Keegan’s hands settled on my shoulders, and he leaned in just enough that his breath brushed my ear.
“I don’t like this one bit,” he murmured.
I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze, and smiled even though the tension hadn’t loosened in my chest.
“Agreed,” I said softly. “But apparently it’s not our choice.”
The Academy hummed beneath our feet as if it had heard us and found that amusing.
Twobble planted himself a few steps away and folded his arms over his chest, his mouth pinched into a deep frown.
“Well,” he said loudly, “now that I feel like the Academy has stuffed us into an inescapable escape room, I’d like to point out something we all seem very willing to gloss over.”
No one interrupted him. That alone told me how tightly wound everyone was.
“Gideon cursed Frank,” Twobble continued, ticking it off on his fingers. “He cursed Keegan. He cursed the entire town. Hemeddled with things that had teeth and consequences, and the man didn’t lose any sleep over it at the time. So, forgive me if I’m not ready to braid his hair and ask him what his feelings are.”
Keegan’s hands tightened on my shoulders to let me know he felt the weight of that truth, too.
“He’s not a nice guy,” Twobble said flatly. “And sure, it’s great the Academy is suddenly holier than thou, but I’m not. If he’s staying, I want proof he’s not going to curse any of us again.”
I let out a small breath that was half a laugh, half a release of tension.
“That seems like a fair request,” I said, nodding toward Twobble. “Very fair.”
But even as I said it, my chest tightened.
Twobble wasn’t being dramatic. He was scared. His eyes darted from Gideon to Keegan to me and back again, sharp and quick, like he was measuring distances and exits that no longer existed. For all his bluster, Twobble had always trusted Stonewick to make sense, to follow rules even when they were strange.
This didn’t feel like that.
This felt… cruel.
The Academy blocking corridors, sealing walls, and making stairs vanish all carried the unsettling weight of inevitability. I understood the idea of redemption. I even believed people could change. I’d been all for redemption until it involved the people I loved. Beingforcedinto proximity with someone like Gideon, who’d caused real harm, didn’t feel like mercy or grace. It felt like a test no one had agreed to take, and that hurt more than Iwanted to admit. Because my job was to listen to the Academy and to protect those I loved.
Gideon, who’d been staring at the empty space where the stairs had been, finally turned.
He didn’t look angry.
He looked resigned.
He took a few slow steps forward, stopping well short of anyone else, and lifted his chin slightly as if addressing the room, but I had the distinct impression he was speaking to something else entirely.
“I’m flattered,” he said evenly, his voice carrying in the narrow corridor, “that the Academy finds me worth keeping.”
The hum beneath our feet shifted, deepening.
“But this isn’t a kindness,” Gideon continued. “It’s a liability.”
Keegan shifted behind me, his hands fell away from my shoulders, and his posture shifted instinctively and protectively.
“I have unfinished business,” Gideon went on, his gaze unfocused now, as though he were looking past us, past the stone walls and wards and stubborn architecture. “Things that won’t remain unresolved simply because I choose to sit quietly in a classroom and behave.”
I swallowed.
“Until that business is dealt with,” he said, “anyone near me becomes collateral. Stonewick. The Academy. You.”
His eyes flicked briefly to me.
