
Shane laughed, finally relaxing a little. “Good. Someone’s got to keep me safe while he’s… doing whatever he does.
The city outside was busy again the market noise, the scent of baked bread, the laughter of passersby but inside, Shane felt a little safer. Seen. Accountable. And maybe… not entirely alone.
He lifted a bound book from the counter and traced the gold lettering with his finger. “I’ll… I’ll be careful,” he said.
Liam smiled, finally, a warm curl of amusement and worry. “Good. Because someone like him…” Liam’s eyes darted toward the street, almost instinctively, thinking of Ilya, “…he’ll be back. And I don’t want to have to explain why you ran off again.”
Shane swallowed. “I’ll be ready.”
And somehow, just like that, the city felt bigger, brighter, and not quite so scary.