My grandma straightened in her chair. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to do that?”
Nova’s eyes didn’t waver. “It’s not about being safe. It’s about necessity. And she won’t be alone.”
“I should’ve seen this coming,” I said, voice thick. “All this magic returning, of course, he’d feel it. Of course, he’d find a way back through me. I’m so worried the Academy chose wrong.”
Nova’s grip tightened just slightly. “Then it’s time we stop looking over our shoulders and start facing the direction the danger’s coming from.”
She gave me a small nod, tugging gently at my hand. “Come with me. My classroom is perfect. It’s time we find answers.”
I looked at my grandma. Her jaw was tight, her eyes lined with worry, but she gave a slow nod. “Go. But come back.”
I nodded, my heart thudding so loud that it filled my ears.
Nova turned toward the door, still holding my hand like I might bolt if she let go.
We left the hearth and the safety of flickering firelight behind.
And we walked into the unknown.
Nova didn’t rush me.
She never did. That was one of the reasons I trusted her with the parts of myself I didn’t even like to name.
We walked through the winding hall in silence. The air shifted as we went, the sconces lighting themselves one by one.The Academy’s halls knew Nova. They warmed for her, softened. It felt a little more alive when she passed through, confirming it wanted her here.
I followed just behind, my boots barely making a sound, as my fingers tingled from the cold outside. Or maybe it was the fear. It was hard to tell the difference now.
When Nova reached the door to her classroom, she placed her hand flat against the wood. Just a moment of stillness. A breath shared between her and the space she’d made her own. Then she pushed it open.
The calm hit me like a wave.
The room was warm in that living way with simmering herbs hanging from overhead beams, smoke curling faintly from the corner brazier. There were no hard edges here, no harsh lines. Everything was rounded, softened by time and intention. A place made for healing. For knowing. For seeing.
Crystals sat in gentle clusters on every surface, glowing faintly, humming just enough to feel their presence even before I saw them. The shelves were crowded with jars and bundles, chalk and quills, feathers and bones. No order, not to the untrained eye. But Nova knew where everything was. Her chaos had a rhythm.
“Sit,” she said gently, nodding toward the window seat. “Breathe. Let yourself settle.”
I obeyed.
The window seat was wide and deep, layered with old cushions in every shade of moss and lavender. As I sank into them, the scent of crushed herbs greeted me with sage, lemon balm, something darker beneath.
My bones let go a little. Not much. Just enough.
Outside, the Butterfly Ward stretched across the landscape. From this angle, I could see the full curve of the arch. The color in the stone had almost entirely faded. The ground beneath the boundary was patchy with frost, but the cold didn’t make the garden look dead. It was the absence.
That shimmer, always faint but undeniably there, was gone.
Even from here, I could feel its hollowness like a smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes.
Nova followed my gaze. Her mouth drew into a quiet line.
“It really has lost its brilliance,” she said.
I nodded, pressing my palm to my hip again. The ache was there. Not sharp, but ever-present.
“But we’ll get it back,” she added. “That kind of light doesn’t just vanish. It wilts.”
Her words caught in my chest. I didn’t know if she was right. But she said it with such certainty that part of me, just the smallest part, believed her.
