Page 200 of Problematic

Sam and Mandi would enter through the service side with Bellflower & Bone arrangements. Mandi knew which old clan lords would send tribute flowers, because Mandi knew rumors the way normal people knew weather. She had already made three calls and somehow created two fake orders from real people who would later be too embarrassed to deny them.

Chaos demon.

She did not throw fire or shadows. She moved information. Bent assumptions. Whispered the right thing to the wrong person and watched buildings rot from the inside.

Terrifying, frankly.

Sam carried fewer lies and more danger. She was a witch on her mother’s side, Fyrie on her father’s, which Mandi described as “a lit match held next to gasoline with anxiety.” Sam kept rubbing her palms against her jeans like she was trying to keep sparks under her skin.

“You don’t have to come,” I told her.

She stared at me. “You cried into my shirt this morning. I’m invested.”

Kalon folded the map. “And Liv walks in through the front.”

Every head turned.

My throat went dry. “Right. Yes. Me. Front door. Simple.”

“You are not attacking,” he said. “You are asking to see him.”

“As the helpless mate,” Mandi added.

“The powerless mate,” Sam said, quieter.

I still hated the way that felt, being helpless, powerless in a world that was defined by it. Powerless had been my label for so long that even with glowing eyes and a tail tied around my thigh, some part of me believed it more than magic.

Powerless girls did not walk into occupied towers with plans. Powerless girls did not rescue demon lords. Powerless girls made coffee, delivered flowers, paid rent late, and read about the kind of women who got chosen by monsters because books knew how to lie kindly.

My breath wobbled. “I can’t do this. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know how to control any of this. My big battle plan is walking in and hoping men continue being dumb around distressed women.”

Kalon’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be trained to be dangerous.”

I laughed once. “That sounds like something men with knives say.”

“It is also true.” He stepped closer, careful, still giving me room. “You have survived by reading rooms. By staying under notice. By knowing when to smile, when to step aside, when to make someone feel bigger so they move around you instead of through you. That is not weakness, that’s strategy.”

Mandi grabbed the flower orders off the table. “Great. Everyone loves each other. We’re all brave and unlicensed. Let’s go commit treason.”

By the time we reached Bellflower & Bone, my skin had gone cold and clammy under the dress. Mrs. Kori said nothing when she saw us. She only pointed to the three arrangements waiting on the counter, each one dramatic enough to need its own tax bracket. Black roses. Rust-red lilies. White mourning orchids. Silver ribbon. Little cards with curled script and lies dressed as respect.

Her eyes settled on me last.

“You sure, child?”

“No.”

“Good.” She pushed a small knife across the counter, handle wrapped in green thread. “Sure people are stupid.”

I tucked it into my bra.

“Thank you.”

She nodded once. “Try not to die before closing. I hate adjusting the schedule.”

My throat tightened. “I’ll do my best.”

Kalon opened the door and checked the street before we stepped out. “We split two blocks before the tower. No phones once we get close. The blocker may still be on.”