Steven’s POV
Morning came too slowly.
Or maybe I just woke too early.
Either way, the house was still dim when my eyes opened, and for once, the first thing I felt wasn’t dread about the training field.
It was anticipation.
Fang was coming back today.
For a few quiet seconds, I just lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to Aqua breathe beside me and trying not to feel stupid about how relieved I already was.
Just knowing Fang would be here again made something in my chest loosen.
Not all the way.
But enough.
I rolled carefully onto my side and glanced at Aqua.
She was still asleep, one arm tucked near her pillow, her blonde hair spread across the blanket in soft pale waves.
Peaceful.
Warm.
Real.
My life had gotten so strange so fast that sometimes I looked at things like this just to remind myself they were actually happening.
I slipped out of bed without waking her and headed into the kitchen.
The house still had that faint new-home feel to it. Not empty anymore. Just not fully lived in yet. A mug by the sink. Aqua’s folded cardigan over the back of a chair. A few seed packets from the garden shop sitting on the counter where she had left them the night before.
Little signs that we were starting to exist here instead of just staying here.
I poured myself a glass of water, leaned against the counter, and pulled out my phone.
There was one thing I wanted to do before Fang got here.
I opened my messages and found Mr. Kevin’s number.
For a second, I just stared at the screen.
Then I typed.
Steven: Hi Mr. Kevin. Just wanted to let you know you don’t need to keep checking on the apartment for Fang anymore. Someone’s picking him up for me, and I’m safe right now. Katie is too.
Steven: Thanks again for everything you’ve done for us.
Steven: Please let me know if you hear anything new about my mom.
I hit send before I could overthink it.
The typing bubble came back faster than I expected.
Mr. Kevin: Of course, Steven. I’m glad you and Katie are safe.
Mr. Kevin: There’s still no confirmation about your mother. They’re still trying to figure out what happened after the fire, including the lack of recoverable remains.
Mr. Kevin: I’ll let you know immediately if anything changes.
I stared at the words a little too long.
No recoverable remains.
Every time I read that phrase, it felt wrong in a slightly different way. Too cold. Too official. Too clinical for something that had torn the floor out from under my life.
I locked my phone and set it down face-down on the counter.
For a second, all the early morning quiet came rushing back in.
Mom still wasn’t found. Still wasn’t confirmed. Still somehow existed in that awful space between gone and not proven gone.
My throat tightened.
I took another drink of water and forced myself to breathe through it.
Then soft footsteps came down the hall.
Aqua appeared in the doorway a second later, tying her hair back loosely, still wearing sleep on her face. She took one look at me and slowed.
“You’re up early.”
I gave her a small shrug.
“Couldn’t really sleep anymore.”
Her gaze softened.
“Because Fang is coming.”
I looked toward the backyard.
“Yeah.”
Aqua stepped farther into the kitchen and noticed my phone on the counter.
“You texted Mr. Kevin?”
I nodded once.
“Told him he doesn’t need to keep checking the apartment for Fang anymore.” I glanced down. “And asked about my mom.”
Aqua’s expression softened immediately.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing new,” I said. “Still no answers.”
Aqua came over and rested her hand lightly on my arm.
Not pushing.
Just there.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then Aqua glanced toward the backyard, where the morning light was beginning to brighten the glass of the French doors.
“He’ll be here soon.”
I looked the same way.
And just hearing that out loud made the morning feel a little less heavy.
Not better.
Not completely.
But lighter than it had a minute ago.
By the time the clock hit nine, I had checked the backyard twice, opened the gate once for no reason, and gotten told by Aqua to please stop pacing in the nicest possible voice.
So I stood still.
Sort of.
Aqua waited beside me near the back fence, one hand resting lightly on the top rail. She looked calm, but I knew her well enough now to tell she was watching the tree line more than the flowers.
The morning air felt cleaner out there. Cool enough in the shade to still feel gentle, though the Georgia heat was already waiting behind it. The garden beds sat in neat rows beside us, damp from Aqua’s earlier watering, little patches of green catching the light.
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It should have been peaceful.
It almost was.
Then the air shifted.
A clean shimmer appeared near the gate, just beyond the narrow trail leading toward the woods. Like a thin seam in the world had turned just enough for the light to catch on it.
Aqua straightened beside me.
I stopped breathing for a second.
Then the portal opened.
Not dramatic.
Not violent.
Just a pale circle of light folding quietly into the morning.
One of Fredrick’s staff stepped through first, dressed in the same neat dark clothes the estate seemed to produce in endless supply. He carried himself with the efficient stillness of someone trained not to waste movement. In one hand he held a narrow wooden case.
Then he stepped aside.
And Fang came through.
Everything in me went still.
His black-and-yellow body slid over the grass in one smooth motion, glossy bands catching the morning light as if he belonged to it. He cleared the portal, lifted his head, and paused.
Then the bond hit.
Not because it had been gone.
Because distance had stretched it thin, and now, with Fang sliding toward me across the grass, it pulled tight again.
Whole.
Warm.
Mine.
Relief washed through me so fast it almost hurt.
I crouched slowly.
Fang came toward me without hesitation and coiled up my forearm in one practiced movement, scales cool against my skin, body familiar in a way that made my throat tighten unexpectedly.
The bond settled even deeper with the contact.
Home.
Fang lifted his head and looked at me.
You took your time.
Guilt hit me immediately.
I looked down at him, my throat tightening a little.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said softly. “I didn’t mean to.”
Fang’s stare held for one second longer, almost disbelieving.
Then the feeling through the bond changed.
Not annoyance.
Relief.
I am simply glad you are safe.
That landed harder than I expected.
It was good to have my bud back.
“I’m glad you’re here too, Fang.”
Aqua smiled softly beside me, like she could tell the moment mattered even without hearing his side of it.
The estate man inclined his head slightly.
“Per Mr. Worth’s permission,” he said in a calm, formal voice, “the familiar is granted limited residence within the assigned house and designated training field.”
I nodded, though most of my attention was still on Fang.
“He may not roam Worthington,” the man continued. “He may not enter private homes, businesses, or public gathering spaces beyond those limits. He may not harm any resident. Violation of these conditions revokes the arrangement immediately.”
“Yes,” Aqua said before I could. “We understand.”
The man set the narrow case down near the deck steps.
“Mr. Worth also sends this.”
I blinked.
“What is it?”
“Items deemed useful for the transport and temporary care of a familiar serpent.”
I stared at him.
“That is the most Fredrick sentence I’ve ever heard.”
Aqua bent to pick up the case before the poor man had to decide whether that required a response.
“Thank you,” she said.
He gave one small nod, stepped back through the portal, and vanished as neatly as he had appeared.
The shimmer folded shut.
And just like that, it was only us again.
Me.
Aqua.
Fang.
Aqua looked at me curiously.
“What did he say?”
I looked at Fang, then back at her.
“He was just telling me how beautiful your garden is looking.”
Aqua smiled at once.
“Thanks, Fang. Maybe we can garden together sometime.”
Fang gave me a look so flat it almost made me laugh.
He clearly thought I didn’t know the first thing about gardening.
“He said he’d love to,” I told her happily.
Aqua looked between us.
“Great.”
Traitor.
I answered in my head before I could stop myself.
You like the sun.
Yes. More so when I am not being bothered.
I chuckled quietly to myself, absurdly happy just to have him back.
Inside, the house changed the second Fang entered it.
I hadn’t realized how much until that moment.
It wasn’t that the place had felt wrong before.
Just unfinished.
Now something about it clicked.
Not perfect.
Not magically healed.
Just more complete than it had been an hour ago.
Fang, of course, immediately began inspecting everything like an unimpressed landlord conducting a surprise property check.
He slid from my shoulder to the back of the couch, then to the windowsill, then across the top of the bookshelf, tasting the air in little flicks like hidden flaws might reveal themselves if he gave them long enough.
Aqua set the wooden case on the dining table and opened it.
Inside were exactly the kind of things Fredrick would think to send: folded cloth, feeding tongs, a travel-safe container, a warming stone, and several smaller items arranged with absurd neatness.
Aqua lifted one of the cloths and blinked.
“He really did think of everything.”
I leaned against the table.
“That’s somehow getting less comforting the more he does it.”
Aqua made a small thoughtful sound that meant she didn’t fully disagree.
From the top of the bookshelf, Fang surveyed the room with immediate judgment.
I felt the verdict through the bond before I fully translated it.
“He thinks Fredrick is annoyingly prepared,” I said.
Aqua glanced at the care case and smiled faintly.
“He is not wrong.”
That felt much more normal.
Less like trying to interpret a diplomatic summit between my girlfriend and my snake.
More like the house itself had relaxed enough to let the moment be funny.
I looked up at Fang again.
He had gone still in that way he did when pretending not to have opinions while absolutely having opinions.
“I think that means he approves,” I said.
“High praise,” Aqua replied.
“Very.”
I looked toward the French doors and the yard beyond them.
The training field waited behind the back gate.
And now that Fang was here, I wanted to show him.
Maybe show off a little too.
Not a lot.
Just enough.
“You want to see the field?” I asked.
Fang lifted his head a fraction.
If this place has given you a proper training ground, I would like to know whether it is impressive or merely expensive.
I smiled despite myself.
“That means yes.”
Aqua was already reaching for the insulated tea container on the counter and her little notebook from beside the seed packets.
I looked at the notebook.
“What’s that for?”
“Garden planning,” she said.
Of course it was.
I smiled a little.
“That’s very you.”
Aqua’s expression softened.
“And this,” she said, glancing between me and Fang, “is very you.”
Fair enough.
We headed out a few minutes later.
The late morning light had warmed by then, turning the training field brighter and more open than it looked earlier in the day. Less intimidating. More usable.
Fang rode my shoulders part of the way there, then slid down once we entered the clearing itself, moving across the ground in those smooth black-and-yellow ribbons of motion that somehow always looked both lazy and dangerous.
Aqua sat on one of the benches with the tea container beside her and her notebook open across her lap. Every so often she glanced between the little half-sketched rows on the page—plant names, herb ideas, rough garden layouts—and whatever Fang and I were doing in the middle of the field.
It hit me then, weirdly hard, how much we had already started becoming ourselves in this place.
Aqua with her tea and her notebook and her plans to grow things.
Me with my fire and my familiar and all the parts of me I was still trying to trust.
I stepped into the center of the field and spread my hands slightly.
“Well,” I said. “What do you think?”
Fang paused near the large training chest and lifted his head.
Better than the clearing behind the burned house.
I let out a short breath through my nose.
“Low bar.”
And yet one you repeatedly failed to meet gracefully.
“Nice to see you haven’t changed.”
I held out one hand and summoned fire.
The flame came quickly now. Cleaner than it had felt before Fang returned. Cleaner still with his presence cutting through the mental static that had made the field feel too empty all week.
It still took effort.
Fang did not make the fire obey.
He only made it easier for me to hear myself over the noise.
I let the flame hold there a second, then compressed it, then released it in a short controlled burst toward the far side of the clearing.
It landed cleanly.
No ugly flare.
No messy blowback.
I looked at Fang.
“Well?”
He stayed silent for one beat too long.
Then:
Adequate.
I stared at him.
“That’s all I get?”
Would you prefer dishonest praise?
I frowned and tried again, pulling a little more heat this time.
The fire answered faster than before, almost too eager.
I shaped it, corrected, and sent it forward in a tighter stream.
Better.
Still not perfect.
Fang moved a little closer.
You overcompensate when you doubt yourself.
I exhaled.
“I know.”
No. You know the words. That is not the same thing.
That one landed hard enough that I didn’t answer immediately.
Aqua looked up from her notebook then, reading enough off my face not to need a translation.
“Useful?” she asked.
I gave her a flat look.
“Deeply irritating.”
Her mouth twitched.
“But useful,” I admitted.
That seemed to satisfy everyone except me.
I tried again.
Fire.
Compress.
Hold.
Release.
This time Fang stayed quiet through the whole thing.
When it landed well, I looked at him.
He gave me nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Then finally:
Again.
I laughed under my breath.
And did it again.
We stayed out there longer than I meant to.
Not because training had suddenly become easy.
It hadn’t.
Not because Fang was gentle.
He definitely wasn’t.
But for the first time in days, the field didn’t feel like it was just me and the worst parts of my own head.
Fang’s constant corrections cut through too much of the static for me to completely resent them, and Aqua being there on the bench with her tea and garden notebook somehow made the whole thing feel less lonely.
Not easy.
Just less lonely.
By the time I finally stopped, sweat stuck to the back of my shirt and my arms felt satisfyingly tired.
Aqua had finished one full page of notes and started another.
I walked over to the bench, breathing harder than I wanted to admit, and reached for the tea container.
She handed it to me without a word.
The tea inside was still warm.
I took a drink and looked out over the field.
Fang was coiled near the chest again, watching me with all the emotional softness of a military instructor.
“This was better,” I admitted.
Aqua smiled a little.
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“You knew it would be.”
“I hoped.”
That landed in my chest the same way her words often did lately.
Soft, but not weak.
Fang’s presence brushed the bond, quieter now.
Steadier.
For the first time in days, the field didn’t feel lonely.
Fang’s dry corrections cut through the noise in my head, and Aqua sat on the bench with her tea and garden notebook like this was somehow becoming ordinary.
Training still wasn’t easy.
Fang had not fixed me.
Aqua could not do the work for me.
But standing there between the two of them, with fire warming my hands and the bond steady under my ribs, I finally felt like I wasn’t fighting myself alone.
And maybe, for today, that was enough.