For the first time in hours, the corner of Keegan’s mouth lifted into a faint smile. It was weary, wry, but real. The worry in his gaze eased just slightly.
I let out a shaky breath, gratitude warming my chest. Leave it to my dad to disarm a room with nothing more than his blunt humor.
But it also made me realize how badly I needed to step out. To breathe. To move before the weight of Keegan’s plea and my father’s attempt at levity buried me whole.
“I should go,” I said quickly, rising from the edge of the bed. “There’s… work to do.”
Keegan’s eyes followed me, unreadable now. He didn’t argue.
I slipped toward the door, the air heavy with everything unsaid.
But I wasn’t alone. Ardetia fell into step behind me, her long fingers brushing her sleeves smooth, her silver eyes sharp as they fixed on me. We walked the hallway in silence until the hum of the Wards quieted enough for her voice to cut through.
“You’re running on empty,” she said plainly. “You must stop and eat something.”
I frowned, though the concern in her tone softened me. “I don’t have time to sit at a table and chew bread.”
“You don’t have time not to.” She stopped, turning me with a hand on my arm. Her expression wasn’t fierce or commanding, just… steady. “I’ve seen witches burn themselves hollow. Fire without fuel only smolders. You’re close to smoldering, Maeve. And do you know what happens after that?”
“No.”
“They just poop out.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Is that the technical term?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
I let out a sigh, weary and reluctant. “Fine. Something quick.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Good. The kitchen sprites will be pleased. They made extra honey bread.”
And though the shadows still pressed against the Academy windows, though Gideon lay restless across town and Keegan’s mother stalked somewhere unseen, I let her lead me toward the scent of food. Just for a moment.
Because even warriors needed to eat before the next battle.
The banquet hall buzzed with a warmth I’d missed.
Lanterns strung along the beams flickered as their glow caught on crystal goblets and polished silverware. Voices echoed through the vaulted space. Midlife witches compared notes, laughed loudly, and reminded me that this Academy wasn’t just a fortress against shadows. It was also, in its own way, a sanctuary.
The moment I stepped in, several familiar figures waved me over. Lady Limora, all poise and grace with her violet shawl; Vivienne, still flushed from excitement about her new spellwork; Opal, already balancing two plates in her hands; and Mara, smiling warmly though her hair was slightly mussed from whatever classroom escapade she’d just come from.
They practically rushed me, their plates of food wobbling like Jello on trays.
“There you are!” Lady Limora exclaimed, eyes glittering as she took in my face. “Darling, you look stressed. Like the walking dead.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, covering my mouth with one hand. “Why does everyone keep telling me that? Do I really look that bad?”
“Yes,” Mara said flatly, though the twinkle in her eyes softened it.
“Positively dreadful,” Vivienne added cheerfully.
Opal leaned close, conspiratorial. “But in a glamorous way. Like one of those gothic heroines who walks through stormy castles with her gown trailing dramatically.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “If only I had the gown.”
They laughed with me, the sound bright enough to momentarily drown out the storm rumbling above the Wards.
“Stella, Twobble, and Skonk are attending to their duties,” Lady Limora confirmed. “But Stella did send me over to bring back some honey bread. I think she’s worried Twobble might start gnawing on her.”
