Marcus came home at noon with a hangdog look and a box of donuts. "Dude. About that spell—"

"The spell wasn't designed for permanence," she whispered. "But I wasn't designed for anything. Except you."

She took my hand. Her palm was warm, but trembling. "Every 'dream girl' spell is a mirror, Leo. You didn't summon a person. You summoned the version of me that lives inside your head. The one who finishes your thoughts, wants what you want, never argues about the thermostat."

That was the problem.

By noon, Nora had finished three of my sentences, laughed at a joke I'd only thought, and cried during a commercial for pet adoption because she felt how much I wanted a dog but was too scared to commit.

"It's fine," I said.

When I woke up, she was already in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, making pancakes.

"What do you mean?"