“You’re safer here,” I continued. “Whatever the Priestess plans, she won’t move openly against the Academy, not yet.”
“And your daughter?” he asked softly.
The question was careful and measured, but it still hit like a blade.
“She’s already involved,” I said. “Whether I like it or not.”
The world flickered, and for a moment, we were back in Stonewick, Celeste laughing at the dining table, my dad snoring at my feet, my mother’s quiet strength filling the room.
But Shadowick bled in, and the image darkened.
“I won’t be the reason she’s hurt,” Gideon said.
“You won’t be,” I replied. “You were a factor because you made that choice. This time, you’re making the right choice. There’s a difference.”
He studied me, searching my face for something..
“You trust the Academy that much,” he said.
“I trust that it chooses deliberately,” I answered. “And it chose to let you in.”
The Hollows hummed again, deeper this time.
The dream didn’t loosen the way it should have.
Instead, it tightened.
Gideon’s presence intensified, and the air around him grew brittle as Shadowick dimmed and pulled back, leaving us standing in a narrow space that felt too much like the Priestess’ land and not enough like anywhere safe. The ground beneathus darkened, smooth stone veined with faint, crawling light and dead leaves surrounding our feet.
“No,” he said.
The word landed hard.
I straightened instinctively. “No? No, what?”
“I’m not staying,” Gideon continued, his voice firm and resolved in a way that prickled along my spine. “I’ll leave in the morning before the Academy awakens and before the priestess takes notice.”
“That isn’t for you to decide,” I said immediately.
His mouth curved into a familiar smile, knowing.
“There it is,” he murmured. “That certainty. That belief you get to manage outcomes.”
Something twisted in my chest. “This isn’t about control.”
“It never is,” he said lightly. “Not to you.”
The grounds hummed faintly as we moved to the Hollows, its presence distant but attentive.
I felt the Hedge respond to the shift between us, the way it always did when things tilted toward conflict.
“You’re being reckless,” he said. “Staying here paints a target on Stonewick. On your daughter. On you.”
“And leaving makes you easier to take,” I shot back. “You said it yourself.”
His eyes flashed. “I can handle myself.”
“Can you?” I asked. “Because last time—”
