Updated Apr 13, 2026 • ~6 min read
Chapter 27: New Beginning
Sage
Sage reopens Thornwood Occult two weeks after the battle, and it feels simultaneously like coming home and starting fresh—the shop is the same, the wards are the same, but Sage is different in ways that go deeper than just magical exhaustion recovery.
“You’re smiling,” Rowan observes, restocking shelves while Sage updates inventory. “It’s unnatural. I’m concerned.”
“I’m not smiling,” Sage protests, but she can feel through her own self-awareness that she is, in fact, smiling more than she used to.
“Oliver’s a good influence on you,” Rowan says. “You’ve gone from ‘terrifying grumpy witch who scares customers’ to ‘slightly less terrifying witch who occasionally makes jokes.'”
“I make jokes,” Sage argues.
“Threatening to hex people isn’t a joke,” Rowan says. “That’s just your communication style.”
Oliver emerges from the back room where he’s been setting up his curse-breaking office—because apparently living together means working together too, and Sage is surprised by how comfortable that feels.
“I can hear you talking about me,” Oliver calls.
“We’re complimenting you!” Rowan shouts back.
“That’s worse somehow,” Oliver says, appearing in the doorway with his laptop. “Sage, I was thinking—since we’re both working here now, should we make this official? Like, joint business registration?”
Sage considers this. A month ago, the idea of binding her professional life to someone else’s would have felt like a trap. Now it just feels practical.
“Joint business makes sense,” she agrees. “Thornwood Occult and Reyes Curse-Breaking.”
“Or just ‘Thornwood & Reyes,'” Oliver suggests. “Keep it simple.”
“I like that,” Sage says, and through their bond she feels Oliver’s pleasure at her agreement.
“You two are disgustingly domestic,” Rowan observes. “Next you’ll be adopting a cat.”
“I’m allergic to cats,” Oliver says.
“Then a familiar,” Rowan suggests. “Every proper witch business needs a familiar.”
“No familiars,” Sage says firmly, but she’s smiling again, can’t seem to stop smiling lately, which is alarming and wonderful in equal measure.
The shop reopening is busier than Sage expected—apparently defeating an immortal witch hunter makes you popular—and she spends the morning helping customers, answering questions, and trying not to be too grumpy when people ask for autographs.
“You’re a celebrity now,” Oliver points out during their lunch break. “People want to meet the witch who killed the Collector.”
“We killed the Collector,” Sage corrects. “It was a team effort.”
“Try telling them that,” Oliver says, gesturing to the small crowd still browsing the shop.
But he’s right that Sage was the one who reversed the drain, who freed the stolen witch legacies, who dealt the final blow even if Morgan and Rowan held the binding. The magical community has decided she’s a hero, and Sage is still adjusting to that identity.
Mid-afternoon, Detective Rivera stops by, and Sage immediately tenses because police visits are never casual.
“Relax,” Rivera says, holding up his hands. “I’m not here officially. Just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing after everything.”
“I’m fine,” Sage says, the automatic response.
“You killed a two-hundred-year-old entity and nearly died in the process,” Rivera says dryly. “I doubt you’re fine. But I appreciate the deflection.”
Oliver brings Rivera coffee without being asked, because apparently he’s decided to befriend every person in Sage’s life, and the three of them sit in the shop’s back room talking about practical aftermath—witness statements, magical authority debriefings, the official closure of decades of cold cases now that the Collector is confirmed dead.
“The families of the victims wanted me to thank you,” Rivera says before he leaves. “Closure matters. Even when it comes fifty years late.”
After he leaves, Sage feels something settle in her chest—not quite closure for her own coven, but acknowledgment, validation that what they did mattered beyond just survival.
“You okay?” Oliver asks, always attuned to her moods even without the bond.
“Yeah,” Sage says, and means it. “I am.”
That evening, after closing the shop, they go upstairs to find that Oliver has been slowly moving his belongings from the couch to Sage’s bedroom—not all at once, not dramatically, just gradually integrating his life into hers in ways that feel natural instead of overwhelming.
“Is this okay?” Oliver asks, gesturing to his laptop now on her desk, his clothes in her closet. “I can move everything back if—”
“It’s okay,” Sage interrupts. “More than okay. Oliver, you basically live here already. We might as well make it official.”
“Official cohabitation,” Oliver says, grinning. “Very romantic.”
“Extremely romantic,” Sage agrees dryly. “I’m swooning.”
“You’re smiling again,” Oliver observes. “Rowan’s right, it’s unnatural.”
“Shut up, Reyes.”
“Make me, Thornwood.”
Sage kisses him, slow and sweet and filled with affection, and when they break apart, Oliver is looking at her with such genuine happiness that Sage feels her chest warm.
“I like this,” Oliver says quietly. “Us. Working together, living together, building something that’s not just about fighting.”
“Me too,” Sage admits. “It’s terrifying.”
“But good terrifying?” Oliver asks.
“Good terrifying,” Sage confirms.
They spend the evening doing mundane things—cooking dinner together, arguing about whose turn it is to do dishes, watching terrible TV while sitting too close on the couch—and Sage lets herself feel content.
This is what happiness looks like, she realizes. Not dramatic declarations or grand gestures, just comfortable domesticity with someone who loves her, who sees all her sharp edges and stays anyway.
“Thank you,” Sage says later, when they’re getting ready for bed.
“For what?” Oliver asks.
“For staying,” Sage says. “For being patient. For making me believe in futures again.”
Oliver crosses to her, cupping her face with gentle hands. “You did that yourself. I just gave you permission.”
“That’s what Morgan said,” Sage points out.
“Smart woman,” Oliver says, grinning.
Sage rolls her eyes but leans into his touch, and when they fall asleep that night—tangled together in a bed that’s now officially theirs, in an apartment that’s become home for both of them—Sage lets herself feel grateful.
For survival. For love. For second chances.
For Oliver Reyes, who saw past her walls and decided she was worth the effort.
For herself, who finally learned to let someone in.
For all of it.
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