Charmed: Elizabeth Turner

by Brenna's Urbangirl Projects

Born with a sense of otherness, Elizabeth 'Buffy' Turner navigates her dual nature as a half-demon alongside her brother Cole, training rigorously to harness her powers while yearning for a life beyond servitude to the dark forces shaping their destiny.

41. Chapter 41: Muse to My Ears Part 1

Chapter 41: Muse to My Ears Part 1

September 25, 1998 – Friday

Halliwell Manor

"Hey!" Cole greeted Phoebe with a warm smile as he stepped into the kitchen, his sharp blue eyes immediately landing on the sight before him. His beautiful girlfriend stood at the island, a picture of domestic elegance, chopping away with effortless grace. She was clad in an apron—an image that would have been wholesome if not for the way she wore it, somehow making even that look enticing. But more than that, the house was eerily quiet. He glanced around, the usual sounds of footsteps, chatter, and distant magical chaos absent.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he leaned against the counter, referring to the completely deserted house. It was rare—no, impossible—for the Halliwell Manor to be empty for this long.

Phoebe grinned at him, placing the knife down with a casual flick of her wrist. She pulled off the apron with a flourish, tossing it onto the table as she stepped toward him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Surprise!" she declared, spreading her arms wide before gesturing to herself.

Cole's eyes widened as he finally took her in—really took her in. The tight black dress clung to her in all the right places, accentuating every curve, and to his utter disbelief, it had practically no back at all. His mouth went dry as he ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to focus.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky, admiration flickering in his gaze.

Phoebe's smile brightened, a faint pink tint dusting her cheeks at the compliment. "Thank you," she said, stepping even closer. She reached for two tall glasses of champagne, handing one to him with a playful gleam in her eye. "I sent everyone away so we could celebrate."

Cole looked down at the glass in his hand, blinking in confusion. "What are we celebrating?" he asked, his brows knitting together.

Phoebe gasped, her excitement bubbling over. "Cole!" she cried, barely able to contain her joy. "You're finally fully human!" she reminded him, as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. She took a step back, spreading her arms in emphasis. "No more demon half means no more obstacles for our relationship," she pointed out with delight. "Yay, us!" She clinked their glasses together with enthusiasm and took a sip, while Cole merely stared down at his own glass, discomfort creeping onto his face.

Phoebe chuckled, lowering her glass as she watched him with amusement. "Um… that was a toast, and usually, after the clinking part, you take a little sip," she explained gently, tilting her head at him.

Cole hesitated for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "I… I don't know if sending your sisters away was a good idea," he admitted, his tone growing serious as he placed his untouched glass down on the counter. His sharp gaze locked onto hers. "I don't have powers anymore, Phoebe. I can't protect you if there's an attack."

Phoebe sighed, mirroring his movement and setting her glass down as well. "Well, my sisters—as well as my cousin—are all in calling range," she reassured him, taking a deliberate step closer. Her hands moved slowly, deliberately, trailing up the front of his shirt, her fingertips grazing the fabric. "And more importantly…" she murmured, a sultry smile playing on her lips as she drew her hands up to rest on his shoulders, "...I am in kissing range."

With that, she tilted her head and teasingly pressed her lips to his neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses along his skin.

Cole inhaled sharply at the sensation, his hands instinctively finding her waist before—reluctantly—he pushed her back. "Phoebe, you don't seem to understand that with the Source injured, you might be in more danger than ever before," he insisted, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

Phoebe huffed, rolling her eyes as she dropped her hands. "Well, you don't seem to understand that sometimes a girl needs a night off," she countered, exasperation creeping into her voice before softening again. She took another step toward him, her fingers dancing along his chest. "Now, please, is there anything that I can do…" She trailed off, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper as she resumed her gentle assault on his neck, "...to help you relax?" Her lips moved to his ear, her teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin.

Cole exhaled sharply, his head tipping back slightly as his eyes fluttered shut. "Well, that helps a little," he admitted breathlessly. His hands found her hips again, holding her closer. "Maybe you should just… keep doing that," he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

Phoebe smirked against his skin, pleased with his surrender, and continued trailing kisses down the side of his neck, her touch growing bolder.

For a blissful thirty seconds, she had him. Thirty seconds.

Then, just as she was sure she had won, Cole snapped back to reality and pushed her away once more, his expression shifting as his mind locked back onto his previous concerns. "It's just that, without a strong leader, there's anarchy in the underworld," he continued as if she hadn't just been driving him to distraction.

Phoebe let out a sharp sigh, her patience wearing thin. "Oh, wow!" she deadpanned, folding her arms across her chest. "You're a sweet talker." Her sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Cole, completely oblivious to her tone, carried on. "Demons who would normally compete for the Source's favor—"

"—Will start banding together to try to take out the Source," Phoebe interrupted, finishing his sentence for him. She raised an eyebrow, her arms tightening around her torso. "Honey, you told me this part already."

Cole exhaled sharply. "Well, I'm not sure you get it," he pressed. "Demons hoping to replace the Source will gather factions of followers," he elaborated. "And what better way to gain support for your faction than to kill the infamous Charmed Ones?"

Before Phoebe could respond, the kitchen buzzer went off, signaling that dinner was ready.

"I'll get that," Cole muttered, running a hand down his face before stepping around the island. He pulled open the oven door and reached in—only to immediately yank his hand back with a sharp hiss. "AH!" he seethed, shaking his burned fingers. "Damn it!" His face contorted in pain as he clenched his fist, trying to shake off the sting.

Phoebe gasped, rushing over. "Is it bad?" she asked, concern etched on her face. "I could call for Leo."

"No, no, no, it's fine," Cole grumbled, his frustration evident. He flexed his fingers with a sigh. "I used to be able to hold fire in the palm of my hands," he reminded her, his tone tinged with bitterness.

Phoebe watched him for a moment, then reached up to gently cradle his face, tilting his chin down so he would look at her. "We vanquished half of you," she said softly, her brown eyes full of understanding. "That's a huge adjustment. But I promise you'll figure it out." Her lips curled into a small, reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out together."

Cole sighed, closing his eyes briefly at her touch. But when he opened them again, his concern still lingered. "I'm serious about the factions, Phoebe," he pressed, his voice dropping lower. "If demons join forces—"

"I promise you," Phoebe interrupted, placing her hands firmly on either side of his face, "I will worry about the factions first thing in the morning." Her voice was sincere, but her expression held a hint of impatience. "But for now..." She trailed her fingers down his chest, her eyes darkening with intent. "I want us to join forces."

A slow smirk played at Cole's lips as she pulled him closer, and this time, he didn't push her away.

Congressman's Office

"We must join forces with those we've considered our enemies if we are to defeat—" The congressman sighed, exasperation lacing his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. No, that's not right. It's not strong enough.

He tried again, rolling his shoulders as if that would shake the frustration from his body. "We must join forces..." he trailed off, his expression contorting with irritation. He shook his head, defeated, and slumped into his leather chair with a tired sigh. "Damn," he muttered, gripping his pen and scribbling down notes with newfound determination, though his hand was tense, his script jagged.

Without warning, a misty, ethereal glow illuminated the space beside him, casting soft blue light over the desk. From the shimmering haze emerged a woman, her dark curls cascading around her shoulders, her chocolate-toned skin glowing as though kissed by moonlight. She was dressed in flowing fabric that shifted like liquid silk with each movement, an air of grace and wisdom enveloping her like a delicate aura.

She smiled gently, her luminous eyes gleaming with encouragement as she leaned toward him, her presence carrying a quiet but powerful force of inspiration.

The congressman's pen stilled mid-stroke. His breathing slowed. Something stirred within him—a sudden clarity, a fire that had been flickering uncertainly now burning steady and bright. He blinked, and with a newfound conviction, he rose to his feet.

"Joining forces with our friends is simple," he began, his voice steadier now, the words flowing with purpose. "Only by working with those we have considered our enemies will we achieve our greater goals."

The muse smiled, nodding as she listened, the pride in her expression unmistakable.

"In the coming days," the congressman continued, "we must rise above our differences if we are to reach the level of our convictions."

As soon as the words left his lips, the room erupted with applause. The sudden burst of sound startled both him and the muse, their heads whipping around in search of the source.

The congressman's brow furrowed as he turned to his right—just in time to see a dark-haired man materialize out of thin air, blinking into existence as though stepping through the very fabric of reality itself.

The congressman's breath caught in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to move, to retreat, but his feet felt cemented to the floor.

The stranger offered a slow, knowing smile. "I think I can use that," he mused, his voice smooth as silk.

The congressman stiffened. "How did you get in here?" His voice wavered, teetering between outrage and fear. His eyes darted toward the door, calculating his chances of escape. "What do you want?"

The man took a casual step forward, hands loosely clasped behind his back. "Well, as you know, Congressman," he drawled, his tone thick with amusement, "gathering a following requires inspiration*."* His gaze flicked to the left, a glint of satisfaction flashing in his dark eyes.

The congressman followed his line of sight and realized, with a sinking sense of dread, that the man wasn't looking at him—he was looking past him.

At the muse.

"I want your muse," the stranger declared, his smirk widening.

The muse gasped, her luminous form flickering like a candle caught in the wind. Her normally serene expression was replaced by shock, fear etching into every delicate feature.

"You can see me?" she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief.

The congressman's head whipped back toward the stranger, his confusion deepening. "My what?"

The dark-haired man smirked. He extended his forefinger, and a thin band of silver caught the light—a ring adorned with strange, ancient engravings.

The muse's eyes widened further, panic flashing across her face. "The Ring of Inspiration," she breathed, taking a step back as if its very presence threatened her existence. "But how did you get it?"

The stranger's smirk never faltered. "Oh," he mused, tilting his head, "I think a more important question is, how will you get out of it?"

Before she could react, he lifted the ring and pointed it at her.

A rush of energy pulsed through the air, a force so powerful it sent shivers down the congressman's spine. The muse let out a strangled gasp as tendrils of golden light coiled around her form, dragging her toward the ring's surface like a whirlpool pulling in the tide. She fought against it, reaching out desperately, but the pull was relentless.

"No!" she cried out, but within seconds, her form collapsed into a stream of light and was sucked inside the ring, vanishing into its depths.

The glow that had once filled the room vanished instantly, leaving behind an eerie silence.

The congressman staggered back, his chest heaving. "Who the hell are you talking to?!" he shouted, whipping his head around as though trying to make sense of what just happened. His breath came in ragged spurts, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. His logical mind refused to accept what he had just seen.

He needed to get out. Now.

He spun on his heel, making a break for the door.

But the man was faster.

With a blink, he disappeared—only to reappear right in front of the congressman, blocking his only exit.

"Please," the congressman begged, his voice cracking. Fear clutched at his throat, his hands trembling at his sides. "Please."

The other man sighed, almost as if he pitied him. "Come now," he chided, shaking his head. "I'm doing you a favor, really." He lifted a hand, pressing it lightly to his chest in mock sincerity. "There's nothing worse than an uninspired politician," he mused.

Then, before the congressman could react, the stranger lunged.

His hands clamped down on either side of the congressman's face, his fingers searing into his skin like white-hot iron.

A bloodcurdling scream ripped from the congressman's throat as agony exploded through his skull. His body convulsed violently; his nerves set aflame from the inside out. The pain was unbearable, unrelenting—a torment unlike anything he had ever known.

Then, suddenly—his flesh ignited.

Flames burst from his skull, engulfing his entire head in a searing inferno. His screams cut off abruptly, his body jerking once, twice—before it crumbled into ash, disintegrating completely.

P4

Buffy and Prue sat at a secluded table, their hands loosely intertwined on the small round surface between them. The club pulsed with music, the bass thrumming beneath their feet as warm, ambient lights cast a golden glow over the scene. The dance floor was packed with people swaying, laughing, and letting the music carry them away, but the two women were in their own little world, content just to be together.

Prue lifted her glass of red wine to her lips, taking a slow sip as her eyes lingered on Buffy. "You know, it's not often we get a night out like this without demons, prophecies, or world-ending drama looming over us," she mused, a teasing smile curving her lips.

Buffy chuckled, swirling her cocktail idly. "Tell me about it. I'm half expecting something to crash through the ceiling any minute now." She shot a playful glance toward the rafters, as if challenging fate itself.

Prue shook her head with an affectionate sigh. "Well, if it does, I say we ignore it for at least an hour."

Buffy smirked and lifted her glass in a mock toast. "To pretending we're just a normal married couple enjoying a totally uneventful date night."

Prue clinked her glass against Buffy's and took another sip, letting herself relax into the moment. "I like the sound of that."

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, watching the people around them, enjoying the energy of the club without feeling the need to be part of the chaos. Buffy's fingers traced idle patterns along the back of Prue's hand, grounding her in a way that no spell or potion ever could.

"You know," Buffy said, leaning in slightly, her voice softer now, "I don't think I ever really got the chance to say how much I love this—just being with you, just us."

Prue's gaze softened, and she squeezed Buffy's hand. "I know," she murmured. "And I love it too. More than anything."

The moment stretched between them, filled with warmth, with understanding, with love that needed no grand gestures or declarations. It simply was.

The music shifted to a slower tune, and Buffy quirked an eyebrow. "Dance with me?"

Prue laughed. "You hate slow dancing."

"Correction—I hate slow dancing with other people," Buffy said with a grin. "With you? Whole different story."

Prue let herself be pulled onto the dance floor, wrapping her arms around Buffy as they swayed in time with the music. The world outside could wait—tonight, they were just Prue and Buffy, two people in love, stealing a moment of normalcy in the midst of their extraordinary lives.

Streets of San Francisco

Faith moved through the dimly lit streets like a shadow, her leather jacket flaring slightly with each step. The city's nightlife pulsed around her—laughter spilling from bars, neon lights flickering, the occasional honk of a car horn—but she wasn't here for that. She was on the hunt.

The Slayer's senses were on high alert, her eyes scanning the darkened alleys and shadowed corners where vampires tended to lurk. The city might not have been as overrun as Sunnydale, but where there was darkness, there were always creatures looking to feed.

Faith rolled her shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of a stake tucked into her belt, another hidden inside her jacket sleeve. A fight would be good—she was itching for one. It had been too long since she had an excuse to let loose, to feel the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline spike just before the first punch landed.

She turned down a quieter street, away from the main strip of clubs and restaurants. The air was thick with the scent of the bay, mingled with something else—something metallic. Blood.

Faith stopped, muscles coiling as she zeroed in on a narrow alley to her right. A scuffle. A low growl. Then the telltale sound of a body being shoved against brick.

"Bingo," she muttered under her breath, striding forward without hesitation.

As she rounded the corner, she saw them—a vampire pinning some poor guy against the wall, fangs bared, the victim barely able to struggle. The vamp was young, cocky, still new enough to think he had the upper hand.

Faith smirked. "Hey, Fang Boy."

The vampire froze, turning to face her. His yellow eyes gleamed under the streetlight, annoyance flickering across his face. "Walk away, Slayer. This isn't your business."

Faith cracked her neck, rolling her wrists, letting the stake slide into her palm. "Oh, see, that's where you're dead wrong. Literally."

The vampire barely had time to react before Faith was on him. She launched forward, ducking beneath his first wild swing and driving a solid punch into his gut, making him stumble back.

"Damn, you're slow," she taunted, following up with a roundhouse kick that sent him crashing into a dumpster. "What, you just crawl out of your grave yesterday?"

The vampire snarled, recovering fast, lunging at her with fangs bared. Faith met him head-on, blocking his claws with her forearm before twisting, using his own momentum to slam him to the ground. She straddled him, her stake poised above his chest.

"You vamps never learn," she said with a smirk before plunging the stake deep into his heart.

The vampire let out a strangled gasp before crumbling to dust beneath her.

Faith exhaled, brushing off her jeans as she stood, looking over at the stunned victim still pressed against the wall.

"You good?" she asked.

The guy nodded dumbly, his face pale. "You—you just—"

"Yeah, yeah, dusted the bad guy. No need to thank me, just pay it forward." She winked before turning on her heel, already scanning the streets for her next hunt.

The night was young. And she wasn't done yet.

September 26, 1998 – Saturday

Halliwell Manor

"Uh… okay, Bev," Piper said slowly into the phone, her tone caught between patience and exasperation as she poured the rest of the lukewarm coffee into her mug with her free hand. She tilted the pot, draining every last drop, then sighed, bringing the cup to her lips while pressing the phone closer to her ear. "If that's what you really want," she relented, rubbing her temple as she made her way to the kitchen table.

There was a pause, then a frustrated huff from Piper. "Bev! Take yes for an answer," she advised, rolling her eyes as the woman on the other end continued to babble. "I'll get back to you," she assured, ending the call before Bev could object further. She set the phone down with a tired sigh, just as a blur of energy bounced into the kitchen.

Phoebe swept in with her usual boundless enthusiasm, snatching the coffee cup right out of Piper's hand before she could protest. "Hey!" Piper started, but Phoebe was already sinking into a chair at the table, taking a sip without hesitation.

Piper stared at her, arms crossed, one brow arched. "Uh… that was the last of the coffee," she informed her younger sister, waiting for the reaction she knew was coming.

Phoebe grimaced mid-sip, pulling the cup away from her lips with a look of betrayal. "I've had coffee. This is not coffee," she declared dramatically, sticking out her tongue as if that would rid her of the offensive taste. Quickly, she changed the subject, her expression turning more serious. "Have you seen Cole?" she asked, setting the cup aside like it had personally offended her.

Piper sat down across from her, shaking her head. "He went out," she replied simply, stretching her legs under the table. "Said he had some errands to run."

Phoebe frowned, suspicion creeping into her features. "What kind of errands?"

Piper shrugged, indifferent. "He didn't say."

Before Phoebe could pry further, Prue and Buffy strolled into the kitchen, clearly in their own little world. Buffy's arms were wrapped around Prue's waist from behind, her lips brushing against Prue's neck as soft giggles escaped the older Halliwell. They looked completely at ease, lost in each other.

Piper and Phoebe exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised in silent communication. Phoebe wordlessly reached for the discarded coffee cup and took another sip, her face contorting in disgust once more.

Prue, blissfully unaware of her sisters' judgmental stares, looked around the kitchen—then her eyes landed on the empty coffee pot. Her contentment melted into horror. "Hey!" she whined, detaching herself from Buffy to glare at her sisters. "Who drank all the coffee?"

Piper smirked, tilting her head toward Phoebe. "Phoebe did," she sang, looking smug.

Phoebe turned her glare onto Piper, her expression a mix of indignation and betrayal. "Oh, you little—"

"Phoeebbeee!" Prue groaned in distress, dragging out the syllables like a child denied their favorite toy.

Phoebe turned fully in her chair to face her eldest sister, holding up her hands in surrender. "Don't worry, you're not missing out," she assured Prue. "It's vile." She gave an exaggerated shudder before pushing the cup away like it was tainted.

Buffy chuckled, watching the back-and-forth with an amused glint in her eye. Then, glancing at the clock, she sighed and straightened. "I gotta go," she announced, pressing a quick kiss to Prue's lips before stepping back. "I've got court today, so..."

Piper, arms still crossed, gave Buffy a once-over, eyes trailing from her sleek, fitted blazer down to her neatly pressed slacks. "Huh," she mused with a smirk. "That's what the snazzy dress is for?"

Buffy chuckled, smoothing her jacket. "Yes, it is," she confirmed. "Thank you."

"Why are you going to court?" Phoebe asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

Buffy raised an eyebrow at her. "Despite the fact that I pretend to be a teenager, I do, in reality, hold a law degree," she reminded dryly. "Remember, Cole wasn't the only one the Source put through law school."

Piper and Phoebe blinked, exchanging another silent look.

Buffy continued, unbothered. "I'm working to get Faith officially emancipated," she explained, shifting slightly as her tone became more serious. "Her birth mom, her adopted mom, and her legal guardian are all dead, which legally puts her in a gray area. If we don't make it official, we could technically get in trouble for harboring a known runaway—" she gave them both a pointed look, "even though she's your guys' cousin."

Piper let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Phoebe nodded. "So, basically, if you win, Faith is free and clear?"

Buffy smirked. "Pretty much."

"Good," Prue chimed in, wrapping an arm around Buffy's waist again. "Because I'd rather not deal with social services showing up at the manor, asking why Faith is living with us and why we are harboring a fugitive."

Buffy chuckled, kissing Prue on the cheek. "Don't worry, babe. I got this."

With that, she gave a final wave and headed out the door, leaving the Halliwell sisters watching after her.

Prue settled into the chair beside her sisters, a soft, contented smile lingering on her lips as she finally greeted them. "Morning," she said, her voice carrying a rare lightness.

Piper smirked, eyeing her older sister with amusement as she raised an eyebrow. "Morning," she replied, dragging out the word just enough to suggest she had already picked up on Prue's unusually good mood.

Phoebe, ever impatient, turned to her with an expectant gleam in her eye. "Well?" she prompted, leaning forward eagerly.

Prue blinked, widening her eyes with mock innocence. "Well what?" she asked, playing coy as she reached for her coffee cup.

"Don't play dumb." Phoebe smirked, swatting Prue's arm in playful exasperation. "Spill."

Piper leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "You two seem to be doing better," she observed, her smirk growing.

Prue let out a small chuckle, setting down her coffee. "Yeah," she admitted, her smile softening into something more reflective. "We talked after the whole Sykes thing happened and..." she gave a light shrug, "we worked some things out."

Phoebe practically vibrated with excitement before bursting out, "YAY!" She threw her arms around Prue, hugging her tightly, her face glowing with happiness for her sister.

Piper simply smiled, watching the interaction with warmth.

Prue hugged Phoebe back, laughing softly as she tapped her on the head. "What about you?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.

Phoebe barely had time to process the shift before Piper jumped in. "Ooh yeah. How was date night?" she asked, jumping on the new topic with interest.

"Great!" Phoebe exclaimed automatically, her face lighting up—only for her expression to fall a second later. "Fine," she corrected with a sigh, slumping in her chair. Her shoulders drooped, and she ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, it was okay," she admitted with a dramatic groan, finally giving in to honesty. "He kept talking about demonic factions the whole time."

Piper frowned, and Prue wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Phoebe caught their expressions and nodded vigorously. "I know!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration before slumping back down. "God, it sucked!" she moaned, dropping her head onto her crossed arms in complete despair.

Prue reached out, rubbing her back in soothing circles. "Honey, it's probably because it's easier for him to talk about demons than what's really on his mind," she pointed out, her voice gentle but certain.

Phoebe's head shot up, her brows knitting together in intrigue. "Which is?" she asked, narrowing her eyes as she tried to follow Prue's train of thought.

Piper and Prue exchanged a knowing look before Piper spoke. "Whether or not you're going to reconsider his marriage proposal now that he's just a human," she concluded, her tone laced with meaning.

Phoebe's lips parted slightly, her expression shifting as realization dawned. The conversation had just taken a turn she was not sure she was ready for.

Phoebe shook her head firmly, her expression resolute. "We talked about that, and he's totally fine with it," she assured them, her hands gesturing for emphasis. "He gets it."

Piper nodded slowly, her lips pressing together in that way she did when she wasn't entirely convinced. Across from her, Prue was doing the exact same thing, mirroring Piper's skepticism in silent agreement.

Phoebe's eyes darted between them, her frown deepening as she read their expressions. "Did he say something to you two?" she demanded, her voice edged with concern.

"No," Prue replied immediately, her tone almost offended by the suggestion. "But it's kind of written all over his face, Pheebs." She arched an eyebrow, giving her younger sister a knowing look.

Phoebe's mouth parted slightly, her eyes widening. "It is?" she asked, turning quickly to Piper for confirmation.

Piper nodded, exhaling softly. "Yeah, and uh…" she hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "Truth be told, it's rare for a relationship to survive a rejected proposal," she said as gently as possible.

Phoebe sat forward in her seat, shaking her head more insistently now. "But it wasn't rejected," she corrected, her voice firm. "It was just postponed."

Prue bit her lip, exchanging another glance with Piper before reaching across the table to take Phoebe's hand. "Yeah, there's...not really…any difference in the eyes of his ego," she said carefully, giving her sister's fingers a small squeeze.

Phoebe sighed, the weight of the conversation settling in her chest. "I'm not ready," she stated adamantly, looking from Prue to Piper, searching their faces for understanding. "You two know that."

Piper nodded, her expression softening. "Yes, we do," she assured her. "But…it's not our hearts that are involved."

"Or our egos," Prue added lightly, though the seriousness in her eyes remained. "Don't forget the ego," she quipped, shaking her head slightly.

Phoebe exhaled heavily, rubbing her temples.

"You should talk to him again," Piper advised, pushing back from the table and rising to her feet.

Prue frowned, watching as Piper started moving. "Where are you going?" she asked, following her sister's movement with her eyes.

"P4," Piper answered distractedly as she grabbed the phone and placed it back in its cradle.

Phoebe's forehead creased in confusion. "At nine in the morning?" she asked incredulously. "Don't club kids sleep in?" she added with a teasing smirk.

Piper sighed, already regretting the long day ahead of her. "Corporate party. Big money. Total nightmare," she muttered, rubbing her forehead before heading for the door.

Phoebe frowned; her thoughts were still half-stuck on Cole as she got up to follow.

Prue sighed, shaking her head before standing as well.

Phoebe's brow furrowed, worry creasing her features. "What if there's an attack?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

Piper chuckled lightly as she pulled her jacket around her shoulders, clearly unfazed. "At nine a.m.?" she quipped, smirking. "Don't demons sleep in?"

Phoebe wasn't amused. She crossed her arms and leaned toward Piper. "Piper, Cole thinks that the demons are gonna start banding together to take out the Source." Her voice carried urgency now, her hazel eyes locking onto her sister's in earnest.

Piper simply smiled as she adjusted her sleeves. "Great!" she said breezily. "Well, I say the only good Source is a dead Source."

Prue caught up to them, her stride purposeful as she positioned herself between them. "Piper, listen to her," she advised, her expression serious. "Buffy's been saying the same thing. And if they're both worried, then we should be worried."

Phoebe shot Prue an appreciative smile. "Thank you." She turned back to Piper, her stance unwavering. "Uh… right, Cole also seems to think that the best way for a faction leader to gain the support of the demonic masses would be to kill us."

"So does Buffy," Prue added, reinforcing the point with a nod.

Before Piper could respond, Paige descended the stairs, her brows raised at the tail end of the conversation. "Who's going to kill us?" she asked, her tone casual but intrigued.

"No one," Piper snapped sharply, cutting off the conversation before it could escalate.

Paige shrugged as she reached the bottom step. "That's new," she remarked, her tone nonchalant.

Prue sighed, her patience thinning. "Piper." She fixed her sister with an exasperated look.

Phoebe, sensing that arguing logic wouldn't work, took a different approach. She reached for Piper's hand, squeezing it to get her attention. "So, I was thinking," she started, her voice suddenly sweet, "since you're the potions master..." She tilted her head, offering Piper a warm, almost pleading smile. "Isn't there something you could whip up? Some kind of protection potion, maybe?"

Prue's face lit up at the suggestion. "Ooh." She grinned and nudged Phoebe playfully. "I like that." She turned to Piper expectantly, clearly on board with the idea.

Phoebe smiled, encouraged by the backup, and both sisters stared at Piper, waiting for her to agree.

Piper sighed, rolling her eyes. "Pheebs, if there was such a thing as a protection potion, we'd be mixing it in our morning coffee." She gestured toward the kitchen, her tone dry but final.

"That's true," Prue admitted with a nod, conceding the point.

Phoebe sighed, frustration clear in the slump of her shoulders. "I know, but there's got to be something that we can do," she insisted, her eyes pleading as she leaned toward Piper. "And by 'we' I mean you." She added with a teasing wink, flashing a hopeful grin.

Prue laughed, shaking her head at the playful manipulation, while Piper just rolled her eyes. "Well, I say we just wait until we're attacked, like we usually do," she replied dryly, crossing her arms. "And then we deal with it then."

Before Phoebe or Prue could protest, Paige strolled back in, balancing a box in her arms. "Who's attacking us?" she asked, her tone far too casual for the subject matter.

"No one," Piper repeated firmly, shooting her a pointed look.

Paige grinned and gave a little fist pump. "Right on! I get the weekend off." Without another word, she turned on her heel and hurried back upstairs, practically skipping.

Piper smirked, pointing after their fleeing sister. "See, now that is the spirit," she quipped, amused by Paige's enthusiasm for ignorance.

But Prue wasn't so easily distracted. She took a deep breath, her brows furrowed. "Piper, if Buffy and Cole are right, we have no idea how many of them we're gonna be up against," she reminded her, her voice low with concern.

Piper sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "Suddenly… I'm beginning to miss the Source," she muttered, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

"And even if you don't think we need the protection..." Phoebe added, leaning in again, "just think about Cole." Her voice softened as she laid out her argument. "He's a human being with no magical powers, living in a house that's constantly under demonic attack." She let that sink in before glancing at Prue. "And Buffy," she added meaningfully. "Who is still half-demon and would be a target because her human half is the Slayer."

Prue's expression shifted instantly, her eyes widening in alarm. "Yeah, um... I—I don't want to lose my wife," she blurted, shaking her head as if trying to ward off the very thought. The rare panic in her voice made it clear—this was non-negotiable for her.

Piper groaned, throwing her head back dramatically, clearly seeing that she'd been backed into a corner. "Fine." She exhaled heavily. "I guess I can make something..." she relented, waving a hand in surrender.

"Thank you!" Prue beamed, immediately throwing her arms around Piper's neck in a tight embrace.

Phoebe, practically bouncing in place, clapped her hands together. "Yay! Yay! Yay! I love you!" she cheered, her excitement bubbling over.

Piper shook her head, sighing once more. "After I go to the club," she added, reminding them that she still had a job to deal with.

Prue nodded in understanding, releasing her sister. "Yeah, I need to go to 415 for a while anyway," she agreed, already mentally shifting gears to her own responsibilities.

Phoebe shook her head, a determined look flashing across her face. "But—"

"No!" Piper cut her off, her voice firm. "We need the income, and I've got this client who is insisting on a last-minute theme, and man, do I hate themes." She groaned, rubbing her temples as if just thinking about it gave her a headache.

Prue smirked at her sister's frustration and reached out, stroking Piper's head in mock sympathy. "Aww, poor baby," she cooed playfully.

Piper chuckled despite herself, rolling her eyes.

Phoebe suddenly perked up, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, I am so good at themes," she declared, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "My prom theme, 'Almost Paradise'—totally my idea." She puffed up proudly, as if this was a major life achievement.

Piper blinked at her, unimpressed. "And this is supposed to impress me how?" she deadpanned.

Before Phoebe could respond, Paige came striding down the stairs, carrying yet another box. She let it drop onto the floor with a thud.

Phoebe eyed the growing pile of boxes and raised an eyebrow. "Are you moving out?" she asked, confused.

"No," Paige assured them quickly, dusting off her hands. "Just cleaning out."

Piper frowned as she glanced at the label on the box. "Your art supplies?" she asked in disbelief.

Prue's concern mirrored Piper's as she turned to their younger sister. "Honey, you love your art," she reminded her, her voice soft and gentle.

Paige shrugged, the casual motion not quite hiding the reluctance behind it. "Well, between 'witch' work and 'work' work, I just don't have any time anymore," she explained, trying to sound indifferent, though there was a small note of sadness in her voice.

Phoebe, however, suddenly grinned, eyes lighting up as inspiration struck. "This is perfect!" she announced, clapping her hands together. "We need a theme!"

Paige's expression immediately became wary. "A theme?" she echoed, glancing between Piper and Prue as if they might save her.

Phoebe nodded eagerly and moved to Paige's side, practically buzzing with excitement. "Yeah! You're an artistic, creative type—help us come up with something!"

Paige folded her arms. "For what, exactly?" she asked, still skeptical.

"I'll explain on the way," Phoebe assured her, already ushering her toward the door. "Us—theme." She pointed to herself and Paige. "You—potion." She pointed at Piper. "You—hurry." She pointed at Prue.

Piper crossed her arms and scowled at Phoebe's retreating form. "Me peeved. You annoying," she snapped, causing Prue to chuckle beside her.

Prue threw an arm around Piper's shoulders with a knowing grin. "C'mon, sis," she coaxed.

As Phoebe and Paige grabbed their bags and coats, Phoebe shot one last look over her shoulder. "You see how well this worked out?" she asked triumphantly.

Prue, however, caught Piper's expression—her eyes narrowing dangerously. Without hesitation, she turned back to their younger sisters. "Phoebe, just go," she advised quickly.

Streets of San Francisco

The dim alleyway reeked of rot and stale alcohol, the scent mixing with the acrid tang of something even fouler—something unnatural. A homeless man, draped in layers of tattered clothing, shuffled through the narrow passage, stepping carefully over discarded trash and broken glass. His movements were slow, cautious, as if he sensed that something about this night was off, but hunger kept him moving forward, seeking scraps that might have been left behind.

Without warning, the air crackled with energy, a sudden shift in the atmosphere sending a shiver down his spine. Two figures materialized before him, blinking into existence in a haze of dark magic. Their eyes gleamed red, unnatural and predatory, and as the homeless man took an involuntary step back, his entire body twisted and contorted, morphing in a seamless shimmer of magic. The illusion of tattered rags melted away, revealing a tall, imposing demon dressed in a tailored black suit. His eyes glowed faintly; his sharp teeth bared in a sneer of annoyance.

"Back off!" the demon snarled, his deep voice echoing between the brick walls. "We're on the same side."

One of the warlocks, a cocky man with slicked-back hair and an ever-present smirk, threw his hands up dramatically. "Whoa!" Devlin exclaimed; his voice laced with mock horror. "We almost killed a demon." He placed a hand over his heart as if shaken, then bowed with exaggerated reverence. "The Source would have our heads."

Beside him, his companion chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Man, I love that glamouring power." He glanced at the demon with admiration before nudging Devlin. "You know, I fall for it every time."

The demon growled, clearly unimpressed with their antics. "If you warlock scum don't mind," he interrupted, voice dripping with contempt, "I've got work to do." He moved to brush past them, but Devlin shifted, blocking his path with a casual ease that belied the deadly intent in his gaze.

"Oh, but so do we," Devlin murmured, his smirk turning sinister. Before the demon could react, the second warlock struck, plunging an athame deep into his gut. The demon let out a guttural snarl, his body convulsing as fiery veins of dark energy surged through him. The glow of his power flickered, dimming as it was siphoned away, his body disintegrating into a cloud of ash and embers.

As the embers scattered into the night air, the warlock who had struck the killing blow gasped, his eyes flashing with newfound power. He flexed his fingers, testing the magic coursing through him.

"Nicely done!" Devlin praised, his tone smug and satisfied. He took a step closer, tilting his head. "Now, use your new power to kill the Charmed Ones and bring me back theirs." He clapped his hands together as if the matter was already settled, then turned on his heel, ready to leave.

"Hey!" the other warlock called after him, his voice tinged with frustration. "I thought we were taking out the witches together?"

Devlin sighed, pivoting back with an expression of exaggerated patience. "I have a faction to build," he explained smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "And time is of the essence. There's recruiting to do, powers to gather…"

"So I'm supposed to risk my life so you can become the Source?" The warlock's eyes darkened, his anger rising.

Devlin's smirk never wavered. Instead, he let out a slow breath, as if explaining something to a particularly dense child. "Aren't you tired of living under demonic rule? Of being a second-class citizen?" His voice took on a rehearsed, persuasive cadence. "My friend, in the coming days, we must rise above our differences if we are to reach the level of our convictions."

The other warlock frowned, intrigued despite himself. "And what do I get out of it?"

"A little inspiration," Devlin replied smoothly, his fingers drifting toward the ornate ring on his hand. The gemstone set into it pulsed with an ominous crimson glow as he lifted it, pointing it directly at his companion.

A surge of red energy erupted from the ring, enveloping the warlock in a twisting aura of power. His body stiffened, his eyes rolling back as the dark energy seeped into his very being, strengthening him, binding him to a cause he hadn't even realized he was willing to die for.

When the glow faded, Devlin clapped him on the shoulder, a satisfied smirk still in place. "Now," he said, his voice brimming with authority, "get to work."

Without hesitation, the warlock blinked out of sight. Devlin watched the space where he had stood, then chuckled under his breath.

415 Magazine

Prue walked through the bustling offices of 415 Magazine, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards and muffled conversations forming a familiar background hum. The scent of fresh ink and warm paper lingered in the air as she made her way past sleek glass-walled offices and rows of desks where writers and editors hunched over their latest stories. Sunlight filtered through the large windows, casting sharp lines across the polished floors, and somewhere in the distance, the copier let out a steady whir as it spat out freshly printed pages.

She reached the door to James Corso's office, pausing briefly to smooth down the front of her blouse before giving a firm knock.

"Come in," came the deep, clipped voice from within.

Prue pushed the door open to find 415's editor-in-chief, James Corso, standing behind his mahogany desk, sifting through a pile of proofs with his usual air of impatient efficiency. He was a man in his mid-fifties, sharp-featured, with silver-streaked hair that was always impeccably combed back. His tailored suit looked as crisp as ever, his tie perfectly knotted, the picture of a man who thrived in control.

"Ah, Prue," Corso said without looking up, tapping a pen against a stack of papers. "You're just in time."

"Great," Prue replied, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. She arched a brow, noticing the pile of folders spread across his desk. "What am I just in time for?"

Corso finally lifted his gaze, his sharp blue eyes assessing her. "Your next assignment." He gestured for her to sit, sliding a folder toward her across the desk. "We've got a feature coming up on San Francisco's Hidden Histories—landmarks, buildings, places that have stood the test of time and have stories to tell. I want you to capture the soul of these places, give us something with depth."

Prue picked up the folder and flipped it open, scanning the list of locations. Old mansions, forgotten theaters, an abandoned railway station—places that had seen better days but still carried echoes of the past.

"This is different from my usual work," she mused, intrigued. "More documentary, less glamour."

Corso gave a tight smile. "You always say you like a challenge."

Prue smirked, tilting her head. "True. Any particular angle you want me to focus on?"

"The personal side," Corso said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "Every place has a story. I want the ghosts of the past to come through in your photos—metaphorically, of course." He added dryly, unaware of how often Prue dealt with actual ghosts. "People love nostalgia, Prue. They love mystery. Give them something to connect to, something that makes them feel like they've stepped back in time."

Prue nodded, already picturing the shots in her mind. The right lighting, the right angles—it was all about capturing that essence of forgotten history, of something lingering just beneath the surface.

"Consider it done," she said confidently.

P4

The dim lighting of P4 cast long shadows across the club's empty dance floor as Phoebe leaned eagerly over the table, gesturing animatedly while she tried to sell Bev, a stylish yet indecisive brunette, on her latest brilliant theme idea. The polished wood of the stage gleamed faintly under the low lights, and the scent of freshly wiped-down counters lingered in the air as they sat near the bar, sipping on untouched drinks.

"Bev, I'm telling you, '40s Night is perfect," Phoebe gushed, her eyes alight with excitement. She leaned in, as if sharing some grand secret, her hands emphasizing each word with enthusiastic flourishes. "I mean, think about it: the zoot suits, the saddle shoes, the patriotism—what more could you ask for?"

Bev pursed her lips, shifting in her seat as she tapped her manicured nails against the table. "Oh, I just don't know," she mused, her voice laced with uncertainty. She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I mean, weren't the '50s a little bit flashier?"

Phoebe's hopeful smile faltered. She quickly turned to Paige for backup, her eyebrows subtly raised in a silent plea for support. Paige, catching on instantly, nodded in agreement, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah," Paige said, drawing out the word as if considering it. Then she tilted her head, giving Bev an almost pitying look. "If you want something that's been done a million times," she added, arching an eyebrow.

Bev blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Excuse me?" she asked, sounding slightly insulted.

Phoebe lifted a hand, all easy charm and reassurance. "Honestly, Bev… I think the '40s is your era," she said, flashing a warm smile.

Bev hesitated, her eyebrows lifting in curiosity.

"I mean," Phoebe continued, her voice taking on a coaxing lilt, "you already have this kind of Veronica Lake thing going on."

Bev's lips parted slightly in surprise before a slow, pleased smile crept onto her face. "I do?" she asked, suddenly preening a little, running a hand through her dark waves.

"Oh yeah," Paige jumped in, leaning forward eagerly. "Peekaboo hairdo, some nice pearl earrings… you're a dead ringer."

Bev beamed, flicking her hair over one shoulder with a pleased chuckle. "Well… then…" she let out a delighted laugh, shrugging her shoulders in playful surrender.

"Looks like someone has some shopping to do," Paige teased with a grin.

"Yup," Phoebe chimed in, rummaging through her bag before pulling out a small card and pressing it into Bev's hand. "Here's the number for the costume place. And tell all your friends to dress there or be square," she added with a wink.

Bev stood, shaking her head with amusement. "Thanks, girls," she said warmly, waving as she climbed the stairs toward the exit, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

The moment the club door swung shut behind her, Phoebe turned, letting out a dramatic gasp as she caught sight of Cole descending the stairs.

"Oh!" she cried in playful outrage, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "If it isn't Mr. Sneak-Out-Of-Bed," she teased, folding her arms over her chest.

Cole nodded casually, but there was something distracted about the way he played with his hands. "Yeah, I had some stuff to do," he said vaguely, glancing at Phoebe before looking away.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes, pulling him close by his jacket. "Yeah?" she pressed, her tone light but with an unmistakable edge of suspicion. "What kind of stuff?"

Cole hesitated for half a beat. "Well…" he said, trying for nonchalance as he pulled her into a tight hug.

But Phoebe wasn't having it. She stiffened and pulled back, frowning. Her gaze dropped downward, honing in on an odd lump at his belt.

Her stomach clenched. "What—what's that?" she asked, pointing at it, her tone suddenly sharper.

Cole followed her gaze, his expression unreadable as he reached down and, without a hint of hesitation, pulled out a handgun.

The soft glow of the club lights glinted coldly off the barrel as he held it up with an almost casual air.

Paige and Phoebe gasped, both instinctively backing away, their faces painted with equal parts shock and alarm.

"What are you doing with that?" Phoebe demanded, her wide eyes darting between him and the weapon in his hand.

"Get that thing out of here," Paige snapped, cringing away as though the gun itself carried some dark energy.

Cole frowned, his expression flickering between mild amusement and confusion. "Oh, come on," he said, glancing between them. "You guys see worse than this every day."

The tension in P4 was thick, the low hum of the club's ambient noise doing little to ease the charged atmosphere between them. Phoebe's arms were crossed, her expression firm as her eyes stayed locked on Cole. She wasn't laughing.

"We see demons every day. There is a huge difference," she said, her voice edged with frustration.

Cole's brows furrowed, genuine confusion playing across his features. "There is? How?" he asked, glancing between Phoebe and Paige.

Paige let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. "Well, for one thing…" she said, stepping forward, "...we're not likely to accidentally vanquish ourselves," she pointed out, nodding toward the gun still in Cole's grasp.

Phoebe's gaze didn't waver. "Where did you get it?" she asked, her voice firm but laced with exasperation.

Cole, as always, tried for charm. He smirked, rocking slightly on his heels. "Well, I may not be a demon anymore, but I still know where to find bad guys," he said with a self-satisfied shrug.

Paige gave him an unimpressed look. "Well, why don't you go 'find the bad guys' and give it back to them?" she suggested, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Cole sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look," he said, his tone shifting to something more serious, "I have to have a way to protect myself and the one I love." He gestured toward Phoebe with his free hand, his eyes searching hers.

Phoebe shook her head, unwavering. "Okay," she said, drawing out the word deliberately. Then, looking him straight in the eyes, she added, "I am not living in a house with a gun, Cole."

Before he could respond, a shimmer of orbs appeared behind him.

"Hey," Leo greeted casually as he fully materialized, stepping into the tense conversation.

Phoebe's entire demeanor softened at the sight of him, her lips curving into a small smile. "Hi," she greeted, brushing a hand through her hair. "Piper's at home."

Leo nodded, glancing at each of them in turn. "I know, I just talked to her," he replied before focusing on Phoebe again. "I came here to find you guys."

Cole immediately straightened, his protective instincts kicking in. "Was there an attack?" he asked, his concern evident.

"In a way…" Leo began, a crease forming between his brows. "Muses have been disappearing, and the Elders are very concerned."

"Muses?" Paige echoed, blinking in surprise. "You mean, like, the ones who inspire creativity? They're real?"

"Yes," Leo confirmed firmly, his expression serious. "And they are in very real danger. It would take a powerful evil to find a way to hurt a muse."

Cole exhaled sharply, his expression darkening. "Factions," he said pointedly, his tone sharp. His brows lifted knowingly as he met Leo's gaze, a silent agreement passing between them.

The four of them were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't notice the warlock lurking in the shadows, blinking in behind one of the booth curtains. His eyes gleamed with malice as he watched them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"We better get back," Paige said, turning to Phoebe with urgency in her tone.

Phoebe gasped softly, eyes widening as she suddenly remembered. "What about **'40s Night'?!" she exclaimed, glancing at her sister in dismay.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Oh, please," she scoffed.

Phoebe waved a dismissive hand, already digging through her bag for her phone. "I'll call the decorator from the car," she assured her before turning back to Leo.

"Alright, I'll meet you guys at home," Leo said. "I'm gonna see what else I can find out."

"Oh, oh, Leo!" Phoebe called, stopping him mid-orb.

He froze, looking back at her expectantly. "Yeah?"

Phoebe spun toward Cole and, with swift confidence, snatched the gun from his hand.

Cole let out an indignant groan. "Come on!" he whined, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Unfazed, Phoebe turned back to Leo and held out the weapon. "Can you orb this to Darryl, please?" she asked sweetly, her voice all sugar and innocence.

Leo smirked knowingly, shaking his head, before taking the gun from her.

Without another word, Phoebe and Paige strutted past Cole, heading up the stairs and out the door, leaving him standing there, visibly sulking.

Leo turned to him; one eyebrow raised. "I won't even ask why you have a gun," he said dryly. Then, after a beat, he added, "But I will say one thing—" His tone took on a sharper edge. "What do you think Buffy would think if she found out her brother had a gun?"

Cole's face twisted into a grimace. He sighed deeply, raking a hand through his hair before begrudgingly heading after the sisters.

Leo watched him go, shaking his head with mild exasperation as he orbed out.

From behind the booth curtain, the warlock silently observed, his form shifting and distorting. Within moments, he morphed into the perfect replica of Leo, his features settling into a seamless copy.

Then, with a sinister glint in his eyes, he blinked out.

San Francisco Family Court

The courtroom was smaller than Faith had expected, but that didn't make it feel any less suffocating. The judge's bench loomed over them, polished wood gleaming under the fluorescent lights. A few reporters sat in the back, scribbling in notepads, though Faith doubted they found her case all that interesting. Just another screw-up kid trying to cut the legal ties that barely existed in the first place.

She sat at the table, dressed nicer than she wanted to be—dark slacks, a crisp blouse. No leather. No boots. Buffy had insisted. "We want you to look responsible," she'd said. Faith had rolled her eyes, but she'd relented. Not like she wanted to screw this up.

Buffy stood beside her, exuding confidence in a sharp navy suit, her blonde hair neatly pinned back. If anyone in the room doubted her credentials, they wouldn't after hearing her speak. Buffy Summers, attorney at law. She still fought monsters at night, but during the day, she wielded legalese like a sword, and right now, she was using it to fight for Faith.

The judge, an older woman with steel-gray hair and a no-nonsense demeanor, flipped through Faith's file. "Miss Lehane, you are requesting legal emancipation on the grounds that your biological parents are deceased, your adoptive parents are also deceased, and your most recent legal guardian is… also deceased." She looked up over the rim of her glasses. "That is a rather unique situation."

Faith shifted in her chair, resisting the urge to fidget. "Yeah, well, guess I'm just lucky," she muttered.

Buffy shot her a warning glance before turning back to the judge. "Your Honor, Faith has had no legal guardianship since the passing of her last legal custodian. She has been supporting herself independently, and she has a stable residence."

"Which is with whom, Mrs. Turner-Halliwell?" the judge asked.

"With her biological cousins, Prue, Piper, Phoebe Halliwell and their half-sister Paige Matthews," Buffy confirmed smoothly. "However, Faith is also gainfully employed at her cousin Piper's club and financially independent. She's not seeking emancipation because she lacks a home, but because she wants to take full legal responsibility for her own life."

The judge turned her sharp gaze onto Faith. "And is that true, Miss Lehane? Why do you want to be emancipated?"

Faith hesitated, then squared her shoulders. "Because I need to be my own person. I don't have parents, I don't have anyone legally looking out for me, and I don't want to be a burden to my cousins who've been helping me out. I want to make my own choices, take care of my own life. And I can."

The judge nodded slowly. "You have a history of legal trouble," she pointed out, flipping a page in Faith's file.

Faith clenched her jaw. "Yeah. I did some bad stuff. But I've been making up for it. Working, staying out of trouble. I'm not that person anymore."

Buffy stepped in. "Your Honor, Faith has worked incredibly hard to turn her life around. She has a steady job, a stable living situation, and a support system that is helping her continue on this path. She's not asking for the court to make an exception for her—she's asking for the legal right to be responsible for herself, something she's already doing in every meaningful way."

The judge studied them both for a long moment, fingers steepled together. "And you believe this is in her best interest?"

"I do," Buffy said firmly. "Faith has earned this. And the law should recognize that."

Faith held her breath as the judge deliberated, flipping through more pages, occasionally jotting something down. The silence stretched long enough that Faith started to feel the weight of her past pressing in. Would that be all they saw? The mistakes?

Finally, the judge exhaled and looked back up. "Miss Lehane, I am granting your petition for emancipation."

Faith blinked. "Wait. Seriously?"

A ghost of a smile flickered across the judge's lips. "Yes, seriously. You have demonstrated that you can support yourself and that you understand the responsibilities that come with emancipation. Don't make me regret it."

Faith swallowed, nodding quickly. "No, ma'am. You won't."

Buffy squeezed her arm, a small, proud smile on her face.

The judge banged her gavel. "Then it's settled. Congratulations, Miss Lehane. You are now legally an adult."

Faith let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Halliwell Manor

The attic was bathed in the warm glow of afternoon light filtering through the dusty windows, casting long shadows over the worn wooden floor. The scent of old books and herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest hint of candle wax from earlier spells.

Phoebe and Paige stepped inside, the floorboards creaking beneath their feet as they found their two older sisters hunched over the Book of Shadows, deep in concentration.

"Hey," Phoebe greeted brightly, her voice breaking the scholarly silence. She flashed a grin and sauntered forward. "How's the protection potion?" she asked, her question directed solely at Piper.

Prue remained focused on the book, flipping a page as Piper glanced up at Phoebe, her expression unimpressed.

"Nonexistent," Piper replied flatly, exhaling in frustration.

Phoebe's playful demeanor shifted as she pouted, placing her hands on her hips. "Hey, we kept up our end of the deal," she pointed out, shooting a look between her sisters.

Piper sighed, nodding in reluctant acknowledgment. "I know, Bev called—she's thrilled, and thank you," she said, offering Phoebe a small smile of appreciation.

Phoebe returned the smile, satisfied with the recognition.

"But I thought…" Prue interjected, finally looking up from the book. She placed a hand on her chest for emphasis. "…that we should move onto the muses."

Piper gave another nod, this time with a playful roll of her eyes. "Yes. It's her fault," she muttered, jerking her thumb at Prue and bumping her hip against her older sister in faux irritation.

Phoebe chuckled as Paige leaned over Prue's shoulder, her fingers trailing lightly along the ancient text as she skimmed through the passage.

"Muses," Paige read aloud, her voice carrying a note of intrigue. "Beings of pure light whose sole purpose is to inspire people's passion and creativity." She paused, glancing up. "Like angels that guide us with an unseen hand of inspiration."

Phoebe frowned, her brow furrowing. "Wait, how can evil hurt someone who's invisible?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Prue and Piper exchanged glances before Piper shook her head. "I have no idea," she admitted.

"A good place to start," Prue suggested, tapping the open page, "would be to ask a muse. But we can't figure out how to summon one."

Before anyone could reply, Phoebe suddenly stiffened. Her body went rigid, her eyes widening slightly as she turned her head in quick, jerky motions.

"Do you guys feel that?" she asked abruptly, her voice tinged with curiosity and the faintest hint of wonder.

Her sisters stared at her, their brows furrowing in unison.

Prue tilted her head, scrutinizing Phoebe. "What?" she asked, skepticism laced in her tone.

Phoebe turned in a slow circle, scanning the attic with intent eyes. "I don't know…" she murmured, her gaze darting around as if trying to catch something just out of reach. "It's like a… wow, it's, uh… it's like—like a feeling," she tried to explain, still turning in place.

Prue and Piper exchanged another look, concern flickering between them.

Paige leaned in closer to Prue and whispered conspiratorially, "I think she's officially lost it."

Prue chuckled, amused but unable to suppress a smirk as she reached over and swatted Paige lightly on the leg.

Piper, however, narrowed her eyes, her focus locked on Phoebe's circling form. "Honey?" she asked gently. "What're you looking for?"

Phoebe ignored the teasing, her gut telling her she was onto something. The air around her seemed to hum with an invisible energy, a soft, almost imperceptible whisper of inspiration drifting through the room.

Her lips parted slightly as realization struck.

"I think there's a muse somewhere in this room," she declared firmly, confidence blooming in her tone. Without hesitation, she raised her hands slightly, calling forth the words as if they had been waiting on the tip of her tongue. "Being of creativity, show yourself now to me. Your light which shines upon our face, let our vision now embrace."

As soon as the last word left her lips, the air shimmered, and a soft glow pulsed in the center of the attic.

From within the luminescence, a beautiful woman materialized, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, her serene face framed by a flowing blue dress that shimmered like stardust. The warmth of her presence seemed to breathe life into the room, filling it with an indescribable sense of inspiration.

The soft glow surrounding Melody seemed to pulse gently as she smiled warmly at Phoebe. "I was hoping I could inspire you to do that," she said, her voice carrying a melodic lilt that felt like a song drifting through the air. "I'm Melody," she introduced herself, taking a graceful step forward.

"Wow!" Phoebe gushed, her grin stretching wide with excitement. "I—I'm Phoebe." She pointed enthusiastically to herself before motioning toward her sisters. "And this is—"

"I know who you girls are," Melody interrupted with a knowing smile before Phoebe could continue. "I've been inspiring you your whole lives."

She moved towards the Book of Shadows, the warm glow of her presence, adding a surreal softness to the attic's aged wood and candlelit corners. Phoebe followed just behind her, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Now, I was hoping you could help me," Melody added, her tone dipping into something quieter, something urgent.

"So, you know what's been happening to the Muses?" Paige asked, hands slipping into her back pockets as she studied the ethereal woman with growing intrigue.

"Yes." Melody nodded, her expression dimming. "We were inspiring a symphony, and a friend of mine—a fellow Muse—was captured." Her voice trembled slightly with sorrow. "I was lucky to get away."

"Get away from what?" Prue asked, her frown deepening with concern.

Melody hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on her before she finally admitted, "A warlock claimed the Ring of Inspiration." The way she said it carried a sense of foreboding, as if simply speaking of it made its power stronger.

"What?" Piper's face twisted in confusion, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

Melody took a breath, gathering herself before explaining. "It's a ring that enables the wearer to see and capture Muses." She paused, her gaze darkening with the gravity of the situation. "I—it was created by good magic, to channel inspiration in times of great need. But in the wrong hands…" she trailed off, her expression making it clear just how disastrous that possibility was.

Paige pursed her lips, shifting her weight as she processed the information. "A warlock," she echoed, before glancing at her sisters. "Is that like… a demon?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Piper confirmed with a sigh.

"That's nice," Paige muttered with a forced, sarcastic smile, shaking her head. "Because, you know, we don't already deal with enough supernatural nightmare fuel."

Before anyone could reply, Leo strolled into the attic, his presence as steady and calming as ever.

"Hi," Phoebe greeted him, throwing a look his way. "I thought you were orbing?"

Leo frowned slightly. "What?" he asked, his confusion clear.

Paige, ever quick with the introductions, gestured between them. "Melody, Leo. Whitelighter, Muse."

"Nice to meet you," Leo greeted with a friendly smile.

But Melody tilted her head with a knowing smirk. "We go way back," she corrected, her voice laced with familiarity.

The four sisters frowned, tension thickening in the air like an impending storm. Piper's eyes narrowed sharply, her gaze locking onto her husband with a look of deep scrutiny. There was something… off about him, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Right," Leo corrected himself stiffly, offering a forced, almost mechanical smile. "Good to see you again."

Phoebe, momentarily shrugging off the odd interaction, refocused her attention on the matter at hand. "Have you ever heard of the Ring of Inspiration?" she asked, watching him closely.

Leo hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, "I think so." He nodded slowly. "Red jewel?"

Piper's frown deepened, her suspicion sharpening like a blade. "Isn't that something you would have normally mentioned earlier?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt as she planted a hand on her hip.

"Right, um… yeah," Leo answered, his voice oddly uncertain.

But behind his back—where none of them could see—an athame materialized in his grip, summoned by dark magic.

Piper's sharp instincts flared, something inside her screaming that something wasn't right. Her head tilted; her eyes boring into him. "LEO!" she barked, her stomach twisting in sudden alarm.

"What?" he replied, his face a perfect mask of innocence, but the tension in his stance betrayed him.

And then—before anyone could react—blue and white orbing lights filled the room. The real Leo materialized behind Piper.

Phoebe spun around, her eyes widening in horror as reality clicked into place. "Oh, my God…"

The fake Leo lunged forward without hesitation, plunging the athame deep into Phoebe's back.

"PHOEBE!" Prue screamed; her voice raw with panic. Instinct took over, and she threw up her hand, sending the imposter flying across the attic with a fierce telekinetic blast. The force of her power sent the warlock and his blade skidding across the wooden floor, knocking over a stack of books in the process.

Leo and Piper rushed to Phoebe as she staggered backward, her knees buckling under her. Before she could hit the ground, Leo caught her in his arms, lowering her gently, his face a mask of urgency and fear. Blood seeped through her shirt, staining the fabric a deep crimson.

The warlock, undeterred, blinked out of sight—only to reappear behind Prue and Paige, his form shimmering as he shed his disguise and morphed into his true, monstrous self. His eyes gleamed with malevolent delight, his fingers curling into claws.

Before he could strike, Cole burst into the attic, his keen senses already registering the threat. His voice rang out, urgent and commanding. "PAIGE, BEHIND YOU!"

Paige barely had time to react before the warlock lunged for her, the athame slicing through the air where she had stood just a second before. But she was faster—just barely. With a burst of orbs, she vanished, escaping his grasp in the nick of time.

The warlock's gaze snapped onto Prue like a predator spotting its next victim. With a fluid, ruthless motion, he lunged. Prue barely had time to react before she felt the cold, biting steel of the athame sink deep into her right shoulder. A sharp, searing pain exploded through her body, and she let out a strangled cry, her knees buckling slightly as the warlock yanked the blade back with a brutal twist.

Blood dripped freely from the wound, staining her shirt a deep crimson as she clutched at her shoulder, her breaths sharp and uneven.

But before the warlock could strike again, Piper surged forward, fury igniting in her chest. Her hands shot up instinctively, her power crackling in the air. In a single, explosive burst, the warlock disintegrated in a fiery explosion, his athame shattering along with him.

The room fell into stunned silence for a brief moment, the acrid scent of vanquished evil lingering in the air.

Prue turned to Piper, her face pale but resolute, her left hand pressing firmly against her bleeding shoulder. Meanwhile, Leo worked with laser focus, his hands glowing as golden light seeped into Phoebe's near-fatal wound, sealing it shut with a warm hum of magic.

"You okay?" Piper asked, her voice still sharp with adrenaline as Phoebe shook herself slightly, trying to push past the lingering pain.

Phoebe exhaled and looked up at Prue, concern flickering in her eyes. "You okay?"

Prue forced a small, pained smile. "Will be—as soon as Leo gets his ass over here!" she snapped, the pain making her tone sharper than intended.

Leo, ever the healer, immediately jumped up, moving to her side. As his magic flowed over Prue's wound, the deep gash knitted together, leaving only a dull ache behind.

Just as the tension began to settle, Paige orbed back in with a yelp, her hands flying to her face as if to shield herself. "Ah!" she gasped, blinking wildly. "What was that?" she demanded, her voice shaken.

"That was a warlock," Cole answered matter-of-factly, pointing at Paige as she stepped hesitantly toward Melody.

Paige exhaled sharply, brushing her hair back from her face. "Great. Good to know. Warlocks are officially on my list of things I hate."

Piper's attention snapped back to Melody, her brows furrowing. "Was that the warlock who captured your friend?" she asked, glancing between Prue—who was now rubbing her sore but healed shoulder—and Phoebe, who was still steadying herself.

Melody shook her head, her face troubled. "No."

Piper sighed in frustration. "Of course not. That would've been too easy."

Phoebe exchanged a look with her sisters, then exhaled. "They must be working together," she guessed, accepting Piper's hand as she was pulled back to her feet.

"Were working together," Prue corrected, rotating her shoulder carefully, wincing at the residual soreness. "Were."

Cole, who had been observing the whole exchange with a smug sort of satisfaction, took a few steps forward, his arms crossed over his chest. "That, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his smirk deepening, "is what you call a faction."

Phoebe rolled her eyes. Piper sighed. Paige frowned at him.

Prue, unimpressed, arched an eyebrow and turned to face him fully, placing a hand on her hip. "You're lookin' smug," she informed him dryly, her voice edged with irritation. "Don't get smug. It doesn't suit you."

Cole's smirk only widened, clearly relishing both in being right and in annoying the eldest Charmed One.

Prue's eyes narrowed. Her voice was cool, her words deliberate. "I said don't get smug… unless you want me to give your sister a call?"

Cole's expression fell in an instant. The smugness evaporated, replaced with something that looked an awful lot like panic.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Prue said with a smirk of her own.

Cole swallowed hard, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. The only thing he truly feared? Buffy's wrath. He loved his older sister, but she knew how to wield his full name like a weapon, and when she did? Well… even demons had survival instincts.

Quake

"Well how does it feel to be emancipated?" Buffy asked the other Slayer as they ate lunch.

Faith looked at Buffy for a long minute, her fork idly pushing a fry through a smear of ketchup on her plate. The usual bravado that she carried like armor seemed absent for once, leaving something raw and uncertain in her eyes.

For a moment, she didn't answer. Instead, she glanced around the bustling restaurant—waiters weaving between tables, the clatter of silverware against plates, the hum of casual conversation surrounding them. It was normal, too normal, and somehow that made it all feel even stranger.

Finally, she exhaled, setting her fork down with a small clink against her plate. "Weird," she admitted. "Like… I'm waiting for someone to tell me it was a joke, ya know?" She picked up her drink and took a sip before setting it down again, her fingers drumming against the glass. "Spent so much time havin' people tell me what to do, where to be, or that I don't belong anywhere… Now it's just me."

Buffy watched her carefully, her own food mostly forgotten. "And that's a bad thing?"

Faith gave a small, almost bitter chuckle. "I dunno. Maybe? Maybe not." She shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I ain't complainin'—no more foster homes, no more bouncing between places that ain't home. It's just…" Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. "Guess I didn't think this far ahead."

Buffy nodded, understanding more than she let on. "You don't have to figure everything out today," she said gently. "Emancipated or not, you're not on your own, Faith. You've got people who care about you."

Faith huffed, but there wasn't the usual sharpness behind it. "Yeah? That so?"

Buffy smirked. "Uh, yeah. You think I'd let you have a victory lunch with just anyone?" She gestured between them. "This is kind of a big deal. It deserves at least a Quake-level celebration."

Faith rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the slight smile tugging at her lips. "Oh yeah, a burger and fries. Real fancy."

"Hey, if you wanted fancy, we could've gone somewhere with tiny portions and overpriced salads." Buffy grinned. "But somehow, I don't see you as the fine-dining type."

Faith snorted. "Damn straight." She popped a fry into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. After a moment, she leaned back in her seat, a little of the tension finally leaving her posture. "Guess I just gotta get used to it, huh? Bein' free."

Buffy's smile softened. "Yeah. And figuring out what you want to do with it."

Faith tapped her fingers against the table for a moment, then met Buffy's gaze. "So… any advice, B? On, y'know, how to be a real grown-up?"

Buffy let out a short laugh. "Oh, wow, you're asking me? I'm barely holding it together as it is."

Faith smirked. "Well, that's reassuring."

Buffy shrugged. "Hey, honesty is key in adulthood. That and paying bills, which sucks, by the way."

Faith chuckled, shaking her head. "Guess I'll cross that bridge when I get there." She exhaled, looking down at her plate, then back up at Buffy. "Thanks… for, y'know, everything."

Buffy tilted her head. "What, lunch? Because I fully expect you to pay me back in slayage."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Nah, I mean… just bein' there. Didn't have a lot of that growin' up."

Buffy's teasing expression softened into something warmer. "Yeah. Well… now you do."

Faith held her gaze for a moment before nodding, then picked up another fry, throwing it at Buffy. "Alright, enough of the mushy crap. Eat your damn food before I start thinkin' you're secretly a vampire."

Buffy caught the fry mid-air and smirked. "Oh, you're gonna regret that."

Halliwell Manor

"Piper?" Phoebe's voice echoed off the walls as the sisters hurried down the stairs, their footsteps quick and purposeful. Leo, Cole, and Melody trailed behind them, all of them moving with urgency. "Where are you going? We have to make a plan," Phoebe continued, her voice tinged with impatience as they reached the bottom of the staircase.

Piper paused at the bottom, turning to face them, her posture one of quiet determination. She shot them all a quick glance before responding, her tone calm but firm. "I have a plan," she retorted, her eyes flickering with a brief flash of confidence. "To cook. Now that I know what we're up against, I can practically taste the potion in my head." She gave a small, almost distracted frown, adding with a touch of uncertainty, "I don't know what it does yet, but whatever it is, it tastes pretty good."

The words hung in the air, and Paige gasped, her voice barely audible as she stepped toward her painting supplies, the light in her eyes momentarily dimmed by a sense of wonder. "I can't believe I almost threw away my paints," she murmured quietly, a slight shake of her head as if to express disbelief at her previous carelessness. Melody, standing nearby, offered a warm smile, a silent understanding passing between them.

Meanwhile, Phoebe was already on the move, determined to take action. "I'm gonna write a vanquishing spell," she declared confidently, her voice filling the room with an unshakable resolve. "Actually, no—" she paused, her hand poised over a large notebook on the dining table, a pen ready in her grasp. "I have to write a vanquishing spell," she corrected herself, suddenly even more focused. She bent over the paper, scribbling fervently, but then, as if caught in a sudden realization, she glanced up, her gaze sharp. "I keep hearing rhyming in my head. Are you doing that?" Her eyes snapped toward Melody for a fleeting moment before she returned to her writing, the words forming faster now.

Melody gave a small, almost knowing smile, her lips curving gently as she looked at Phoebe with an encouraging expression. "Oh, no," she said softly, her voice warm. "You're doing that. I'm just helping it come out."

Phoebe's face lit up with a bright smile. "Oh yes, you do, without a doubt," she agreed enthusiastically, the flow of inspiration clearly sparking within her.

Meanwhile, Melody's gaze shifted toward Leo. "I think I should probably leave," she suggested, her tone gentle but firm as she acknowledged the growing tension in the room. Leo gave a small nod in response, understanding her need for space.

"Yes," Prue agreed with a quiet nod, her voice steady but marked by a hint of distraction as she too seemed to struggle with her thoughts. "Go away," she said, turning toward Melody, her words coming out more abrupt than she intended.

The others gasped in surprise, their eyes wide at Prue's sudden sharpness. Piper's voice was a soft reprimand as she stepped forward, concern flickering across her face. "Prue!" she chided gently, her tone a quiet protest against her older sister's abruptness.

Prue, caught off guard by her own words, sighed and shook her head, her hand running through her hair as she turned back to face Melody. "I—I'm sorry, that was rude," she said with an apologetic sigh, her voice softer now, tinged with a touch of regret. "It's just that... all I can think about right now is my dark room, my camera... all I want to do is grab my camera and go out and just... take pictures of anything and everything." She smiled sheepishly, the sudden longing in her voice almost palpable. "I should be thinking about demons, potions, spells, weapons, game plans..." She trailed off, frustration creeping in. "But I can't. With you around, the inspiration's just... too intense."

Prue gave a small, kind smile, her eyes softening as she met Melody's gaze. "Go away... please," she added quietly, the weight of her plea resting heavily on her words.

Melody nodded in understanding, her expression calm and serene. "It's okay," she said, her voice soothing, her gaze flickering between the sisters. "I'm not meant to stay in one place for too long." She glanced at Prue with a slight tilt of her head. "The inspiration... it gets a little intense."

"Okay, but that's good," Piper interjected, her voice steady with a pragmatic edge. She moved closer to the table, her eyes fixed on Melody as she addressed the situation at hand. "If the warlocks are enslaving other muses to inspire them, then we need all the help we can get." She gave Melody a pointed look, emphasizing the importance of her role in the current battle.

Leo, standing slightly apart, was about to add his own thoughts, but Paige suddenly interrupted with a bright realization. "I think I know how to get the ring," she announced with a sense of certainty, her eyes alight with the spark of inspiration.

Prue turned toward her younger sister, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. "You do?"

Paige nodded, her gaze fixed on Melody as she spoke with quiet determination. "Can you describe the warlock to me?" she asked, her voice steady and focused, intent on gathering every detail.

Melody, eager to help, gave a small smile, her features brightening as she began to recall what she had seen. "I think so," she replied, her voice filled with the same quiet strength that had permeated her earlier words.

"What are you gonna do?" Leo's voice echoed from the stairs; his tone curious yet filled with concern as he watched the group gather in the living room.

Paige didn't look up immediately but motioned with one hand toward her canvases, the soft scrape of a pencil against paper already beginning to fill the air. "I'm going to draw him," she replied, her words calm but determined, an artist's focus evident in her posture. The canvases were scattered around her, and she could already imagine the image taking form—each line and stroke drawing her closer to understanding the elusive warlock they were up against.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to pause for a moment, but then Cole's voice cut through the stillness. "I think Leo should orb me underground." His words hung in the air like a sudden storm, sending an electric charge of uncertainty through the group. Every head turned toward him, as if they hadn't expected such a bold statement.

The room fell into a brief silence before Phoebe, startled by the suggestion, looked up sharply from her notepad, her eyes wide. "What?" she exclaimed, her tone filled with disbelief.

"I can find out who the faction leader is," Cole continued, his voice gaining enthusiasm as he spoke. "I may not have my powers anymore, but I still know the terrain." There was a quiet confidence in his voice, a belief that despite everything, he could contribute in ways that went beyond raw strength. His eyes glinted with determination as if he saw a way forward, one that no one else had considered.

But Phoebe wasn't as convinced. Her expression darkened, and she shot back at him sharply, "Yeah, and you may just find yourself in everlasting pain!" Her words were more of a warning than an argument, and the urgency in her tone was clear as she tried to keep him from making what she feared would be a dangerous decision.

Paige, ever observant, tilted her head slightly and quirked a smile. "That's a rhyme," she pointed out, her voice amused despite the tension in the room.

"Yeah." Phoebe winced, her face twisting in embarrassment as she cringed at her own words. "I'm sorry, now's not the time." She could feel the rhyme slip out of her mouth before she could stop it, but it was the least of her worries now. She groaned, rubbing her temple in frustration, and added with a dramatic sigh, "Oh!"

At the same time, Piper turned her attention toward Cole, her brow furrowing deeply as she considered his suggestion. "Cole," she began, her voice more serious now, "If you go underground, you will be a sitting duck without your powers." Her eyes held concern, the words weighed down by the knowledge of just how dangerous that could be. Her tone softened, a mix of sisterly worry and the responsibility of leadership.

Cole's expression hardened, frustration creeping into his voice as he walked toward Piper, his footsteps deliberate. "I'm a sitting duck up here as well," he countered, his words tinged with annoyance as he stopped just in front of her. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his gesture almost pleading for understanding. "At least this way... I can be useful." He stood tall, his posture straight but clearly conflicted. He wanted to do more, to contribute, but his limitations made him feel powerless in a way that no amount of strategy could fix.

Piper frowned, the weight of his words settling over her, but she quickly swiped his hand from her shoulder with a swift, sharp motion. "You don't have to do this, Cole," she said firmly, her voice a mixture of exasperation and love, even though she couldn't completely hide the hint of frustration that lingered.

Before the air could grow too heavy, Phoebe stepped forward, her gaze softening as she focused on Cole. "Cole," she said, her tone soothing but firm, "You are useful. Alive!" She emphasized the last word with a sense of urgency, stepping closer to him as if to anchor him to the reality of their situation. "It's just that now, you have to be the brains behind the operation, not the brawn." Her words, though meant to reassure him, also carried the weight of the unspoken truth—Cole was needed for his mind, his insight, and his experience.

But Cole wasn't done yet. His frown deepened, and a slight pout tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Well, is there some rule that says I have to choose?" he asked, his voice taking on a childlike whine as though he were trying to lighten the tension with humor, though his frustration was still palpable.

Phoebe, never one to miss a beat, offered him a teasing shrug. "Well, I could make one up," she said with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. "But it would just be a ruse."

As the tension in the room grew thicker, Melody, who had been listening quietly from her place near the back of the room, attempted to step in. "But maybe I should point out that—" she began, but before she could finish her thought, Paige cut her off.

"I think Cole has a point," Paige said, her voice steady as she turned toward her sisters, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding.

"Excuse me!" Phoebe exclaimed, her voice rising in anger as she shot a sharp look toward Paige. Her usual calm demeanor was replaced by a simmering irritation, her hands clenched at her sides as she struggled to contain the frustration boiling inside of her.

"Paige!" Prue warned, her glare directed firmly at her younger sister, the kind of warning that came only when she was at her wit's end with a particular argument. The tension in the room was palpable, each word hanging in the air as the group tried to figure out how to handle the increasingly complicated situation.

Paige, unshaken by the scolding, held up her hands defensively. "Well, he is a demon, right?" she asked, her voice laced with a mixture of defiance and practicality, not backing down from her stance even as the others reacted.

"Was a demon," Phoebe corrected sharply, her teeth gritted as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Her eyes narrowed, her frustration rising at the suggestion that Cole's past might somehow justify his risky plan.

"Before you get anymore—" Melody began, her voice attempting to cut through the growing tension, but before she could finish, Paige interrupted again, her tone firm and resolute.

"No." Paige said, her words sharp like a blade. "He was a half-demon that's probably lived for about a century, so that means he knows his way around 'down there' pretty well." She continued, her voice unwavering as she fought to make her point. "And we can use all the help we can get." Her conviction was clear—this was no time to back down.

"Leo!" Melody cried out desperately, her voice tinged with an undercurrent of frustration. She didn't know how to make them see reason, how to get through to them without escalating the conflict further. Her eyes moved from one face to the next, but it was Leo who stepped in first.

Leo, who had been listening quietly from the top of the stairs, now descended the final step with a slow, deliberate stride. He placed a hand on the banister, his gaze sweeping over the group. "I think what Melody is trying to say is—" he began, but his voice was cut off before he could finish his thought.

"No!" Phoebe snapped, her anger spiking once more. She pointed sharply toward Cole, her hands trembling from the intensity of the moment. "The point is bounty hunters haven't been attacking because they think he's dead!" she cried, her words now coming in rapid succession as she gestured to Cole, frustration pouring out with each word. "If he goes down to the underworld—"

"I'M STILL HERE!" Cole yelled, his voice echoing in the room, a mix of irritation and exasperation.

"Cole!" Prue cried, her voice sharp and filled with anger as she strode toward him with purpose. Her steps were fast, almost as if she were trying to make a point by how swiftly she moved. "If you go underground, and anyone sees you, you will be back on the demonic radar!" she warned, her words cutting through the noise. "Only this time you will not have anything to protect yourself, meaning it will be up to us to save your sorry ass, and I don't want to explain to my wife how I let her brother get killed!" She glared at him with a fierce intensity, her face flushed with the emotions swirling inside her. Her tone was icy, yet underneath it was the unmistakable tremor of concern.

Phoebe, her hands still clenched at her sides, turned toward Cole with a raised eyebrow and a biting remark. "It's starting to seem like you have some kind of a death wish," she said, her voice barely concealing her disappointment and concern. Her gaze locked onto his, and it was clear that she was afraid for him, even if she didn't quite know how to express it without the layers of sarcasm.

"And it seems to me like you won't be happy until I'm wearing an apron and become your houseboy." Cole shot back with a wry smile, his frustration seeping through in his words. He crossed his arms, looking at Phoebe with a mix of annoyance and challenge. His words were sharp, but it was clear that the tension had affected him too. The old dynamics between them were resurfacing—ones that neither of them had fully worked through.

"HEY!" Leo's voice boomed, cutting through the rising tempers. His loud interruption was enough to steal everyone's attention, and the room went quiet instantly, the air still and heavy. "Here is the thing, guys," he said, his tone calmer but still carrying the weight of the conversation. "Every time there is a muse around, passions tend to run a little higher." He paused, looking from one person to the next, as if waiting for them to understand the implications of his words.

"A lot higher." Melody added, her voice softer but just as significant. Her smile was thin, but her words held a subtle weight, suggesting she knew just how intense things could get when emotions were stirred by the muses' influence. She shot a brief, meaningful glance at the group, trying to defuse some of the tension.

"So, let's keep that in mind in our communications with each other, okay?" Leo concluded, his gaze shifting from one face to another, as if to ensure that everyone understood the necessity of keeping their heads in the midst of all the chaos.

Prue, who had been watching the exchange unfold, let out a deep breath, her irritation still lingering but tempered by the practicality of the situation. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly, her voice settling into a calmer tone. She turned toward Phoebe, her eyes softening just slightly. "Phoebe, go write your spell. Piper, the potion, and Paige, go do whatever it is you were going to do." Her instructions were quick, efficient, the kind of decisiveness that Prue had always been known for.

She then turned her gaze to Cole, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. "You are going to join Piper in the kitchen and tell her everything you know about Warlocks, so she can make her potion." Her words were slow, deliberate, as if weighing each one. "Comprendi?" she asked, her voice low and serious.

"What about you?" Paige spoke up, pausing just before she reached the stairs. Her voice was tentative, still unsure of how to move forward from here.

Prue smiled, a hint of mischief in her expression despite the seriousness of the moment. "I am going to supervise Cole," she said with a smirk, and he groaned in response, the sound of frustration mixed with resignation. "Dismissed," she added quickly, her tone lightening as the tension in the room started to dissipate.

With that, the group scattered. Paige and Melody vanished upstairs, Piper headed straight for the kitchen, and Prue followed closely behind her, Cole trailing reluctantly.

As Phoebe made her way slowly up the stairs, her voice floated back to Cole, barely a whisper but still carrying the weight of their history. "We'll talk about this later," he murmured quietly, his voice laden with something unspoken.

"Alligator," Phoebe added without thinking, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. Her tone was more resigned than anything else, and when she heard Cole's frustrated groan behind her, she felt a brief surge of annoyance.

"COLE!" Prue snapped from the kitchen, her voice demanding attention. She didn't even need to look back, knowing that Cole would get the message.

Cole flinched and immediately turned away, his groan escaping once more as he trudged toward the kitchen.

Leo watched the whole interaction with a weary sigh as Phoebe climbed the stairs, his eyes following her retreating figure. He shook his head, suddenly feeling the weight of the day, the tension that still hung in the air.

Piper muttered under her breath, her hands working quickly as she tossed various ingredients into the bubbling pots on the stove, the kitchen filled with the sharp scent of herbs and brewing potion. Her movements were practiced, almost second nature, but the furrow in her brow betrayed her lingering confusion.

"What I don't understand..." she murmured, her fingers deftly measuring out a pinch of something powdery, "...is why a warlock would even want that ring." She flicked a glance at the others before shrugging, the thought still nagging at her. "I mean, what does it even do for them?"

Cole, who had been watching her with mild disinterest, suddenly shot her an incredulous look. His dark brows arched high on his forehead, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Are you kidding?" he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

Piper shook her head, completely serious.

Cole's gaze flickered between Piper, Prue, and Leo, his astonishment growing by the second. "Evil never gets to feel a muse's inspiration," he explained, his voice almost reverent, as though he were still in awe of the experience himself. "I can tell you, I've never felt anything like it in my life." His hands moved animatedly, as if trying to grasp at the right words to describe it.

Leo, intrigued, leaned forward from his chair, his healer instincts kicking in. "What does it feel like?" he asked curiously, his blue eyes intent on Cole.

Cole turned to him, his expression wide-eyed and unguarded, something rare for him. "It—it was like a power surge," he admitted, his voice tinged with both excitement and lingering unease. "An overdose of adrenaline." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to clear the memory of the intoxicating rush. "I can tell you, these warlocks must be sucking it up, so whatever you're doing, please do it fast." His voice dropped slightly, his posture tense as he looked around at them. "Because I promise they'll be back." His words carried a quiet urgency, a reminder that time was slipping through their fingers.

Prue, standing with her arms crossed, let out an amused chuckle at his dramatic delivery, shaking her head with a smirk. His hypercharged energy was oddly entertaining.

Piper, however, scowled at him. "Look, buddy," she snapped, jabbing a wooden spoon in his direction before stirring one of the bubbling pots, "I'm makin' this up as I go along. So power surge or no, you're gonna have to be patient."

Her tone was sharp, but as she turned back to him, her expression softened slightly, her voice taking on a gentler edge. "Just like you're gonna have to be patient with Phoebe on the marriage front," she added, her words landing with intentional weight.

Cole blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topic. His posture stiffened, and he hesitated before answering. "I... I don't think that's any of your business," he replied cautiously, the wariness creeping into his voice.

Piper and Prue froze. Slowly, in perfect sync, they turned their heads toward him, their gazes locking onto him with a razor-sharp intensity that sent a chill down his spine. Their piercing glares were identical—deadly in their quiet expectation.

Leo, sensing the impending trouble, cleared his throat. "You don't know sisters very well, do you?" he asked knowingly, shaking his head.

Cole turned to him; his lips pressed together in a thin line before sighing in reluctant understanding. "Did you forget who my older sister is?" he asked pointedly, giving Leo a look that said he knew exactly what it meant to have overprotective family members.

Leo's expression shifted slightly as realization dawned, and Cole let out another sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Which means Phoebe's happiness is your business," Cole admitted, turning back to face Prue and Piper, his voice begrudging but resigned.

"That's right," Prue agreed smoothly, a knowing smile curling at her lips. "When it comes to a Halliwell, you're not just marrying one, you're marrying us all." Her smile widened mischievously, and Cole instinctively shrank back just a little, feeling suddenly trapped.

Piper immediately elbowed her sharply in the ribs. "Don't say that," she hissed in a hushed tone, her expression one of exasperation. "You'll scare him away."

Prue turned to her, eyebrows raised in question. "Why not? It's true," she argued, then continued in her matter-of-fact tone, "Just like when I married Buffy, I technically married Cole, since he became my brother-in-law. The reverse is true if he marries Phoebe—he'd become yours and my brother-in-law through her, just like I'm his sister-in-law through my marriage to Buffy." She gestured between them as if drawing an invisible family tree in the air.

Piper rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the logic lesson. Instead, she focused back on Cole, her expression turning analytical. "Cole, you're struggling, right?" she asked, already assuming she knew the answer.

Cole hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

"Trying to figure out how to be this new person?" she pressed, her voice steady but not unkind.

Cole let out a nervous laugh, the sound strained. "I thought we were here to talk about warlocks?" he asked desperately, his eyes darting toward Leo as if begging for an escape.

Leo exhaled sharply; his arms crossed over his chest. "No," he answered simply, though there was a note of sympathy in his voice.

Cole's shoulders sagged slightly as he turned his gaze back to Prue and Piper, only to find them both shaking their heads in perfect unison, their expressions identical.

Prue's expression remained firm as she studied Cole, her arms crossed as if physically reinforcing her point. "What you don't get…" she continued, her voice measured but unwavering, "...is that Phoebe is trying to do the exact same thing."

"Exactly." Piper nodded once in agreement, leaning against the counter as she stirred one of the simmering pots. "She's always been the youngest sister, the eternal child, carefree, fun-loving—"

"And?" Cole interjected impatiently, his arms spreading slightly as he urged them to get to the point. His patience was clearly wearing thin, and the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable.

Piper frowned at his interruption, but before she could respond, Leo stepped in, his tone calm yet firm. "And… in a minute, she lost Prue, discovered Paige, and became a big sister," he explained, his gaze steady as he spoke.

The weight of his words seemed to settle in the air like an invisible force. Prue froze, her body going rigid, her arms falling slightly from their crossed position. She inhaled sharply, but said nothing. The reality of it, the sheer truth behind those words, had caught her off guard.

Piper nodded, picking up where Leo left off. "And to top it all off, you proposed." She emphasized the last word, her voice tinged with significance. "The idea of marriage, being that much of a grownup, is terrifying to Phoebe."

Cole's brows furrowed slightly, his lips parting before he asked curiously, "Did she say that?"

Piper shook her head. "No, but she doesn't have to," she replied matter-of-factly. "I'm her big sister. I've known her only—oh—her whole life." She gave Cole a pointed look, as if daring him to challenge her insight. "Just like Buffy has known you your whole life. We big sisters look out for our younger siblings. We see things they don't always say."

Cole exhaled, absorbing the explanation with a conflicted expression, but before he could respond, Prue abruptly cut in, her brow deeply furrowed in utter confusion.

"Whoa." She held up a hand, her voice sharper now. "Can we please go back to the 'death' reference in relation to me?" Her eyes darted between them, incredulity creeping into her tone. "I'm still here," she reminded them, her eyebrows raised as she pointed at herself.

Leo smiled at her, but there was something somber in his expression. "You were dead," he stated gently. "Phoebe found you, and for several long minutes, it looked unlikely that Buffy would get you back." He paused, letting that reality settle in before continuing. "For those minutes, Phoebe felt the pain of losing her sister." His voice softened. "Just like Buffy felt the pain of losing, at the time, her girlfriend."

A thick silence hung between them, the gravity of the words pressing down like an unseen weight.

"That petrified her," Piper said, turning back to Prue with a knowing look. "Both of us." Her voice was quieter now, more contemplative. "Maybe you should talk to Phoebe too."

Prue opened her mouth as if to respond, but nothing came out. She stood there for a long second, lips parted, struggling for words that didn't come. Eventually, she simply closed her mouth, swallowed hard, and nodded once in agreement before shifting her focus back to the bubbling mixture in Piper's pot.

Cole, standing slightly apart from them now, leaned toward Leo and muttered under his breath, "Can I talk to you?" He jerked his head to the side in a silent request.

Leo's eyes flickered toward the sisters, his healer instincts immediately picking up on Cole's underlying urgency. He nodded knowingly, glancing briefly at Prue and Piper to make sure they were sufficiently distracted before following Cole out of the kitchen.

The moment the men were gone, Piper grabbed another handful of ingredients and tossed them into the nearest pot. A second later, an explosion rocked the kitchen.

A thick cloud of vapor burst from the cauldron, sending sparks scattering across the countertop. Both sisters jumped at the sudden blast, Prue instinctively taking a step back while Piper merely blinked at the result. Then, instead of looking alarmed, she smiled proudly, wiping her hands off on a nearby towel.

"See what a little patience will get you?" she said smartly, shooting Prue a smug look.

Prue coughed once, waving her hand in front of her face to clear the lingering smoke. But when she turned to speak to the others, she suddenly realized something—Cole and Leo were gone. Her gaze darted around the room, then landed back on Piper.

"Where'd they go?" she asked, her brow knitting together.

Piper shrugged, glancing toward the doorway. "I dunno," she admitted, though she wasn't entirely concerned. If Leo had gone after Cole, she figured it was probably important.

Meanwhile, outside the kitchen, Cole's voice had dropped to a hushed tone, his hands buried in his pockets as he spoke quietly to Leo.

"I'm asking a favor, Leo," he said, his voice unusually serious. "Man to man."

Leo nodded, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he gave Cole a light punch on the arm. "You want me to talk to Phoebe?" he guessed, assuming Cole was asking for advice on how to navigate the rocky terrain of his relationship.

Cole shook his head, his expression tightening with determination. "I want you to orb me underground."

Leo's smile vanished instantly, replaced by a wary frown. His healer instincts immediately flared in protest. "Cole, that's the inspiration talking," he said, his voice calm but firm. He knew all too well how a muse's presence could push people to reckless extremes.

Cole merely shrugged, unconcerned by the warning. "Maybe so," he admitted, but his eyes burned with conviction. "But think about it, Leo. Their big plan right now is to draw out the warlock." His lips twitched as he fought against an incredulous laugh—and failed.

Leo's frown deepened, his shoulders stiffening at Cole's dismissive tone. "They're the Charmed Ones," he reminded Cole, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "I trust that they know what they're doing." He had seen the sisters overcome impossible odds time and time again—dismissing their strategy so flippantly didn't sit well with him.

Cole exhaled sharply, stepping closer in frustration. "Just listen," he pleaded, his voice low but insistent. "I can't be certain, but I think that warlock used demonic powers."

Leo's skepticism faltered, his healer's mind snapping to attention. "Which means he killed a demon to get them," he murmured, already piecing together where Cole was going with this. "Aren't their laws against that?"

Cole nodded grimly. "It's punishable by death," he confirmed, his tone dropping an octave as he delivered the weight of that statement.

Leo's brow furrowed. His first instinct was to suggest another option, another fighter—someone who could slip into the underworld undetected. "Couldn't Buffy go?"

"She could if she were here," Cole admitted, rubbing his jaw. "But she's not." His expression darkened briefly; frustration evident in his posture. He pushed past it, pressing on. "Now, I know where the demons will convene to discuss this treason," he revealed, eyes gleaming with opportunity. "They probably know by now which warlock is behind it. All we have to do…" He trailed off and then, with calculated ease, threw an arm around Leo's shoulders, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. "…is listen."

Leo sighed, knowing exactly where this was headed.

"And not be seen," he finished dryly, shooting Cole a sidelong look.

Cole grinned, pleased that Leo was keeping up. "Exactly," he confirmed with an easy nod. "We can go now and be back before anybody notices." His tone was deliberately casual, as if sneaking into the underworld undetected was just another errand.

Leo's eyes widened knowingly, a half-laugh of disbelief escaping him. "Oh, they're gonna notice," he corrected, fully aware of the inevitable backlash they were about to invite. His expression turned rueful as he exhaled sharply. "And then they're going to kill me," he concluded, bracing himself for what was to come before orbing them out with Cole in a shimmer of blue light.