“I’m okay,” Azalea mumbled to herself. She clenched and unclenched her hands, taking a deep breath. Vines had grown along the old-looking wooden bookcases. Small flowers bloomed between the leaves. They called out to her and she cursed herself. “Just ignore them,” she whispered as she shook her head and took place behind the counter.

The sun shone through the window, creating a mirror image of the shop’s name ‘Arcadia Books’ in shadows on the wooden floor. Customers walked in and out—some satisfied with their new book, others left empty-handed.

She loved the little bookshop she worked at.

Newly arrived books lay in piles on the large windowsill. Bookcases lined the walls, and there was a row of them in the middle. By the wooden counter, painted in warm yellow, stood a table with bookish items like bookmarks, stickers (she handpicked herself), annotation tabs, and e-reader sleeves.

Between manning the register and helping people find their next read, Azalea opened another box with the latest stock. Today was a slow Friday at the end of March, giving her time to enjoy the new books.

She admired the gorgeous book covers. Especially the latest special edition of a romance novel between a wolf shifter and a human. She made a mental note to buy one later.

Thank goodness she had an employee discount.

The shop wasn’t luxurious. It was close to the tram tracks, but, on the bright side, the shop was also in the city centre. The Roman district was the more expensive area in New Arcadia. So, Lady Yarwood wasn’t able to afford to pay her much, despite Azalea doing almost everything alone. She did receive a fifteen per cent discount on any purchases in the shop, she was allowed to grow flowers—being surrounded by plants calmed her—and people seemed to love coming to the cosy shop, despite it being smaller than the New Pages of Arcadia bookstore.

She definitely needed the employee discount. Fantasy and romance were her favourite genres to dissociate with from the real world. Of course, she avoided anything with magical, witchy powers. She had that herself. Although Mageía’s abilities weren’t actually magic. They were powers some of them had since birth: botanical, pyro, shadows, emotions, psychic, and others. It was genetic.

Her boyfriend had asked her to stay away from anything Mageía. This morning, he lectured her once more about how she shouldn’t interact with people like her if she wanted to be normal. There was nothing more in the world she wished for. Being normal.

Her finger tapped against the book’s spine as she stared, lost in thought, at the green colour. Softly, she hummed a song she vaguely remembered from her childhood. A nervous tick she couldn’t rid herself of. It felt safe. She couldn’t explain it, nor could she explain why she felt the sudden need to comfort herself.

“I’m okay,” she whispered as she watched the last customer leave.

It was a slow day indeed, but from a young age, Azalea had learned that anything can change in a short amount of time.

A deafening noise filled the city centre of Arcadia. The windows of her shop shattered, and the door flew off its hinges. Her humming cut off as her heart dropped. The force tearing through her shop ripped the books from their shelves. Azalea could swear she felt the heat of the explosion. Diving to the floor, she barely felt the ache as her knees hit the rough wooden planks.

Dust and debris floated in the air as an eerie silence fell over the shop. Disoriented, she squeezed her eyes shut. She covered her painfully ringing ears with her hands. Her limbs shook uncontrollably. The scent of something burning filled her nose, making her blood run cold.

“Please,” she begged in a whisper, rocking herself back and forth. “Please, please, please.”

She had no idea how long she sat curled up behind the counter, glued to the floor with her body covered with the debris. As the ringing in her ears eased, sounds attempted to reach her—sounds she’d rather not hear. Despair. Pain. Grief. All the things she had witnessed when she’d been a child.

A hand pressed down on her shoulder and she screamed.

“Miss,” a male voice said.

It took her a second to feel her body again, her mind slowly beginning to register the pain. Her own or the pain from her plants, she didn’t know, and she was too afraid to reach out to them to check.

“Miss?”

Azalea opened her eyes, looking up into a pair of familiar brown eyes with lighter spots burning in them. Although concern lingered in his gaze, the corners of his lips tucked into a smile. How? She wondered. How could he smile at a time like this? The world just exploded.

“Azalea, my Flame, are you alright?” His Greek accent slipped out as he spoke.

She blinked up at him, at Nick, who’d been her only friend when she was younger—both new to the city. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” They hadn’t seen each other in years. Six, to be more precise. Not since … no, he didn’t get to use nicknames anymore.

“Okay.” Nick kneeled down beside her. His thumb brushed a lock of her ginger hair out of her face as his gaze scanned down her body, taking in every little inch of her.

She jerked away, her eyes darting around the shop. “What—” She didn’t know which question she actually wanted to ask.

Nick held up his hands as if he were calming down a wild animal. “Tell me, Azalea, are you okay?” he asked, his voice more demanding, sending a shiver through her body … as well as frustration.

“I don’t know.” A tear slipped down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away with her finger. Adjusting herself, her hand leaned on the floor. She jerked. Ouch. Blood dripped from her palm.

“Careful, my—Azalea. You’re surrounded by glass and wood splinters.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“The tram exploded,” he said matter-of-factly.

Her eyes grew wide as he explained. How could he stay so calm? She swallowed. No, she knew why. Nick had always remained calm and collected.

Without so much as a word of warning, he lifted her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Azalea wanted to object, but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. Nick kicked open the door to the small, quiet, back room. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Only personnel. He didn’t seem to care. Nick sat her on the sturdy table where they usually kept new orders. His hands cupped her cheeks, and she locked eyes with him.

“How?” she asked.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“How did the tram explode?” New Arcadia was meant to be safe. Different.

“You won’t like the answer,” Nick said. Before she could respond, he continued. “First aid kit?” He looked around. “Never mind, I see it.”

He turned away from her, and her stomach twisted. She didn’t dare to look at her palm. The ache told her enough. When Nick returned to her, she grabbed his wrist, ignoring the pain, ensuring he wouldn’t abandon her.

“Give me your hand.”

“Don’t be bossy.” She pursed her lips but did as he ordered.

“I need to bandage this up—fuck—I hate to leave you alone. Do you know the way to the hospital?”

“Yes.” Technically, she did, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember it. Despite Nick’s infuriatingly comforting presence, she couldn’t focus on anything beyond him. “I can’t just leave the shop.”

“Azalea,” he huffed, throwing his jacket on the chair and rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing muscled arms. He wasn’t that lanky child  anymore, she remembered from her childhood. Of course, he wasn’t. He had to be twenty-one now—a year older than her.

“Take me?” She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. But she also didn’t want to be with Nick. He’d left her before when they were younger. Abandoned her when she’d needed him. She sighed internally. It wasn’t like she had many options here. Besides, once she was safe in the hospital, she’d ask someone to call her boyfriend, Liam. She’d be okay then.

His lips pressed into a thin line. The muscle in his jaw twitched as if he didn’t like what he had to say next. “I can’t, my Flame.”

She pushed his hands away, her palm throbbing with pain. “Stop calling me that.” Her breaths came out rapidly. Her chest tightened, and her head hurt, making her lightheaded. Did she hit it when she ducked behind the counter? It’d happened so fast, she wasn’t sure.

“Take deep breaths, Azalea.”

But she wasn’t able to. Whatever calm Nick had given her, it was gone. 

Her damn bookshop exploded. The person she’d been missing for years had returned, but was acting like he forgot he’d abandoned her. Everything was chaos and she hated chaos. From her peripheral vision, she saw orchids dying, showing her she didn’t have her stupid botanical powers under control.

Nick’s hand covered her mouth, his other held her jaw, making her look at him. Wide-eyed, she stared at him. “I said, take a deep fucking breath, Azalea.” There was no room for objection in his voice. He released her mouth, slowly, keeping his intense brown eyes on her blue ones. She inhaled a gulp of air. “Not that fast,” he said.

She repeated the action, slower. 

“That’s it. In … Out. Keep going.”

Damn him. She hated how his commands worked.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

Thinking always made things worse. Instead, she focused on his face. The specks of gold in his brown eyes, his brunet, fluffy hair with curled locks, and the burn scars on the left side of his face of which she’d heard only stories. They had faded over the years.

Her breathing returned to normal, and Nick released her. “Good girl.”

Crap. Why did those two little words send a flutter through her stomach? 

He cupped her cheeks, making sure she’d look at him as he talked. “I’m going to make a phone call to tell my bosses I’m taking you to the nearest hospital or clinic—” Nick said. She opened her mouth to ask if she really needed to leave the shop, her safe space, but he gave her a stern glance. “—You have bruises on your knees and cuts on your palm, arms, and face, so you’re getting medical help, understood?”

She nodded.

“Good girl.”

Was that his new nickname for her? He hadn’t called her that before, and it did something to her.

Nick pressed a few buttons on his phone, frowned, and cursed. “No reception.” From his pocket, he took a little device and plugged it into the charger port. He pushed on the screen once more and held his phone to his ear.

“Yeah, it’s me … I’m fine,” Nick said. She couldn’t hear the other side. “I don’t know. I looked for her … maybe she stepped out.”

Who was his boss?

She bit her nails, but dropped her hand under Nick’s warning glare.

“I will as soon as I drop someone off at the nearest clinic.”

The other side didn’t sound happy.

“I need to. I wouldn’t have called if this wasn’t important … Of course, I know what she means to Mister Botan.”

The blood drained from her face. She recognised that name.

Nick was silent for a moment. “Thank you. I’ll report back.” He broke off the connection, and a sigh pushed past her lips. “They’ll burn me for that one later.” He laughed at himself, his gaze on the burn scars marking his hand. He snatched black leather gloves from his pocket and put them on.

Nick picked her up and set her on her feet. Her legs wobbled, but she kept herself up. He grabbed her bag that hung over the chair and led her to the back door.

“No. Wait. I have to lock the shop and turn the sign to close.” She moved to the back door leading to the front, but Nick pulled on her arm.

“My Flame, your store doesn’t have a front door anymore. Or windows, for that matter.”

With her mouth agape, she searched for words, but she couldn’t find any.

She didn’t complain when Nick tugged on her and led her outside through the back. He opened the door and the noises hit her. Hard. Sirens. Screaming. Cries. She wanted to cover her ears and hide. As if Nick sensed her distress, he pulled her closer against his body.

“Look at the ground, remember,” he said softly.

Her gaze fell to the cobblestones under her feet. It minimised sensory input. Nick had been there when she’d had her autism assessment, he knew all the ways to help—all her secrets.

Her hands trembled at her side. All her focus went to breathing in and out steadily. Even after all this time, she trusted Nick not to let her walk into things and to get her somewhere safely.

The sound of sliding doors opening grabbed her attention. The ground below changed from grey cobblestones to white tiles. Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed the blood splatters. Her gaze shot up. They were at the clinic, and it was chaos. People pushed past one another. Nurses were treating all sorts of wounds. Patients screamed over each other, demanding to be helped first.

Azalea gasped at a man who lost a leg. Seeing the damage done today left a cold panic rushing through her veins, and she squeezed Nick’s arm. His hand rested on her lower back, the look in his eyes telling her he hadn’t expected this madness either.

“Please don’t leave me,” she begged Nick, staring at a patient who had a piece of metal sticking out of his abdomen.

“They should be in the hospital, not a clinic,” Nick muttered under his breath.

“Nick,” Azalea hissed.

He met her eyes. “You’ll be fine. You can sit …” He looked around, but there were no seats available. “You can sit over there”—he pointed at the corner of the floor—“until a nurse can see you.” 

“Nick,” she begged once more, clinging to his arm.

“I need to return to work.” Conflict flashed in his eyes.

“If you leave me again—”

He handed her the bag.

“You can’t. Not right now. Please.” She couldn’t hide the fear seeping into her voice. She couldn’t be left alone.

“I’m sorry, my Flame.” He kissed her forehead.

She watched his back as he walked away from her, out of the clinic. A part she hid deep inside a corner of her heart ached. She slid down the wall to the floor, clenching her trembling fingers together. Pain shot through her palm. Crimson red peeked through the bandages he’d so carefully wrapped around her hand. She pressed her face against her knees, wishing away the loud noises, the smell of blood and disinfectant, and the pain.

“I don’t want to be here,” she whispered. “Not again.”

Softly, she hummed to herself, rocking back and forth.