They returned to the inn late one evening with the intention of plotting how to derail whatever meeting Beheehee might be planning. They sat at their usual table with two mugs of warm beer and a plate of bread and cheese between them. The fire burned low, and the innkeeper had already begun to sweep. Outside, a damp wind whispered against the shutters.

“So,” Magnolia said, dipping her bread into the melted cheese, “how do we ruin his meeting?”

“We don’t,” John replied, leaning back in his chair.

Magnolia raised an eyebrow. “We don’t?”

John shook his head. “We don’t attend it at all. We break into the library instead.”

Magnolia laughed, thinking he was joking. When he did not laugh with her, she realised he was serious.

“You want to steal the book?” she asked.

“I want to see if we can,” he said. “After all, we’ve been invited to a library we can already enter. Where’s the fun in that?”

Magnolia considered. She thought of Beheehee’s narrow eyes and condescending tone. She thought of the adrenaline that rushed through her when she and John had worn stolen robes and slipped into lectures. She thought of the thrill she felt whenever they moved in tandem, wordless and efficient. She put down her bread and nodded.

“Let’s do it.”

They left the inn by the back door. The night was clear, and the moon lit the path. Crickets sang in the grass, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked. They approached the library from the east where a row of fruit trees provided cover. The leaves whispered in the wind, and the smell of ripening plums hung in the air. It turned out they weren’t the only ones with the idea. Two figures dressed in dark colours slipped ahead of them, moving with the precision of trained spies.

“Kum,” John whispered as they crouched behind a hedge.

“How do you know?” Magnolia whispered back.

“Just look at the way they move! Incredible how one can make spy work look boring.”

Magnolia smothered a laugh. They watched the spies pick the lock on a side door with practised ease.

“Do we interfere?” Magnolia asked.

“Of course. We can’t have them stealing the book we intend to steal.”

They moved as one. Magnolia shifted a pebble with her foot, sending it rolling into a tin bucket. The sound echoed. One of the spies froze. John plucked a leaf and flicked it at a nearby torch, extinguishing it with a small spell. Darkness fell over the side door. The guard at the corner called out, and footsteps approached.

The spies panicked. One darted inside. The other tried to slip back into the shadows but tripped over the bucket Magnolia had nudged. He fell, and John was there, hand outstretched as if to help him up, only to twist the man’s wrist and guide him toward the approaching guards.

“There he is!” John exclaimed. “Caught him sneaking about!”

The guard thanked John and dragged the spy away. The first spy, hearing his companion’s capture, attempted to flee with the book already in hand. Magnolia stuck out her foot at the perfect moment. The spy stumbled, tossed the book into the air and tried to regain his balance. John snatched the book before it hit the ground. He bowed courteously to the spy, who cursed in a language Magnolia did not recognise before being seized by another guard.

“Thank you for returning the text,” the guard said to John.

“Anytime,” John replied cheerfully, tucking the book under his arm.

They walked away quickly but not so quickly as to draw attention. Magnolia could feel her pulse racing. It was not from fear; it was from exhilaration. She glanced at John. He looked as if he were returning from an evening stroll.

When they reached a shadowed alley, they stopped. John leaned against the wall and let out a breath he had been holding. Magnolia laughed, though quietly.

“That was ridiculous,” she said, breathless.

“That was fun,” John corrected.

“We just coordinated a burglary and framed two spies,” she said, still laughing.

“We make a good team.”

She did not disagree. She could feel her heart pounding, not from fear but from exhilaration. They stood close, hidden by darkness, the only light a sliver of moon that caught the line of John’s jaw. Magnolia felt an urge to reach up and trace it. She did not. Instead, she touched his arm briefly to steady herself. He placed his free hand over hers for a moment, squeezed gently, then let go.

Back at the inn, they retreated to the small sitting room off the kitchen where a single candle provided light. It was late enough that the other patrons had retired. The innkeeper had gone to bed. The only sound was the occasional hiss from the hearth as embers shifted.

They sat on the floor and placed the book between them. It was old, bound in dark leather and embossed with a design of swirling waves. Magnolia ran her finger along the spine.

“Ready?” John asked.

She nodded. He opened the book. The pages were thick and yellowed, and the ink had browned at the edges. They flipped past the front matter and looked for the section on the vortex. The handwriting was neat, and the diagrams were simple. They read aloud, alternating paragraphs, their shoulders touching. Their heads leaned together in the dim light. Their breath mingled. Magnolia felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire.

The book was less a treatise than a journal, full of observations and musings. One section noted how the current around the vortex flowed like a slow spiral. Another described the way the mist above it obscured the stars. They made small comments to each other. John underlined a phrase with his finger and whispered, “Poet.” Magnolia underlined a calculation and whispered, “Terrible math.” They laughed quietly. It felt almost like reading by the fire at home, if Magnolia had ever had a home with a fire.

At last, they came to a chapter titled The Dark Ocean Vortex.

Magnolia’s voice softened as she read, the words almost an excuse to remain close. The candle between them burned low, its light steady, warm. John had leaned nearer without noticing. Their shoulders touched. Then their hands.

She did not pull away.

Neither did he.

For a moment, the book no longer mattered. The weeks at Waka, the long nights, the quiet understanding between them - it all settled into something simple. Something undeniable.

Magnolia lifted her eyes from the page.

John was already looking at her.

There was no hesitation this time.

She leaned in first.

He did not move.

At first, she thought he was teasing her. Then she saw it.

His expression had changed.

Not uncertainty.

Not restraint.

Something colder.

Disgust.

John’s gaze had shifted past her.

Magnolia stilled, confusion flickering through her. For a brief, fragile second, she wondered if she had misread everything - if this had only ever been one-sided, if she had stepped too far, too soon.

“John?” she said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

His eyes had dropped back to the book.

Magnolia followed his gaze.

The page remained open between them, unchanged, indifferent.

She read the line where his eyes had stopped.

“One hundred barrels of human blood, to quiet the old gods that churn beneath the vortex. Tested.”

The air seemed to leave the room. The crackle of the fire continued. The distant murmur of the common room did not cease. But inside, everything slowed. Magnolia looked up. John’s skin had gone pale. He did not move. He did not speak.

She felt nothing at first. Then she felt a hollowing‑out. All the warmth she had been nursing seemed to drain away, leaving a chill behind.

John swallowed. “That’s a lot of blood,” he said after a moment, his voice thin.

Magnolia stared at the page. The neat handwriting did not tremble. The diagrams did not fade. The requirement was clear, and it was monstrous. She felt her heart harden. She felt something break.

They had spent months growing closer, trusting each other, laughing together, discovering together. They had just outwitted spies and professors and stolen a book for the thrill of it. They had almost kissed more than once. She had allowed herself to imagine a future.

Now, there was a cost she could not bear.

“Why would Constantine demand this?” John whispered, more to himself than to her. His fingers tightened on the edge of the book until his knuckles whitened.

“To keep people away,” Magnolia said, her voice quiet. “Or to ensure only certain people would come.”

John’s jaw clenched. “We can’t - ” He stopped. There was no sentence to finish.

Magnolia closed the book slowly. Her fingers lingered on the leather cover. She met John’s eyes. They were as shocked as hers were. There was a sadness there too, and something like anger.

“Everything we’ve done,” she said, “has been built on the idea that if we worked hard enough, we could find a way through. Now…”

“Now we have a price,” John said.

“...” she replied with silence.

They sat in silence. The candle flickered, casting their shadows against the wall. For the first time since arriving in Waka, there was nothing playful between them. No teasing. No light remark to soften the edges. Magnolia felt the distance between them, even as they sat shoulder to shoulder. It was not a distance of space but of uncertainty.

After a while, John reached out and took her hand. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t speak. He simply held it, letting their fingers entwine. Magnolia held on. The world outside the inn continued - crickets sang, the wind shifted, someone laughed in their sleep. Inside, Magnolia and John sat with a book closed between them and a future that had become far more complicated than an unsolved assignment or a stolen prank. They stayed that way until the candle burned down.

End