“I am deeply offended,” Twobble snapped. “He’s amphibious and smug. You can be one or the other but not both.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
I stiffened, already knowing who it would be before he stepped into view.
Gideon.
He looked more himself now, cleaned up, posture settled, the edge of exhaustion giving way to that familiar, watchful calm. His gaze swept the hall, registering the tension, the gathered faces, and then dropped—
To the toad.
One brow lifted.
Celeste gasped.
She stepped back so fast she nearly lost her footing, her heel coming down inches from her father’s head.
“Oh my gosh,” she breathed. “It’s him.”
Gideon stopped immediately, hands lifting in a clear, instinctive gesture of non-threat.
“Easy,” he said. “I’m not here for you.”
Her eyes never left him. “You tried to hurt my mom.”
“I did,” he said plainly.
“And me.”
“Yes.”
The toad croaked loudly, startled by the sudden movement.
Celeste’s breath came fast. I moved to her side without thinking, my hand finding her shoulder, solid and grounding.
“I should’ve told you more,” I murmured. “About him. About all of this.”
She nodded stiffly.
Gideon held her gaze, something unreadable passing through his expression.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and for whatever it was worth, the words weren’t hollow.
Celeste didn’t respond. She just leaned into me slightly, and I wrapped an arm around her, realizing with a sudden ache that no matter how much normal I’d wanted for her, her life was never going to be untouched by this world.
Magic didn’t ask permission.
It recognized its own.
Stella stepped forward, breaking the tension with the authority of someone who’d seen many awkward magical meetings and survived all of them.
“Well,” she said briskly, clapping her hands once. “This explains a great deal. Your daughter has teeth.”
Celeste blinked. “That’s not comforting.”
Stella smiled, approving. “It is if you learn how to use them.”
The Academy hummed softly around us, as if in agreement.
