It was a mistake. I couldn’t believe I had made a mistake. A year and three months I’d been at this job, and this was the result.

I hadn't meant to decapitate. I hadn't meant to blast an entire hole where the heart, left lung, and left shoulder had been either. I hadn't meant to maul a girl so completely out of recognition. It was an accident, and I'd put her back exactly the same way she'd come right away. It would have been fine; for her, it would’ve felt like the aftereffects of a concussion—no memory of what had gone down, and being careful with your brain afterwards.

Corporate, though, didn't see it as something that easy to forgive. It was common knowledge among the supernatural grey-collar workers that warlocks were an ambiguous sort. They wanted me gone and out of the city before the girl could come back with a lawsuit. They wanted to know why I'd even been hired in the first place. They wanted me accountable, and more than accountable, they wanted me dead. And in some way, listening to the little part of my brain that'd always felt I didn't belong, thought they were right to.

The boss saw it another, especially when I couldn't explain at all what'd gone wrong with a textbook demon extraction I usually specialized in. This was a chance, she'd said, for me to work in newer surroundings. Be among my people for a while. My coworkers said nothing, but there was more relief than sympathy when they saw me packing my things off my desk in spare cardboard boxes. "A goddamn wildcard," someone had called me, the first time I'd been sent into the field.

Out of all people I asked, Rafe was the only one to show up. He was waiting at the steps that lead up to the building of the offices, dressed in a black suit that was tidier than his standard fare of casual hoodies and jeans. Nobody else with him. Only the occasional morning commuters passed by on the narrow street alley. The lump in my throat was the only other company. That, and the dawning realization that Rafe and I would have to have That Conversation sooner than I'd wanted to.

"Rafe," I said, and then stopped. I didn't know what else to say. On a usual day, maybe I'd have joked that I hadn't known he'd owned something so formal. At the moment, I didn't know how to even begin explaining what else was going on. He'd have heard all about it in the grapevine, and not knowing at all what he thought about it--or even thinking that he might have thought about it--made me feel sick.

"Morning to you too, Tai," he said. His voice was gravellier than I was used to on those long-distance phone calls when he had to travel for work. I flinched, shoulders hefting up, but all he did was blink at me under the edge of his flat cap. Not a trace of disdain could be seen. "You okay? Kind of early to check in on the office. I had to skip out of the funeral service and everything.

He didn't know, was the first thought that came to mind. Relief, before it tumbled in with anxiety telling me it was only a matter of time. And the second--

"Oh, shit, Rafe." Before he could move to open the door, I closed my hand over his hand. "I'm so sorry. You--"

"I wouldn't have come if I needed to stay," he reassured. His voice was gentle, and his smile softer. With them, I saw traces of the things I'd missed about him. His dependability. His easiness. "Pack's just a little muddled up with the new hierarchy still being put into place, so when you asked if I was free, I came as soon as I could."

Guilt hit me. I shouldn't have asked him. He wouldn't have said no to me. "You didn't have to. "

He shrugged. "I wanted to," he said, smiling, and slid his hand up to fit his fingers in between the gaps of mine. Once upon a time, this had made me happy. "Does that say something, babe?"

Rafe used petnames when he wanted me to leave things alone. "Still."

We moved to the elevator. Rafe had dropped by unannounced enough times that knew exactly what floor my office was on, so I let him press the button, hoping to absorb some form of bravery through the warmth of his palm as he settled back to my side. He yawned loudly as the number ticked upper floor, open mouthed with his fangs bare.

"You got a lot of stuff to move?" he asked. "Mostly asking because you can use magic and all."

"You know it doesn't work like that," I said, but I noticed right away when he stiffened. "Rafe--"

"Tai." Rafe pulled his hand out of mine, looking at the boxes that I had piled up on my desk yesterday. At least, that'd been how I'd left them. They'd thrown to the floor, and the contents scattered and trashed. His voice grew hard. "You want to explain to me what happened here?"

"Just packing up. I'm leaving." The words spilled out of my mouth before I could even begin to explain. It might as well have been me saying I was leaving him, for all that anger seemed to etch its way into his tightly wound posture. "Someone must've just knocked it all over by accident."

"Are you quitting?" Rafe had to take a moment to tear his eyes from the desk. "Does this happen often?"

Was he mad at me because he thought I was keeping this from him? I didn't quit." All of a sudden, I couldn't look him in the eye anymore. "Rafe, I..."

Wayward potions stacked carefully. Little spare bottles of choice ingredients tucked beside them, while thick spellbooks and encyclopedias crammed themselves in the corners. The knicknacks, the little notes, and recipe pages I'd accumulated in my tenure as the resident magic consultant--those went in the trash. Those were easily replaceable, whereas the things I'd brought with me and had passed down to me by predecessors were not.

I was meant to leave on yesterday, but there was too much to bring out with me. And now I was here, Friday morning with a boyfriend I had to tell--

"I murdered someone."

He didn't so much as flinch. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. I miscast.” It was a lie. I never did. “I fixed it. But Corporate found out.”

Rafe didn’t say anything, jaw tight. He surveyed the mess of my desk, before he bent down. He was tidying it up for me.

I was panicking. Imagining what he must think. "Rafe. It’s fine. Leave it."

"No."

"I can't stay."

"I think your boss would want to know why you’re going."

"My boss already knows why." At the look on his face, I tried to elaborate. "I'm leaving the team. They're transferring me."

"Yeah?" Rafe smiled. The way he did made the blood run cold through my veins. My mouth went dry. He let me go when my knees stopped trembling, and then bent to grab the pile of boxes in one arm. "Where're we going?"

He wasn't serious. "You're not coming with me."

"Yes, I am."

"Rafe, don't be stupid." His pack needed him here. His job needed him to be accessible. There were countless reasons why it was the worst idea possible. The words flew out of my mouth. "You can't come with me. You only just got back. You travel everywhere for work. We--" I bit back my next words.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. "I'll move wherever you're going."

"Rafe." I took a big breath. "I want to break up."

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” I said. “I really do.”

The self-assuredness dropped from his face like a brick. "Sorry?"

"It isn't this. It's--" How could I say it? "What if I undo you? What if I break you?” It was more than that, but this was all that could come out.

Rafe put the box down. He took me into his arms and he put his big palms against my cheeks. “Hey,” he breathed, pressing his forehead and nose against mine. “You wouldn’t break me.” He kissed the side of my mouth. “Not on accident, anyway.”

“The murder was an accident too,” I said.

“Tai.” Rafe sighed. “I’m safe. Safer than anyone, and you know why?”

This stupid wolfman was stubborn. “Why?” I asked, finally, when I could get my head around it. My voice was wet, wetter than I thought it’d be.

"Because I can tear your throat out before you even flinch, is why." He brushed my nose with his. “So don’t worry.”

"You suck," I said, but I was crying and snorting, so I think he took it to be what it was: relief.