Sebastian's POV:
The sun's too damn bright.
I pull the garage door halfway down, just enough to block the glare but not enough to shut out the world entirely. There's already a cigarette burning between my fingers, though I'm not even sure when I lit it. I'm sitting on the amp, guitar at my feet, notebook open but blank. Figures.
The party's still stuck in my head like a bad chorus I can't shake. Everyone laughing, drinking, pretending life isn't as messy as it is. Hannah glowing under the lights. And then Alex—grinning, charming, effortless.
And the way she looked at him.
My jaw tightens.
"Okay, brooding in a garage before noon? That's gotta be a new record," Abigail says, her boots clunking down the steps behind me.
I don't turn around. "You knock?"
"Yeah, with my soul," she says, plopping down across from me on a stack of crates. She steals my cigarette like it's hers and takes a long drag. "So, we gonna talk about last night, or are you gonna pretend to write lyrics all day?"
I scowl. "Nothing to talk about."
"Right." She exhales smoke in a slow stream. "Except the fact that you were five seconds away from kissing Hannah outside the Saloon. And then you didn't. And now you're hiding in your cave like Gollum."
I snap my head up. "You saw that?"
Abigail smirks. "Please. Everyone felt it. The tension was so thick I almost needed a machete."
I shake my head and rub the back of my neck. "It was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking."
"You were thinking with your heart, for once," she says. "Which, I know, ew—but it's allowed, Seb."
I don't answer. Instead, I grab the neck of my guitar, pluck a dissonant chord, and let it hum in the air like a warning shot.
"You like her," Abigail says, softer now.
I look at her. "She likes Alex."
Abigail snorts. "Maybe. Maybe not. But even if she does, that doesn't erase what's between you two. I've seen the way you look at her. Like she's the first good thing you've ever believed in."
My stomach turns at how accurately she cuts through me.
"She's not like the others," I admit, barely above a whisper.
Abigail leans forward, resting her arms on her knees. "Then don't mess it up by pretending you don't care. I know it's your thing, this whole tortured-loner crap, but Hannah's not gonna wait around while you figure out your damage."
"I'm not good for her," I mutter, instantly hating how pathetic it sounds.
Abigail's eyes narrow. "Don't give me that self-loathing crap. You think I don't know you? You're loyal, you're smart, and when you let someone in, you'd burn the whole world down to protect them. Don't pretend that's not enough."
I blink, caught off guard. "Since when are you the emotionally stable one?"
She grins. "Since I stopped liking you and started dating people with actual coping skills."
I snort and finally smile—just a little. But then I go quiet again. The image of Hannah leaning in, her face tilted just so, the moonlight catching in her hair—I feel it like a bruise I can't press without wincing.
"I wanted to kiss her," I say. "But then Alex showed up and... I don't know. I froze."
"You still can," Abigail says simply.
I look at her.
"She's not a prize to win," she adds. "She's a person. And you're not the only one who sees her. So yeah—Alex is charming. He's easy. But you? You're real. You make her think."
My chest tightens at that. Because that's what scares me the most—how easily she gets under my skin, and how much I want to stay exposed when she's around.
"Just don't wait too long," Abigail says, flicking ash into an empty soda can. "This isn't high school. If you care, do something about it. Or don't—but stop pretending you don't feel anything. It's exhausting."
She stands up, pats my shoulder once, then heads back toward the house. "And for the record?" she calls over her shoulder. "If you ever do kiss her... don't mess it up."
The door slams shut behind her, leaving me alone with the silence.
I stare at my notebook again. My hand hovers over the page. Then finally, I press pen to paper.
And start writing.
++++Three days later+++
Hannah POV:
Hannah's POV
Everything lately feels like it's been spinning out of control—fast, loud, emotional. Too much. So I pulled back. No Alex. No Sebastian. No Wizard. No cryptic scrolls or moody stares or loaded silences. Just me and the quiet hum of my farm.
It's been three days of self-imposed solitude, and honestly? I needed it.
There's something deeply grounding about dirt under your nails and the familiar squawk of chickens. The animals don't ask questions. They don't want explanations or eye contact that lingers too long. They just eat, wander, and exist. Sometimes I envy them.
Today is Saturday—the last one of the summer. The air still smells like sun and soil, but there's a bite to the breeze that hints at what's coming. Fall is nearly here, and I'm not ready.
I scribble on my notepad, trying to organize the chaos in my brain into tidy bullet points:23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcbw6EQUJor
• Order more hay23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1d4xguVv74
• Buy barn heaters23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQr6OfyAC4b
• Pick up shears23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbrcEr8HuYr
• Prep sheep pen23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoO1pLD52Sw
• Emotionally avoid everyone forever
That last one is wishful thinking.
I head to the coop, sliding open the door, expecting the usual clucking chaos. But something immediately feels...off.
It's too quiet.
Then I see it.
Nestled in the center of the straw is an egg I've never seen before. Black, smooth, with red spots scattered like a constellation. It looks unnatural—too perfect, like it was painted. I crouch down slowly, my pulse kicking up a notch.
Is it blood?
I touch it. No. The red is matte, clean, patterned. But the egg is warm—hot, almost. And it's... glowing. Faintly. Like there's something alive inside it that knows I'm here.
I swallow hard.
Of course. Of course the universe couldn't let me have one peaceful week without something weird showing up. A normal chicken lays eggs. Mine lay magical question marks.
I hold the egg in my hands, heavier than any I've collected before. It hums—softly, like it's vibrating just beneath the shell.
There's only one person who might know what this is. Unfortunately.
I groan, already regretting what I'm about to do.
"Three days," I mutter to myself. "Three whole days of peace."
So much for my drama detox.
Looks like I'm heading back to the Wizard's tower. Again.
But this time? I'm taking the back route. No one needs to see me sneaking through Cindersap with an alien egg in my basket.
Especially not the mysterious quiet guy, the boy-next-door heartthrob, or the town's favorite spell-slinging hermit.
Just me, the trees, and this weird egg.
Great
23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBhlJlcCCZp
