The women around us wasted no time.
Lady Limora leaned forward, eyes bright as emeralds. “So you’re Maeve’s mother. I must say, you’ve kept us all in suspense. Do you haveany ideawhat your daughter’s been through these past months?”
Opal clapped her hands together. “She’s been magnificent, absolutely magnificent! You must be proud.”
Vivienne, never one to be left behind, leaned across the table. “And your robes! Simply divine. Did you weave those yourself? Oh, tell me everything.”
They crowded closer, their voices overlapping, as questions and admiration tumbled in a cascade of chatter. My mom’s expression flickered between startled and amused, but she seemed to soften under the attention. For once, she didn’t deflect. She let them talk, nodding, smiling, answering in her calm, steady way.
And as I watched, something inside me unknotted. Seeing her like this, comfortable, even radiant in her own skin, was a kind of balm I needed.
Maybe someday, Celeste would see that in me.
I rose quietly, circling behind her. When she glanced up, I leaned down and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She stiffened for the barest moment, then melted into the embrace, her hands reaching up to press against mine.
For all our history, for all the secrets and silence, she was still my mother.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered, my voice catching.
She tilted her head back to meet my eyes, and for the first time since I was a child, her gaze carried no distance, no hidden wall. “So am I.”
That nearly undid me.
I kissed her temple, straightened, and forced myself to step away. The warmth of her presence lingered, but I couldn’t stay. Not tonight.
“I’ll leave you to the stories,” I said lightly, patting Lady Limora’s hand as she all but leaned across the table with another eager question. “Keep her entertained for me.”
“Oh, darling, we intend to, but first I must deliver food to Stella,” Lady Limora explained, her eyes glittering with mischief.
My mother laughed softly, the sound threading through the hall, and I carried it with me as I turned and slipped away.
Because while they surrounded her with chatter and admiration, I had work to do.
Plans to make.
If my mother could step through the Academy gates, then so could the Silver Wolf. And that was what Stonewick needed most, not whispers, not shadows circling at the edges, but her.
How to entice her, though? That was the puzzle. Wolves didn’t come when called. They came when the pull was undeniable.
I knew what I wanted: to see her stride through these halls, fierce and unyielding, a living answer to the curse’s laughter. To see Keegan’s face when he realized he wasn’t as alone as he thought. To show Stonewick that even those who had fled could return and stand again.
But I also knew the risk. To invite her was to invite every choice she’d made, every scar she carried. She might bring salvation, or she might bring an ending.
Still, as I slipped out of the hall and into the dim corridor, the weight of my decision pressed against me with certainty.
I would find a way to call her.
And if the Silver Wolf answered, Stonewick might change forever.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The library was hushed when I entered. It was as if the book sprites knew I needed a minute.
I rubbed the tiredness from my eyes and tried to shake the heaviness from my chest.
If there was anywhere to find even the thinnest thread about reuniting, or about shifters at all, it was here. The library always seemed to know what I needed, though it had a mischievous way of testing how patient you were willing to be before it gave in.
I hadn’t even reached the first table when the book sprites noticed me.
