The town of Pinegrove woke up loud.

Church bells chimed from two directions at once, someone revved an engine like they were challenging the sunrise, and a dog barked so hard its collar tags clinked in rhythm. Downtown was only two blocks from the high school, and by 8:00 a.m. the corner café already had its screen door propped open, letting out the smell of cinnamon and grease. The whole place pulsed like a living thing—small, but not sleepy.

Magic lingered in the air in this otherwise normal town.

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