**Interlude

  Dixie’s Thoughts, Unspoken

  Dixie lay curled on Trixie’s chest, her ear pressed to the rhythm of her witch’s heartbeat.

  It was too fast.

  Too fragile.

  Like a bird trapped under ribs.

  She hated it.

  Not Trixie — never Trixie — but the weakness of human hearts. How quickly they broke. How easily they skipped. How vulnerable they were to fear, to grief, to pressure from things with no business reaching into mortal minds.

  She kneaded her claws very gently into the quilt, careful not to hurt her. Just enough pressure to reassure herself that Trixie was solid. Present.

  Still here.

  She remembered — vividly — the moment Trixie collapsed in the Ledger Room. Not the visual, but the scent. Cats didn’t think in pictures the same way humans did. They thought in sensory anchors.

  Terror. Cold. The metallic tang of magic stripped raw. Trixie’s breath stuttering like a candle about to go out.

  And beneath it all—

  Void.

  She had smelled the Hollow King.

  Not His body (He did not have one). Not His presence (He was not truly here). But His interest.

  And interest, from a being like Him, was lethal.

  Dixie’s tail flicked against Trixie’s hip.

  Stupid Archivist. Stupid sigils. Stupid destiny. Stupid, stupid family magic that kept tangling Trixie in webs she didn’t deserve.

  Dixie had never asked to be created.

  But if she had to be anything — if she had to exist in this messy, dangerous world — she was glad she existed for Trixie.

  Her witch. Her charge. Her anchor.

  The person she would kill for. And die for.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  She wouldn’t say that out loud, of course. Humans were weird about emotional declarations. They fell apart like wet parchment. They made everything messier.

  Dixie hated messy.

  Her gaze slid to Nolan, sitting beside the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at Trixie like she might vanish if he blinked.

  He was… interesting.

  Humans weren’t supposed to be interesting. They were supposed to be loud, clumsy, and emotionally ridiculous. But this one? He had spine. Instinct. A strange stubborn bravery that felt almost magical even though he wasn’t.

  And he cared about Trixie.

  Dixie tasted it in the air — that subtle shift in chemical scent humans never noticed. The blend of worry, protectiveness, and something warmer. Something he didn’t understand yet.

  Dangerous.

  Very dangerous.

  Because attachments made humans stupid. And witches vulnerable.

  And familiars… well. Familiars didn’t get the luxury of attachments.

  They got obligations.

  Still, Dixie watched the detective watching Trixie, and she felt something complicated twist in her chest.

  Not approval.

  Not trust.

  But a recognition.

  This man would stand between Trixie and danger. He already had. He would again. Dixie did not like relying on anyone — not even other Bell creations — but she couldn’t deny it:

  Nolan Pierce was becoming part of Trixie’s lattice. Part of her pattern.

  Which meant he was part of Dixie’s world too.

  She would tolerate him.

  For now.

  But if he hurt Trixie — emotionally, physically, magically — Dixie would end him. Gently if possible. Efficiently if necessary.

  Her whiskers twitched.

  The Hollow King’s whisper echoed faintly in her memory. Not the sound — she didn’t hear Him directly — but the echo of how Trixie reacted.

  The fear. The longing. The pull.

  That terrified her more than anything else.

  Because void?entities didn’t “call” witches. They claimed them. And Trixie had always been vulnerable. Always borderline too sensitive to magic. Always standing half?in, half?out of the world, one bad breath away from being pulled deeper than Dixie could reach.

  She curled tighter against Trixie, pressing her head under the witch’s chin.

  Not this time, she vowed silently. Not you. Not ever.

  The Hollow King might be ancient. He might be powerful. He might have an interest in the Bell lineage.

  But Trixie Bell was Dixie’s witch.

  And Dixie was the last familiar of the Quiet Line.

  She would claw open the world before she let anything hollow take what was hers.

  She closed her eyes, listening to Trixie’s heartbeat.

  Still too fast.

  But steady.

  Alive.

  Safe — for the moment.

  Dixie kept watch.

  And she would not sleep until dawn.