Updated Apr 13, 2026 • ~5 min read
Chapter 25: Recovery
Sage
Sage wakes up three days after the battle feeling almost human again—or witch-equivalent-of-human, which means her magic has finally stopped feeling like sandpaper against her nerves and she can stand without immediately needing to sit back down.
Oliver is asleep beside her, one arm draped protectively over her waist even in unconsciousness, and through the bond Sage can feel his dreams—peaceful ones, thankfully, not the nightmares that plagued both of them the first two nights after the fight.
She carefully extracts herself from bed, not wanting to wake him because he’s barely slept since the battle, too busy taking care of her and coordinating with authorities and keeping well-meaning visitors from overwhelming her.
Rowan is in the kitchen making breakfast, because apparently Sage’s apprentice has decided to take up residence and play caretaker, and when Sage emerges from her bedroom, Rowan beams.
“You’re awake! And walking! That’s progress.”
“I’ve been awake before,” Sage points out, accepting the coffee Rowan immediately offers.
“Yeah, but not awake-awake. You’ve been kind of delirious for three days. Yesterday you tried to ward the refrigerator against evil vegetables.”
Sage winces. “I don’t remember that.”
“Magical exhaustion does weird things to people,” Rowan says sympathetically. “Morgan said it’s normal after channeling that much power. You reversed two hundred years of absorption magic—your body needs time to recover.”
“How long was I out?” Sage asks, realizing she’s lost track of time.
“Three days. It’s Friday. The magical news is still reporting on the battle. You’re kind of famous now.”
Sage makes a face because fame is the last thing she wants, but apparently saving the magical community from a two-hundred-year-old threat makes you newsworthy.
“The Harbor Coven wants to give you an award,” Rowan continues. “And the Council of Witches wants to meet with you. And there’s been about a hundred interview requests. Oliver’s been fielding all of them and telling everyone you’re recovering and not available.”
“Good,” Sage says, because Oliver understanding her need for privacy is one of many reasons she loves him.
As if summoned by thinking about him, Oliver emerges from the bedroom looking rumpled and concerned, and when he sees Sage standing and coherent, his expression shifts to relief.
“You’re up,” he says, crossing to pull her into a careful hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Sage admits. “Still tired, but better.”
Through the bond, she can feel his exhaustion—he’s been running himself ragged taking care of her—and Sage feels guilty for being the reason he’s so worn out.
“You need to rest too,” she says. “You’ve been taking care of me for three days.”
“Someone had to,” Oliver says, not letting go. “You kept trying to cast spells in your sleep. Very concerning spells. Rowan and I took shifts making sure you didn’t accidentally summon anything.”
“I did not,” Sage protests.
“You absolutely did,” Rowan confirms. “It was very entertaining. Also slightly terrifying.”
Sage sighs, because apparently magical exhaustion makes her lose control, which is embarrassing.
They eat breakfast together—Rowan chattering about coven politics and media coverage, Oliver adding occasional comments, Sage just listening and feeling grateful for the normalcy—and afterward, Rowan announces she’s going back to her own apartment to finally sleep in her own bed.
“But I’ll be back tomorrow,” she warns. “Someone needs to make sure you two actually eat food instead of just surviving on coffee and magical energy.”
After she leaves, it’s just Sage and Oliver, and the apartment feels quiet in a way that’s peaceful instead of lonely.
“The Harbor Coven asked me to speak at a memorial service,” Sage says, curling up on the couch beside Oliver. “For the witches the Collector killed. All of them, not just from my coven.”
“Are you going to?” Oliver asks.
“I think so,” Sage says. “It feels right. Honoring them. Acknowledging what was lost.”
“I’ll come with you,” Oliver offers. “If you want.”
“I want,” Sage confirms, and through the bond she feels his supportive affection.
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, and Sage lets herself process everything that’s happened—the battle, the victory, the fact that she’s actually safe now, that the entity that killed her family is permanently gone.
“I’ve been having dreams about them,” Sage admits quietly. “My coven. But not nightmares. Good dreams. Like they’re at peace now.”
“Maybe they are,” Oliver suggests. “Now that their killer is gone.”
“You don’t believe in that kind of thing,” Sage points out. “Spirits, afterlife.”
“I believe in whatever gives you comfort,” Oliver says simply.
Sage feels her chest tighten with affection because Oliver is so genuinely good, so accepting, so exactly what she needs.
“I love you,” she says, because it’s easier to say now, after everything.
“I love you too,” Oliver responds, pulling her closer. “Even when you’re trying to ward refrigerators.”
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Never,” Oliver confirms cheerfully.
They spend the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing—no research, no planning, no crisis management—just existing together in the aftermath of survival, and Sage lets herself feel content.
The world will demand things from them eventually. The magical community will want answers, closure, justice. There will be ceremonies and interviews and probably politics Sage doesn’t want to deal with.
But for now, she has this: Oliver beside her, her apartment warded and safe, her magic recovering slowly, and the absolute certainty that she’s loved.
It’s more than she ever thought she’d have again.
And Sage is learning that maybe—just maybe—she deserves it.
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