Something cracked behind me.
I whirled, heart hammering, only to see nothing but shadows layered against the thick trunks. No mule, no Nova, no Ardetia, no curious students trailing after me. Just me, the vines, the mushrooms, and the hush.
I forced myself to breathe.
“You’ve done this before,” I whispered. “You can do it again. Just keep walking.”
The words steadied me enough to keep moving. My sandals brushed through fallen needles, sending the scent of pine spiraling into the air.
The mushrooms brightened, reacting to my steps and glowing faintly in ripples. My magic prickled and sensed patterns that I couldn’t quite read. It was like looking at messages written in spores and light.
The deeper I went, the more wrong it felt. The Wilds weren’t just shifting with summer. They were rewriting themselves.
A fallen log split with new growth and vines spilled like veins over its bark.
A pool of water I didn’t remember gleamed in a hollow, reflecting not the canopy above but something darker, and I hurried past with quickened breath.
Every nerve screamed that I shouldn’t be here. And yet the tug in my chest pulled harder, relentless, drawing me deeper.
The trees closed in tighter, branches woven like fingers, shadows bending in unnatural ways. I brushed against a vine, and it coiled briefly around my wrist before releasing me. I shivered, half from fear, half from wonder.
My heart thundered now, too loud, as though the Wilds might hear it.
I tried to remember the safety of the courtyard, the sound of the students’ laughter, and Twobble’s ridiculous boasting. But those memories felt far away, already slipping like sand through my fingers.
Then I heard it.
A voice.
Low, close, threaded with a character that froze me where I stood.
Maeve.
Again. My heart stopped.
It was only one word, only my name, but it carried weight enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
I spun, scanning the trees, the shadows, the glowing mushrooms, but no one stood there. No silver wolf eyes gleamed. No hulking figure lurked between the trunks. No familiar face peered from the vines.
Only the echo of that voice curling through the hush.
It could have been Malore.
It could have been Gideon.
It could have been Keegan.
My mind clutched all three, with dread and hope twisting into one terrible knot.
The shadows thickened, the mushrooms glowed brighter, and my magic surged up hot and untamed as if preparing to fight or to flee.
But the voice came again, softer this time as it rippled over my skin.
Maeve.
My knees nearly buckled. I gripped the nearest tree to ground me while my heart slammed against my ribs.
I wanted to run. I wanted to answer. I wanted to cover my ears and pretend I hadn’t heard it at all.
