The Dog House

The Dog House
Macey
Elliot’s hand is warm in mine, his thumb tracing soft, absent circles against my skin as the world spins lazily around us. The air smells like sugar and smoke, it's the kind of night you only get once in a lifetime. Lanterns float above the river, laughter rolls through the garden, and everything feels golden and endless. But something in him has shifted. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I can feel it, the tight pull in his chest, the low flicker of unease that hums through the bond like a pulse out of rhythm.
I squeeze his hand, forcing him to look at me. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitates. It’s subtle, but I catch it — the slightest pause before his answer. “Nothing,” he says, smiling too fast. “I’m fine.”
“Elliot.”
The way I say his name makes him sigh. “I’m fine, Mace. Really.”
I cross my arms. “You do realise I can feel your feelings, right? You’re practically radiating I just got bad news and don’t want to talk about it.”
That earns me a faint, guilty smile. “You’re too good at this.”
“It’s a gift.” I tilt my head. “So what happened? What did Ma and Pa say?”
He looks down, scuffing his boot against the edge of the dance floor. “Do you want me to ruin the night now,” he murmurs, “or maybe wait until tomorrow when the magic’s worn off?”
I blink, caught between confusion and irritation. “Ruin the night? Elliot, what could possibly ruin this?” I gesture around us — the river glowing silver, the music, the laughter. “You could tell me the world’s ending, and I’d still be happy as long as I’m with you.”
He huffs a soft laugh, but it doesn’t stick. I step closer, sliding my hand up his chest until my fingers find the mark over his heart, the one that mirrors mine. “Hey. Whatever it is, we face it together, remember? No matter the day, no matter the occasion. That’s the deal.”
For a moment, he just looks at me with his eyes bright and heavy with love and worry all at once. Then he nods, breath leaving him in a slow exhale.
“Alright,” he says quietly. “But you asked for it.”
I arch a brow. “Now I’m nervous.”
He runs a hand through his hair, glancing back to where Ma and Pa are still sitting. “I asked where Elias was,” he begins, “and apparently… he didn’t come.”
That alone makes my stomach drop. “Didn’t come? What, like he’s sick or something?”
Elliot shakes his head. “No. He chose not to. He… stayed behind. With his mate.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “His what?”
“His mate,” Elliot repeats, grimacing. “Turns out it’s the girl Ma mentioned back at the orphanage. The one who turned eighteen recently.”
There’s a beat of silence, long enough for the puzzle pieces to click into place, because I know exactly who was turning eighteen recently; her birthday was just after my own. And when the other shoe drops, my whole body goes still. “No.”
Elliot nods grimly. “Yeah.”
“No.”
“Yeah.”
“That mother fucker,” I hiss, loud enough that a few souls nearby glance over.
Elliot bursts out laughing despite himself, pressing a hand over his mouth. “Which one?”
“Both of them,” I snap, though the edge in my voice softens at his grin. “A little less Elias, but he’s still in the dog house. The bigger one. The one with fleas.”
He can’t hold it in anymore; he doubles over, laughing so hard he almost drops his drink. I can’t help it, I start laughing too, because honestly, what else can you do when the universe just keeps throwing ridiculous plot twists at you?
“Gods,” he wheezes. “I love you.”
“Good,” I say, poking his chest. “You’re going to need that love when I inevitably drag Elias home by the ear.”
He straightens, still smiling, eyes softer now. “You’re really not mad at him?”
“Oh, I’m furious,” I admit. “But I get it. He’s young, stupid, probably thinks he can fix her — that fate never makes mistakes, never tests you.”
Elliot nods, gaze drifting toward the glowing river. “That’s exactly what Ma said.”
I exhale, the anger burning low, steady. “He’ll learn. They always do.”

"You sound like you’ve done a few lifetimes of learning yourself", Saphra murmurs inside my head, her voice a low purr of warmth and iron.
"Maybe I have", I think back.
"Then let him make his own mistakes", she says gently. "But never let him forget who stands at the end of his path, waiting to knock some sense into him."
That earns a small smile from me — because gods, she’s right. “But don’t think for a second I won’t give him a mouthful when I see him,” I add aloud. “If he took her to the orphanage when Ma said that, it means she was screwing around — literally with Dean, and figuratively with Elias’s heart. And that’s not love. That’s manipulation. That’s…” I shake my head, teeth clenched. “That’s fucked.”
Saphra hums, her voice a flicker in my mind. "Rage is a sacred thing when it’s used for truth."
Elliot’s thumb brushes my jaw, his smile wry. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“You’ve seen my bad side,” I say, tilting my chin up. “It’s part of why you love me.”
“Fair point.”
The anger in my chest cools slightly into resolve, maybe. I know Elias. He’s stubborn, passionate, just like his brother. He’ll figure it out, even if it means getting burned first. I breathe in the night, the sweetness of roasted fruit, the faint metallic tang of magic hanging in the air, and finally, I let it go. “He’ll come to his senses when he’s ready,” I murmur.
Elliot nods. “And when he does, we’ll be here.”
Saphra’s voice softens again. "That’s the balance of it — shadow and light, mistake and redemption. It’s why you were chosen, my little goddess-blessed."
My throat tightens. "Thanks, Saph."
"Always."

The music swells again, slow and dreamy, drifting through the garden. I look up to see Envy on the far side of the river, laughing too loudly as she tries to teach Levi how to waltz. Lanterns float like stars across the dark water, and the whole Underworld feels radiant and balanced. I glance back at Elliot, catching the faint shimmer of starlight in his crown, the hint of warmth in his eyes that still makes my heart stumble. “Dance with me?” I ask.
He grins, extending his hand. “Of course.”
As he pulls me close, the crowd blurs away. There’s only him, his breath against my ear, and Saphra’s quiet hum of approval in my chest.
"This", she whispers, "is how worlds heal."