My stomach dropped.
“No,” I whispered, my steps quickening. “No, no, no.”
The room was empty.
The bed hadn’t been slept in. The blankets lay smooth and undisturbed, as though they’d been prepared for someone who never arrived. There was no lingering warmth or, more fitting to Gideon, no shadow residue. No sense of recent presence at all.
Panic hit fast and sharp as I spun, scanning the corridor, thoughts tumbling over one another.
He’d said he wasn’t staying.
He’d said he’d leave. And after that dream, after realizing something else might have been speaking through him…
I sucked in a breath and forced myself to slow.
Think, Maeve.
The Academy wouldn’t have let him simply walk out. Not unnoticed. Not after tonight. The Wards would’ve flared around the village. Someone would’ve felt it.
Unless…
My chest tightened.
The dragons.
What if he’s searching for the hidden?
The thought came unbidden, cold and unwelcome, sliding straight down my spine. The Academy’s deepest secret. The myth was buried so thoroughly that even most magic folk dismissed it as legend. Elira had known. I knew. Very few others did, and I didn’t know who they could be.
And there should be no way to reach them, no corridors, no obvious doors, and no access without invitation.
Still, fear propelled me forward.
I turned and started moving faster, searching methodically at first—side halls, empty sitting rooms, stairwells that coiledupward and downward like thought made stone. The Academy shifted subtly as I moved, corridors lengthening, corners arriving sooner than expected, as if it were testing my intent.
“Gideon,” I called softly once, then stopped myself.
Calling his name felt like an invitation, and I wasn’t certain who, or what, might answer.
The classrooms came next.
I peeked in to see desks aligned neatly, chalkboards wiped clean, magic tucked away as if in careful repose, waiting patiently for the teachers to come back in a few days. I peered into rooms devoted to herb lore, Ward theory, and elemental balance. Nothing.
The deeper I went, the quieter it became.
I reached the older wing without realizing it. It was the one Elira had always called temperamental. The Academy didn’t guide students here unless it had reason, and it hadn’t housed formal lessons in these rooms for decades, but that was when I felt it.
Goosebumps fleshed over me.
I walked down a narrow corridor where the lanterns burned brighter, and the air was warmer. The door at the end of the hall stood closed, with faint symbols etched into the wood. They were ancient, but I recognized them from a selection the book sprites gave me months ago. The markings weren’t meant to Ward darkness so much as face it.
I stopped short when I read the plaque beside it.
Practical Applications: Confronting the Dark Arts
Of course.
A reluctant breath of amusement escaped me, cutting through the fear like a thin blade of humor.
