“Majestically flailing,” Twobble corrected. “There will be form.”
Keegan choked. Stella patted his back for the drama of it.
Nova stepped closer, staff tapping lightly on the stone. “You are about to stand in a circle with Gideon, your father, Keegan, and a realm that doesn’t know whether to love you or eat you,” she said, calm as tea. “You’re also going to be negotiating with a woman who has spent her life looking down on the world.” Her eyes softened. “You’ve spent yours grounding other people. Holding ground is wonderful. But there will be moments when the only way through is over.”
“That’s what bridges are for,” I said weakly.
“What happens when the bridge is gone?” Nova asked. “When the path breaks under you, and the hunger is licking at the edges, and the only safe place is three yards up, where nothing is eating?”
“Then I die,” I said. “Which is why we don’t break the bridges.”
Skonk shook his head. “Terrible plan. You’re all potential and no mechanics.”
“Do not call my life mechanics,” I said.
“We’re not asking you to sprout wings and join the local goose migration,” Nova said, and the wicked little curve returned to her mouth. “We’re adding one tool to your belt. One option. One moment where, if the world collapses under your feet, you can say,Not today,and go up instead of down.”
I hated how reasonable that sounded. “And you think this won’t pull me away from the parts of myself that need ground?”
“The Hedge is still yours,” Nova said. “Roots don’t stop being roots because a branch learns how to bend toward the sky.”
“Poetry,” Twobble sighed. “I approve.”
Behind Nova, a shimmer moved in the Ward—silver light in the shape of something too large and too graceful to be fully human. The butterflies pulled back along the archway like a curtain parting.
The Silver Wolf stepped through.
Even in her human form, Keegan’s mother carried the echo of her other shape, shoulders straight, movements precise, power worn like a cloak. Silver threaded her dark hair at the temples, and her eyes, wolf-pale and knowing, scanned the steps, fining in on me with disconcerting directness.
“Hello, Maeve,” she said. Her voice was lower than I expected, with a warmth that made me nervous because I didn’t feel I’d earned it.
“Hi,” I said. “We’ve upgraded from curses to flight plans, apparently.”
She smiled, faint and dangerous. “Good. The sky is less treacherous than certain men and women on the ground.”
Keegan made a noise halfway between a cough and a laugh.
“You’re on their side too?” I asked her, a little plaintive.
The Silver Wolf considered me the way she might consider a young wolf trying to decide whether to jump a stream. “I am on the side of my son not breaking himself trying to keep you from falling,” she said. “He can only jump so far. If he knows you can meet him halfway, he will sleep better. So will I.”
That landed in a place I didn’t have shields for.
Twobble clasped his hands in delight. “See? Parental blessing. This is practically a cultural rite.”
“I hate this,” I said.
“I know,” Keegan said, his voice warm at my side. “You hated the idea of coming to Stonewick, too.”
“I did not,” I said.
“You did,” he said gently. “You came anyway.”
“And look how that turned out,” Twobble said. “Headmistress. Friends. Secret rites. Questionable romantic choices.”
“Hey,” Keegan said.
“Not you,” Twobble said quickly. “Other choices. Lesser choices.”
