Eldur's POV
Magic is simple. People are not.
I would take conjuring a hydra over trying to understand Nova's smile any day. Because a hydra, at least, doesn't make your chest ache in a stupid, fluttery way or make your brain short-circuit when it tucks a loose strand of hair behind its ear.
Nova does. And she doesn't even know it.
We were walking back home, her arm brushing against mine with every few steps, the fading sunlight giving her skin a kind of golden glow that made her look like something painted, something sacred.
I was busy pretending not to notice any of that.
Nova was busy, oblivious to the fact that I had just bent the fabric of reality to get her a bookstore job.
"So… just to recap," she said, grinning. "You somehow got a grumpy old man to give me a job. How did you do that?"
"I gently influenced fate."
"Eldur, I'm serious."
"I call it persuasion."
Nova shook her head, laughing. "You're so—"
"Magnificent? Dashing? Heroic?"
