The garden was doing that stupidly pretty thing it did right before full dark—lanterns humming to life like lightning bugs on espresso, wind sliding through the night-lilies so the petals ghost-surfaced in slow-mo across the pond, sky fading from purple bruise to Instagram-ready midnight.
Normally Annabelle would've eaten the vibe up and spit back snark, but tonight it just felt…hollow.
Maya was probably inside wrapped around Parker's arm, laughing with Tessa while Bella clung to his other side like a designer scarf that whined if you tried to untie it. Everyone had suddenly become someone's something—best friend, baby sister, soulmate, cosmic sidekick. Annabelle? She'd become the spare seat nobody asked to reserve. Whatever. She toed a pebble off the path, flicked a wrist, and let her magic skate it across the pond like a skipping stone nobody else would ever see.
Tiny flex. Tiny comfort.
