Chapter 8: Chapter Seven

The faint glow of dawn seeped through the trees, brushing the cab of the truck with soft gold and pink hues. The world outside was waking up—birds chirping in the distance, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze—but Felicity barely noticed. Her neck ached from the awkward position she'd slept in, her head resting against Gavin's shoulder all night.

The warmth of his body had been a comfort against the chill of the early morning, and though she should have moved, she hadn't wanted to. Now, as the timid glow of dawn seeped into the cab of the truck, she let herself linger for a moment, gazing up at him.

He was still asleep, his head tilted slightly to one side, his face peaceful in the early light. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the sound of his quiet breathing filling the stillness around them. Her cheek still rested lightly against his shoulder, and she felt a faint tug of guilt for using him as a pillow—but he hadn't seemed to mind, even in sleep.

For a moment, she simply studied him, memorizing the strong lines of his jaw, the soft waves of his blondish-brown hair, and the way the tension he usually carried seemed to melt away in sleep. It was strange seeing him like this, unguarded and calm. The sharp sarcasm, the doubt, the frustration—all of it was absent now, leaving behind the man she knew he could be if only he believed in himself.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? He didn't believe. Not in her, not in Camelot, not in any of it. How could he? She had stumbled her way through the past day, failing to show him the truth, failing to convince him of the weight of their shared destiny.

She drifted her gaze downward, and her fingers tightened slightly on the folds of her gown. She'd been so focused on finding him, so certain she could bring him back to Camelot and awaken his memories. But now that he was here, she felt like she was falling apart.

Her wand was gone, her magic unreliable, and Gavin had dismissed her as some kind of delusional medieval fanatic. How was she supposed to lead him back to the throne like this?

Her gaze returned to him, her head still resting lightly on his shoulder. She felt his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the faint scent of leather and earth that clung to him after the events of the night before. He was real. He was here. That alone gave her hope, however faint.

But hope wasn't enough.

She closed her eyes briefly, her thoughts drifting to her grandfather. Merlin's face filled her mind, his weathered features lined with wisdom and patience. She could almost hear his voice, steady and kind: "Felicity, you have the heart to see this through. But the heart must be steady when the road grows dark."

A lump rose in her throat. She didn't feel steady—not now. Not with shadow agents hunting them, her wand missing, and the prince of Camelot asleep beside her, blissfully unaware of how much danger they were in.

Her fingers curled into her lap, tightening on the fabric of her gown. I have to do better. I have to find my wand. I have to make him believe.

Her gaze drifted back to Gavin, the quiet weight of his presence both grounding and bittersweet. He shifted slightly in his sleep, murmuring something she couldn't quite make out. Did he remember anything yet? Did the visions he'd seen after their kiss stir some faint recognition, some buried part of him?

Or am I failing him, too?

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening with the thought. She couldn't afford to fail—not Camelot, not her grandfather, not Gavin. Morgana's agents would come for him soon enough.

Her jaw tightened as determination began to settle in her chest. First, she had to retrieve her wand. Hopefully, Morgana's agents hadn't found it first. A fairy's wand in the wrong hands would be extremely dangerous.

She felt Gavin shift again, his shoulder brushing against her cheek as he turned slightly in his sleep. She glanced up, her gaze softening despite the weight pressing on her. He looked so peaceful, and for a moment, she allowed herself to forget the danger they were in.

He mumbled something again, his lips twitching slightly as though caught in a dream. She wondered if it was Camelot he dreamed of, or if his memories were still locked away, waiting for the right moment to surface.

She brushed her fingers lightly against his arm, a small, tentative gesture. "Gavin," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible, "I promise I'll make this right. I'll help you remember. And together, we'll save Camelot."

The cab of the truck grew brighter as the morning light filtered through the windows. The world outside was waking up, but inside, Felicity stayed still, her cheek resting lightly against Gavin's shoulder as she silently resolved to fight for the path ahead.

She leaned back slightly, letting her head rest against the seat, her gaze never leaving Gavin. His face looked softer, the furrowed lines of worry absent for once. He didn't look like a prince or a hero right now. He looked like a regular man—someone she would really enjoy sharing a life with. But there was no place in this world for fairies and humans.

And in Camelot, he would be king... and she, just a mere servant.

But even as she thought it, a small smile tugged at her lips. Gavin had a good heart. She'd seen it in the way he protected her last night, even when he didn't fully believe her. She'd seen it in the quiet moments when his walls cracked, revealing glimpses of the man he could become.

She exhaled deeply, her resolve hardening as the morning light grew brighter. The path ahead was treacherous, but she wouldn't falter. She couldn't. Gavin might not believe in her yet, but she would make him see the truth—no matter what it took.

And maybe, just maybe, she could start by convincing herself.

Gavin stirred beside her, his head rolling slightly against the back of the seat. Felicity scooted back, giving him space as he blinked his eyes open, squinting at the morning light streaming through the windshield. He groaned softly, running a hand through his hair and stretching as much as the cramped cab of the truck would allow.

His gaze flicked to her, and for a moment, his face was unreadable. Then, as though remembering where they were—and everything that had happened the night before—his brow furrowed.

"You're still here," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

"Of course I'm still here," Felicity said, sitting up straighter. "Where else would I go?"

"Fair point," he replied, rubbing his eyes before casting her a sideways glance. "You didn't happen to grow wings while I was out, did you?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she scowled. "No."

"Shame," he said with a faint smirk. "That might've actually convinced me."

Felicity crossed her arms, but before she could fire back, Gavin's eyes drifted to her gown. His smirk faded as he let out a sigh, leaning his head back against the seat.

"We need to talk about that dress," he said.

"What about it?" she asked, frowning.

"It's... a problem," Gavin said, gesturing vaguely toward her outfit. "You're walking around looking like you just escaped a renaissance fair. You're going to stand out. And standing out is the last thing we need right now."

Felicity bristled, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her gown. "This is what I wear," she said firmly. "It's who I am."

"I get that," Gavin said, sitting up and meeting her gaze. "But look, Felicity, we're not in Camelot. We're in the middle of... well, normal, boring America. And around here, people don't wear flowing medieval gowns unless it's Halloween."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "And before you say it doesn't matter, it does. You're going to draw attention. The wrong kind of attention. You think that shadowy thing from last night is the only problem we've got? People notice weird stuff. And you? You're top-tier weird."

Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn't wrong. The last thing they needed was to attract unwanted attention—not from humans, and certainly not from Morgana's agents. She exhaled through her nose, looking away.

"So what do you suggest I do?" she asked stiffly.

"Change clothes," Gavin said bluntly. "I don't care how. Borrow, buy, steal—actually, don't steal—but something that helps you blend in."

"Fine," she muttered, crossing her arms. "But where am I supposed to get new clothes when I have no money?"

Gavin tilted his head, thinking. "There's a thrift store in town. Cheap, easy, and they won't ask questions. We can head there first thing."

Felicity raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell, what is a thrift store?"

"It's a place to buy second-hand clothes." He shrugged. "It's either that or keep playing dress-up while shadow agents stalk us," Gavin said dryly. "Your call."

She huffed, but the logic was sound. As much as she disliked the idea of abandoning her usual attire, she knew Gavin was right. Drawing less attention was crucial if they wanted to stay ahead of Morgana's forces.

"Fine," she said again, more reluctantly this time. "But I'm not wearing anything ridiculous."

"No promises," Gavin said with a grin. He started the truck, the engine rumbling to life. "Let's get moving. The sooner you look like a normal person, the better."

Felicity leaned back in her seat, watching as Gavin pulled onto the road. She didn't like the idea of changing her appearance, but if it helped protect Gavin—and their mission—she'd do what was necessary.

But deep down, she hoped this was only temporary. She wasn't ashamed of who she was, and no thrift-store outfit could make her forget the fairy blood that ran through her veins—or the destiny she had to fulfill.

* * * *

The small thrift store was cramped and smelled faintly of mothballs and old leather. Racks of mismatched clothes crowded the aisles, and overhead, fluorescent lights buzzed softly. Gavin leaned against the checkout counter, his arms crossed as he watched Felicity disappear into the fitting room with an armful of clothes he'd insisted she try.

She had been grumbling under her breath the entire time they searched the racks, shooting him dirty looks whenever he pointed out something practical—jeans, t-shirts, sneakers. Eventually, she'd settled on a few items, though not without several dramatic sighs and a declaration that she would never wear something that made her uncomfortable.

Now, as he waited, Gavin glanced around the store. A bored cashier was scrolling on her phone, paying them no attention, which was probably for the best. Between Felicity's medieval gown and her reluctance to modernize, they had already gotten a few curious stares from the handful of other customers who had passed through.

The door to the fitting room creaked open, and Felicity stepped out, her expression a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

"Absolutely not," she said flatly, holding her arms out to the sides.

Gavin straightened, his lips twitching as he took in her outfit. She had on a pair of women's black leggings and an oversized gray hoodie that hung awkwardly over her slender frame.

"You look... modern," he said, failing to suppress a grin.

"I look ridiculous," Felicity shot back, tugging at the waistband of the leggings. "What is the purpose of these?"

"They're comfortable," Gavin said with a shrug. "And you can move in them. You're not exactly going to blend in wearing a corset and twenty pounds of fabric."

"They're too tight," she complained, shifting uncomfortably. "I feel like I'm wrapped in a sausage casing."

"It's called a snug fit," Gavin said, smirking. "Welcome to the 21st century."

She glared at him, then gestured to the hoodie. "And this... this 'hooded garment.' Why does it feel like a tent? Is this what women wear here? Giant sacks with strings?"

"It's a hoodie," he said, chuckling. "People wear them all the time. You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it," she muttered, crossing her arms. "This is humiliating. I don't feel like a lady. I feel like a... squire."

Gavin leaned back against the counter, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "It's not that bad. You look fine. Besides, it's just for now. Once we figure out the whole Morgana hunting us thing, you can go back to wearing whatever fairy couture you want."

Felicity sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she said, glancing down at herself with a grimace. "If my grandfather could see me now..."

"Well," Gavin said, grinning, "if he could see you now, he'd probably thank me for keeping you from getting arrested for public weirdness."

Felicity narrowed her eyes at him but didn't respond. She turned back toward the fitting room, muttering under her breath about "modern nonsense" and "barbaric clothing."

"Hey," Gavin called after her, "don't forget the sneakers! You can't run from shadow agents in medieval slippers!"

Her head popped back out, her glare cutting through the distance between them. "If you say one more word, Gavin, I'll find a way to make my magic work—and you'll regret it."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling to himself as she disappeared back into the fitting room.

As Felicity disappeared back into the fitting room, Gavin's grin faded, and his gaze drifted toward the store's front windows. The sunlight outside was bright and unobstructed, washing over the parking lot and the handful of cars scattered across it. Everything looked normal. Safe.

But normal felt like a lie now.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his thoughts slipping back to the shadowy figure from the night before. It had stood so still, watching them with an eerie calmness that had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't just the way it moved—fluid and unnatural—but the way its presence had felt, like the air around it had been sucked dry of warmth.

And the way Felicity had reacted...

She'd known what it was instantly. A shadow agent, she'd called it, one of Morgana's servants. Even saying the name made him feel ridiculous, like he was stuck in some bad fantasy movie. But no matter how much he wanted to dismiss it all as crazy, he couldn't shake the image of that figure in the alley—the way it had seemed to melt into the darkness, its shape barely human.

Gavin rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of it. Felicity had said they weren't fully human. What did that mean? If they weren't human, what were they? He'd only caught a glimpse of it, but he knew enough to tell it wasn't just someone in a costume or a trick of the light.

His fingers tightened on his arms as he replayed the scene in his head. The way it had stepped out of the shadows, deliberate and unhurried, as if it knew they couldn't escape. The way it hadn't needed to chase them—like it was confident they would eventually fall right into its trap.

How dangerous could something like that be?

Felicity had insisted they needed to keep moving, that the agents wouldn't stop until they were both taken out of the equation. But what did that mean? Were they killers? Spies? Hunters?

He clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up. He hated not knowing, hated feeling like a pawn in someone else's game. Felicity might have been calm about it—well, relatively calm—but she'd made it clear that these things were a threat. And if they were hunting him, that meant he was a target.

Gavin straightened, his gaze flicking to the racks of clothes near the fitting room. Felicity hadn't been joking when she'd said he was in danger, and while part of him still wanted to chalk all this up to some elaborate prank or misunderstanding, the part of him that had seen that shadow agent knew better.

They were real. Whatever they were, they were real. And they were coming for him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his thoughts racing. He had no idea how to fight something like that, or if he even could. Felicity hadn't exactly been forthcoming with details, and her magic, from what he'd seen so far, was questionable at best.

His stomach twisted. Can we even handle this? If that thing finds us again, what do we do? Run? Fight? Hope it gets bored and goes home?

A loud clang snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned toward the fitting room just as Felicity yelped, followed by a frustrated muttering he couldn't quite make out. He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching despite himself.

"Everything okay in there?" he called.

"Perfect," she replied sarcastically, her voice muffled. "Absolutely perfect. I'm just thrilled to be squeezing into these ridiculous garments."

Gavin let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, some of the tension in his chest easing. For all her complaints, Felicity had a way of grounding him, even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control. And surprisingly, he found moments like these enjoyable, regardless of the confusion they brought. She made him smile. Of course, she made him scowl, too, but she was generally pleasant to be with.

But as he leaned back against the counter, his thoughts returned to the shadow agent, and unease settled over him again. Whatever those things were, they weren't going to stop. And if Felicity was right, running wasn't going to be enough.

They needed a plan. And fast.