“I don’t like this,” I said.
“I know,” he replied softly.
“And I don’t trust you,” I added, because honesty demanded it.
He didn’t flinch. “You shouldn’t.”
That answer didn’t reassure me. It only complicated everything.
“So that’s it?” I asked. “You leave. You disappear again. You decide on your own what’s best for everyone.”
His mouth curved into something that might have been regret.
“I decide what’s best for you,” he said. “For your daughter.”
“And what about what’s best for you?” I asked.
For a moment, he looked almost tired.
“That stopped being the question a long time ago.”
I was about to argue about recklessness, about sacrifice, and about the cost of martyrdom, when I felt it.
The shift in the air and the subtle tightening of magic behind me.
Before I could turn, a familiar presence settled behind me. The sensation roiled over me, solid and grounding in a way that immediately eased some of the tension coiled in my chest.
“Interesting hour for a philosophy lesson,” Keegan said quietly.
I turned to find him standing a few paces away, arms crossed and expression unreadable but alert.
Stella stood just beyond him, wrapped in her shawl, eyes assessing as they flicked between Gideon and me. Nova hovered near the doorway, staff in hand, her gaze distant as if she were already mapping unseen threads. Ardetia lingered at her side, calm and watchful, the faint shimmer of fae light tracing her silhouette. My dad sat squarely in the corridor, bulldog form planted and immovable, while Twobble peeked out from behind Stella’s knee, eyes bright with curiosity and suspicion in equal measure.
“Well,” Stella said dryly, breaking the silence. “I see no one is sleeping.”
Gideon glanced at the assembled group, something unreadable crossing his face before he schooled it away. The moment stretched, heavy with unspoken decisions.
I stood there, caught between distrust and worry, between wanting him gone and fearing what would happen if he left, knowing with aching certainty that whatever choice came next would ripple outward in ways none of us could fully predict.
Chapter Fifteen
Twobble broke the tension by gasping as if someone had just suggested arson over tea.
“Oh no,” he said loudly. “Absolutely not. He isnotteaching at this fine establishment.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
He pointed an accusatory finger across the room at Gideon, then swept his arm wide to encompass the space around us.
“I will not have the former controller of Shadowick lecturing impressionable minds on anything. Especially not here. Especially not in—” He stopped short, squinted, and sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh, no.”
I followed his gaze at last, really looked around instead of letting the room fade into the background of my anxiety.
The chalkboard.
The wide practice floor.
The faded diagrams etched into the walls, all wards and counter-curses and carefully annotated warnings.
