“Thank you,” I said quietly. “All of you.”
Bella stepped closer and squeezed my shoulder. “She’s not alone. Neither are you.”
Ardetia inclined her head. “We’ll meet with her tonight. Gently. No pressure.”
Nova smiled, a warmth and reassurance in her expression. “This isn’t about fixing a mistake. It’s about teaching release.”
“Thank you.”
We weren’t outrunning the danger.
We were meeting it with care.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
All I truly, desperately wanted was to get Celeste back to her college campus safe and sound.
Not tomorrow. Not after one more conversation or one more magical complication. I wanted the neat finality of it: her backpack zipped, her classes waiting, the familiar normalcy of dorm halls and coffee shops and syllabi that didn’t involve ancient Wards or accidental transmutation. I wanted her somewhere where the most dangerous thing she’d have to navigate was a pop quiz or a broken printer.
But Stonewick had never cared much for tidy endings, and neither, apparently, had magic.
Because no matter how satisfying it felt, deep down, in a small, uncharitable part of me, to watch my ex-husband hop around as a smug, opinionated amphibian, I knew he couldn’t stay that way forever. Even if some days it felt like karmic poetry. Even if the universe had rarely felt so aligned with my petty inner thoughts.
Someday, Celeste and I would laugh about it. About her first accidental spell. About how her father had briefly been reducedto a ribbit and a set of bulging eyes and belly. It would become a story softened by distance and humor, retold over wine or tea with incredulous headshakes and laughter.
But that day wasn’t today.
Today still felt fragile.
I moved quietly through the Academy, letting my steps slow as the building guided me, as it always seemed to do when I was too close to unraveling. The air warmed subtly as I approached the study off the foyer, the one with the low fire and the deep chairs that encouraged lingering.
And there she was.
Celeste lay curled on the rug near the fire, one knee tucked up, her hair falling loose over her shoulder as she read. The book in her hands was thick and well-loved, its spine cracked in a way that suggested many hands had read it. Magical, undoubtedly. The faint shimmer at the edges of the pages gave it away.
My heart clenched seeing her there. It would be so easy to let her stay.
She looked so at ease and so right, like she belonged here in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.
I lingered at the doorway longer than necessary, watching the firelight flicker across her face, memorizing the moment like I might need it later, before I crossed the room and sat beside her on the rug, close enough that our shoulders brushed.
She looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echoed.
She marked her place with a finger but didn’t close the book.
“I found this one tucked behind a shelf. It’s about early transmutation magic. The accidental kind. It’s sort of funny, actually.”
I snorted. “Of course it is.”
She grinned. “Apparently, turning someone into a goat was very popular for a while.”
“History is wild,” I said.
She laughed softly, then settled again, her expression warm and relaxed, too relaxed. And that was when I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I opened my mouth to speak, but something cold and wet brushed my ankle.
