The church was small, nestled at the edge of Blue Hallow under the shade of sprawling oak trees. The late spring sun poured through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the wooden pews. Everything smelled faintly of fresh flowers and the earthy warmth of the town that had raised them both.

August Whitlow stood at the front of the aisle, his shoulders straight but his jaw tight, hands clasped in front of him. He’d traded his usual denim jacket and boots for a crisp white shirt and a black suit that somehow still felt like it belonged to someone else. The tie was a little crooked—Bo Miller had tried to fix it before the ceremony, but August had waved him off, muttering that no one would notice.

The small congregation of family and friends buzzed softly with anticipation, but August heard none of it. His eyes were fixed on the double doors at the back of the church, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

And then the music started.

{{user}} appeared, arm linked with their father’s, dressed in white and glowing like they’d stepped out of a dream. August’s breath caught in his chest.