“It’s louder today,” he admitted. “Like it knows it’s about to get a door slammed in its face.”
“Does it hurt?” I asked, softer.
He hesitated.
“It feels like… standing on the edge of a cliff when the wind wants to push. And knowing some idiot built a bridge that half-remembers how to hold.”
Silence settled for a moment, not uncomfortable, but heavy. The circle sat between us like an extra presence in the bed.
Six hours.
Gideon would be in the Wilds in six hours. The Hollows would be waiting to ensure the vows were kept.
The Wards would be listening. My grandmother in Shadowick would be watching for any crack she could exploit. And we would step, willingly, into a pattern that had eaten better people than us.
“Okay,” I said, peeling my hand from his even though I didn’t want to. “We have choices. I can either lie here cataloguing worst-case scenarios, or I can go shower and wash my face and pretend water fixes things.”
“Water is very powerful,” Keegan said solemnly. “Especially when it’s boiled and poured through coffee grounds.”
“You’re very wise,” I said. “Has anyone told you that?”
“Not this morning,” he said. “But it’s early.”
I slid out of bed before I could talk myself into staying.
My bare feet hit the cool stone floor. The moment I stood, my heartbeat picked up; my body knew before my brain did that today mattered, that whatever happened at the circle would ripple out through everything else—Stonewick, Celeste, my parents, the Academy, even the dragons and their wise non-answers.
The bathroom off my room was small and familiar, the sink basin chipped in one corner, the mirror slightly warped in a way that made my left eyebrow look surprised all the time. I twisted the tap. Water rushed out, cold at first, then warming just enough to be kind.
I splashed my face, watching my reflection blur before I turned on the shower.
Forty-something, tired, more silver at my temples than I’d had last year. My butterfly mark on my hip , faintly glowing now even in ordinary light, like it had given up pretending to be normal. Dark circles under my eyes that could almost match Keegan’s if I tried.
“Okay,” I told myself. “Here’s the plan. We close the circle. We keep everyone breathing. We prevent the high priestess from using us as her personal power strip. We don’t let Gideon be a martyr or a weapon. We do not, under any circumstances, let Twobble handle ceremonial snacks unsupervised.”
The mirror did not answer, which was an improvement over the last mirror-based conversation I’d had, and I stepped into the shower.
“You can do this,” I whispered. “You have done harder things. You raised a teenager.”
Thinking of Celeste eased something and tightened something else at the same time.
She’d texted last night:exam done! might leave tomorrow instead of today. depends on rides. don’t stress. love you.
Don’t stress.
Right.
I pictured her walking into Stonewick, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair piled in its usual messy bun, making some joke about the cottage smelling like garlic and destiny. I wanted that more than I’d let myself admit. Wanted her to see Stella’s tea shop properly, to meet Twobble in his full goblin disaster glory, to sit with my mother, now unapologetically witching, and hear stories I never got.
By the time she got here, the circle would be done.
It had to be.
Fall would be closing in. Or the first fake fall, at least—the one where the air pretends to be crisp before remembering it’s attached to early September and going sticky again.
The Academy would shift from summer session’s worn-out magic to the fresh chaos of a new term. Wards would need tuning. The cottage would need new wards against cold.
We were supposed to be building toward that.
