IN THE MONTH that passed after Snow’s unexpected reveal of his magic, surprisingly little changed.

Perhaps it was because she seemed to be acting like nothing happened. Jo had neither seen nor spoken a single word to Snow. She knew where to find him, in theory. But every day came and went, and she was no closer to finding the motivation (courage) to seek him out. It was as if speaking of that night alone would reveal a truth she wasn’t yet ready to handle.

Despite the new information, the new conflicting emotions she felt towards their “king,” Jo felt just as welcome and respected by her team as ever and immersed herself in that. She drank coffee with Nico in the mornings and jokingly flirted with Wayne to distract him from kicking her ass in billiards. She watched Samson tinker and accompanied Takako to target practice, and sometimes, on really quiet days, she’d read in comfortable silence with Eslar, trying not so subtly to catch glimpses of the odd runic script that filled his manuscripts.

Samson’s cooking prowess was unmatched and a constant source of delight. It didn’t matter that she didn’t need to eat. With him around, Jo certainly wanted to.

The first breakfast he’d made for her had been nothing short of five-star brilliance. Bacon and eggs, the world’s fluffiest pancakes, waffles, and French toast, pastries of nearly every variety, even some homemade cereal with grains and fruits.

It had been grander than any breakfast Jo had ever eaten, and she’d made it a point to tell him so. Samson had blinked at her in surprise before smiling a small, embarrassed smile and offering his own thanks.

It only had gotten better from there.

Today was an equally lavish spread. Not only had Samson laid out a slew of meats and cheeses to choose from, various vegetables and chips, but he’d also baked an obscene number of different breads. Ciabatta, Rye, Sourdough, and some Jo had never even heard of—maneesh, lavash, piadine.

Once she’d filled her plate with all the delicious makings of the perfect Philly Cheese Steak, Jo scanned the available seats at the kitchen table. Luckily, there was an open spot next to the great chef in question, and Jo took it hastily, bouncing a little in her seat as she settled by his side.

Though Samson still seemed a bit uncomfortable by her now countless attempts at conversation, he’d eased quite a bit over the last few weeks, no longer shying away from her attention. Well, not entirely anyway.

Jo took a bite, savoring and swallowing, before jumping in this time.

“Once again, you blow me away, Sam,” she said, taking another bite and reveling in how the ingredients blended together in a way that was almost supernaturally perfect. Which was only a little ironic, considering.

“I didn’t do much.” Samson shrugged, though a pink tint had begun to creep up from his neck, his lips quirking up in a poorly contained half-smile.

“Well, then,” Jo said through a mouthful before swallowing and trying again, offering up an apologetic smile. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with when you really give it your all.” To Jo’s immense satisfaction, Samson actually snorted at that, a barely audible huff of laughter that had her heart soaring. Mission accomplished.

As Jo ate, she glanced around the table. She listened as Nico debated the deliciousness of the Italian sub over the Rueben with Wayne. She watched as Eslar picked at his hoagie with one hand while keeping a book propped open on his knee with the other. Even Takako was having a conversation with Pan—whose hair was now short, spiked, and vibrant green—though it was hard to tell what it was about, considering Pan kept laughing and Takako kept shaking her head with a frown.

She was supposed to go shooting with Takako later today, and Nico had offered to teach her how to paint (which, Jo suspected, would take a long time). While she hadn’t had much one-on-one interaction with Eslar since the wish from the hospital in Canada, she could still feel a silent camaraderie there; when no one else had stood up for, believed in her, Eslar had. And that really did something for morale.

Wayne and she had said little beyond their occasional flirtations following the wish, but not necessarily in a bad way. It felt like settling into their own skins, like finding the way they meshed best and absorbing into it naturally. He was always good company for a night cap and a laugh, at the very least.

In fact, right here, surrounded by the rest of her team, Philly Cheese Steak dripping oil onto her plate, it felt like everything was falling together naturally, in a way she would have never expected weeks ago. In many ways, it felt like something clicking into place, like acceptance, and a place she’d been meant to be all along.

Maybe, just maybe, things would be all right here.

Now if only she could manage to wrap her head around the still-pressing enigma that was Snow.

Jo shook her head, distracting herself not for the first time by forcing her mind to shift to something else.

“Hey, Sam?” Jo said suddenly, putting down her sandwich and glancing to her right. Samson glanced back, eyes less nervous and more curious, which Jo had learned to accept for the triumph it was.

She probably should have thanked him sooner, she realized. While it had been Wayne’s idea, and while Eslar had played messenger, it had been Samson who had made them for her after all. He deserved just as much thanks as the rest of them.

“Thank you for making me the mug. And the sopapillas,” she said, making sure Samson could see every ounce of genuine appreciation in her eyes. “I really needed them. And they were perfect.”

Samson’s face fell from surprised to embarrassed to proud much more quickly than usual, but this time, instead of merely mumbling a quiet apology into his lap, he forced himself to look back up at her.

His smile was warm and gentle, in many ways the perfect smile for a man like him.

“We wanted you to know it wasn’t gone,” Samson said, voice soft but more pronounced than Jo remembered ever hearing it.

“That what wasn’t gone?” Jo asked, subconsciously keeping her voice level with his. It felt like keeping a secret.

This time, Samson looked back at his lap, shrugging a bit, but his smile stayed firmly in place. “A little taste of home.”

For a long moment, Jo didn’t know what to say. She watched, stunned, as Samson’s blush faded and he even began eating again, finishing off his own sandwich before rising to take his plate to the sink. Before he could get too far away, Jo called back to him.

When he looked over his shoulder at her, she could have sworn she saw a different man, one filled with more complexities than she’d given him credit for.

“Thank you, Samson,” she repeated, heart swelling when he smiled and nodded in response.

The rest of her meal would go unfinished, apparently.

For the first time in a month, Snow announced his presence in the kitchen with another quiet, looming arrival. Only this time, when he looked at the crowd at large, his gaze settled on Jo for a brief but warily knowing length of time. His eyes—now back to normal—still held secrets, and Jo found her heart stumbling over itself at the thought that she might be the only one privy to just how many. A fragile, collapsing bridge between them had been crossed, whether or not either of them liked it, and there was no going back.

“Everyone is to meet me in the briefing room in five,” he said, his voice laced with the stoicism of protocol. But his eyes never left Jo’s, and when he made to leave, it wasn’t without a quick nod in her direction. Jo nodded back, even if he’d already turned away.

Another wish. Business as usual. Like nothing had happened between them. Jo couldn’t help but frown.

“Everybody ready?” Pan grinned, practically skipping into the hall. What a coincidence that the first morning she took breakfast with them in a month was the same morning they had a wish, Jo couldn’t help but notice.

Nico trailed behind her, crossing his arms over his chest and saying nothing, but Eslar merely shrugged.

“We’re not far off of the wave from our last wish. Perhaps this one will go smoothly.” As he said it, he spared a glance in Jo’s direction, offering her a smirk. Jo smiled right back.

“Mulberry fields,” Takako mumbled as she passed.

Jo paused, unsure what mulberries had anything to do with anything, but suddenly, Wayne was next to her, whispering in her ear.

“I think it means knock on wood,” he said, laughing when she swatted at him to back up. “So, what say you to partnering up for this one, eh, dollface?” Wayne asked once the both of them were trailing behind the pack. “A gambler and a hacker—already know we make a good team.”

Jo scoffed, but even she could hear the lack of venom in it. “We don’t even know what the wish is.”

Wayne leaned in close again, lips brushing her cheek. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be for the wish.”

The comment was obviously suggestive, his tone verging on pornographic, but despite the bubble of heat that settled low in her stomach at the sound, there was also a sense of calm. Wayne still had a way of getting her blood boiling and her heart picking up speed, but attraction ended there, and she felt almost closer to him for it. Jo had yet to act on the open, casual invitation that remained between them.

“What’re you going to do when the hacker is needed for field work and the gambler is sent back to his room?” Jo teased. “Might wanna get well acquainted with your hand just in case.”

“Ol’ Righty is already a pally of mine, doll.” Wayne straightened up, grin stretched wide. “No need to worry about that.”

“I’ll try not to,” Jo laughed.

As they passed the Four-Way, Jo noticed something out of the corner of her eye, a silver-haired figure walking, not towards the briefing room, but to his own. Before she could put much thought towards potential consequences, Jo slowed her pace.

“Dollface?” Wayne called out from a few feet ahead of her, once he noticed she was trailing behind. She almost startled, unaware of where her feet had been starting to carry her. Still, she let them lead the way.

“I’ll be right there, okay?” Jo called out, hurrying off down the hall. “I just gotta grab something from my room. Save me a seat?”

“Everything’s Jake, doll,” Wayne smirked before turning away, flipping his nickel with one hand as he waved over his shoulder at her with the other. “That seat belongs to you, now.”

Jo’s chest clenched at the implication. Her seat, her life, a now permanent fixture in the Society. Barely a month ago, that thought would have overwhelmed and suffocated her. But now? Now, she was almost looking forward to what that might bring.

She waited until Wayne was far ahead before sprinting up the staircase opposite her own.

Snow’s door was in the process of closing and her chest was heaving by the time she made it down the hall, to the unmarked one all the way at the end. The stark white of the wood seemed to glow against the backdrop of the surrounding walls’ warmer tones. It looked almost too pristine to be real.

She should knock.

Actually, no. She probably shouldn’t.

The debate rose and fell within her like an indecisive tide. She wanted to ask him, for the first time since a month ago, exactly what was going on with him, with his magic. She wanted to ask if they were still on good terms, if he truly regretted bringing her there.

She wanted to see if he was okay.

That last realization rushed through her with startling fierceness. The last major interaction she’d had with the man was watching him contorted in pain, barely able to stand.

“Here’s far enough,” he’d said. But what did that mean? Why did he not want her to go any further?

All those coalescing questions were enough to have Jo lifting her knuckles to white paint and thick wood, rapping twice against Snow’s door.

The lack of response stretched long enough that Jo began to assume Snow wouldn’t answer. In fact, after a while, she started to wonder if she’d imagined him escaping down the hall. Maybe he was already in the briefing room, waiting for her. Maybe she’d reacted on an impulse that was completely unwarranted.

Slowly, Jo backed away from the door, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. This was a mistake. Even if he was in there, it was obvious he didn’t want to talk to anyone, let alone her. He was likely just embarrassed. Men and their stupid pride, right?

Jo wished she could shrug off the notion that easily.

But before she could completely turn around, drag her feet back towards the briefing room, Snow’s door cracked open. Jo froze in place. He stared at her with an unreadable expression, posture stiff and silver hair falling just so over his eye. He had an eyebrow raised, gaze searching, waiting. Even painfully composed, aura bordering on irritated, he was still beautiful.

After what felt like an awkward span of silence, Jo cleared her throat, looking away. “Hey,” she said, instantly hating herself. The breath of sound she heard escape him could have been amusement or annoyance; she chose to believe it was the former.

“You’re supposed to be in the briefing room,” Snow eventually said. Jo just shrugged.

“As should you.” And then, because she couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone when it came to the mysterious man, she added, “Are you all right?”

“As ever.”

Jo picked at the thread in the pocket of her hoodie. It wasn’t an answer. But she suspected it was the best she was going to get.

“Do you regret it?” Jo fired off next. It had been a month, sure, but she knew he’d have no problem determining what she meant.

It was expected, if not a bit disheartening, when Snow finally answered, “Yes.”

“Then why show me at all?” Jo demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. “And ghosting me after that? I thought you said everything was all right between us.”

Jo would probably never tire of Snow’s look of baffled shock, the way his eyes widened with more emotion than she was used to seeing on his usually stoic face. But even if it felt like a minor triumph, that didn’t diminish the tension between them, the frustration slowly consuming Jo’s mood. He was certainly driving her mad, because some small part of her loved it.

Eventually, with a tight sigh and a glance away from Jo’s face, Snow replied, “I have no idea what this ‘ghosting’ might be, as I am not a ghost. But I felt. . . I was hopeful it might change things for you. Show you the true nature of this place. Or, at the very least, make up for any misgivings of mine.”

That was actually kind of sweet, in its own way. A sweetness reduced substantially by his reactions and following radio silence, but still. In the short time since joining the Society, she’d learned not to expect too much from the man. Plus, if Jo was honest, she could’ve sought him out also. It went both ways.

Jo mimicked his sigh with a slightly more put-upon one of her own. “Next time, if you feel like making something up to me, ask me if anything needs to be made up for—”

“That’s not—” Snow cut her off, and by the look of surprise bleeding into his features once they’d both gone silent, it was a completely involuntary interjection. When he didn’t automatically finish his thought, Jo frowned.

“What’s not?”

It took a long moment, a multitude of emotions warring in Snow’s distant stare. But then, eventually, he opened his mouth to speak.

“I have much to make up for,” he said, voice low and rough, as if it hurt for the words to leave his throat.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Go to the briefing room, Jo.”

It took everything she had not to bristle, not to go on the defensive. “You can’t just say something like that and not—”

“Jo, please.” Snow frowned, not quite looking at her. Something in his expression, in the tight, almost painful whisper of his voice, gave Jo pause. She scanned his face, tried to catch his gaze, but he stared adamantly to her side. “I’ll be there soon,” he added. And, as if realizing he was being inconsiderate (again), he added a soft, “I promise. Please, just for now, trust me?”

And despite herself, despite how many questions she still had, the genuineness in his tone broke her down, won her over. She found herself nodding. It was almost worth it for the momentary relief she watched soften the tension in his brow. Taking a step back, Snow offered her a small, soft smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words all but inaudible as he closed the door between them.

Time passed sluggishly for a moment, Jo’s mind whirring with new questions, old questions still unanswered, images of Snow’s features—softened by relief, eyes shining as they scanned her face. But unfortunately, she couldn’t dwell, not when the tension of a new wish permeated the air, that buzz of magic waiting to be distributed like an electric storm searching for a spot to strike the earth. So, trying not to feel too disappointed, too frazzled by Snow’s enigmatic presence, Jo turned away from his door and started heading back to the briefing room.

But not before glancing, almost on reflex, at the unmarked, black door to her right.

Yes, there were still many wishes ahead of her, and many more questions about the Society that granted them.