My heart kicked harder than necessary. “Dangerous habit.”
“Worth it,” he said.
We were quiet again, but it wasn’t the heavy kind this time. It was comfortable yet slightly charged, exactly what I needed.
Because somewhere inside the Academy, the toad ribbited loudly.
Keegan winced. “Romantic.”
I laughed, leaning my shoulder briefly into his. “Welcome to my life.”
He bumped me back, gentle and deliberate. “Wouldn’t trade it.”
I believed him, and standing there, watching the leaves scatter and the Academy glow with quiet purpose, I realized that as strange as my world had become, there were moments that made it feel not just survivable, but rich with wonder.
And that, somehow, felt like magic too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Twobble scrambled out of the Academy doors like he’d been launched, nearly missing the last step, with boots skidding on stone, hat crooked, and coat flapping behind him as if it were trying to keep up.
He caught himself on the railing with a sharp curse, then bolted straight toward us, eyes wide and unblinking in a way I’d only ever seen when something had gone very wrong underground.
“Maeve,” he shouted. “Maeve, we’ve got trouble.”
The shift was instant. Whatever warmth lingered between Keegan and me evaporated, replaced by that familiar, coiled readiness. Keegan straightened, his body going still in a way that had nothing to do with relaxation. I was already moving toward Twobble, my heart beginning to pound.
“What happened?” I asked.
Twobble skidded to a stop, bent forward with his hands on his knees, sucking in air like he’d run the entire length of the goblin tunnels without stopping.
“The UnderLoom,” he said. “It’s active.”
That word hit differently than alarm ever could.
The UnderLoom wasn’t a bell or a Ward or some polite magical warning system. It was the goblin underground itself with a web of passages, pressure lines, stone-sense, and living awareness beneath Stonewick and even Shadowick. Goblins lived in it, listened through it, and felt the world’s weight shift long before anything reached the surface.
“Active how?” I asked carefully.
Twobble straightened slowly, and the humor that usually lived just under his skin was completely gone.
“Movement.”
Keegan crossed his arms. “Define movement.”
“Large-scale,” Twobble said. “Tracked across multiple tunnel branches and enough to wake the deeper listeners.”
My stomach tightened.
“Could it be the vampires? Maybe more coming?” I asked, glancing toward the Academy steps where clusters of shawl-draped women stood talking quietly, unbothered, unhurried.
Twobble shook his head immediately. “No.”
The word landed heavily.
“No?” I echoed.
“No,” he repeated, firmer now. “The UnderLoom knows vampires. They’ve walked those tunnels for centuries. Their presence slides. This doesn’t. This is a pounding.”
