I nodded, though the truth was more complicated than that. “I will be.”
We turned and began walking again. The corridor stayed open ahead of us without resistance, the stairs remained solid beneath our feet, and the Academy was calm for now.
But I knew this wasn’t the end of anything.
It was just the pause before the next move.
Chapter Seventeen
Morning arrived softly, as if the Academy itself had decided no one needed to be rushed after the night we’d had. Or more accurately, the early morning.
Sunlight filtered through tall windows in pale ribbons, warming the stone and coaxing the halls awake at a leisurely pace. The usual early stirrings were absent. No hurried footsteps. No murmured debates drifting from kitchen sprites. Even the Academy’s hum felt lower, drowsier, like it had chosen to sleep in along with the rest of us.
Celeste and I wandered into the sitting room together, both of us still half-wrapped in that fragile fog between sleep and waking. She wore one of my old sweaters, the sleeves too long, her hair pulled into a loose knot that spoke of comfort rather than effort. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed these small, ordinary moments until they were suddenly back in my life.
A low table had been set in the center of the room by thoughtful, unseen hands. Scones still warm, their edges golden and flaky. There were small dishes of jam and honey. An electric teapot steamed gently beside a pair of mugs, one already filledwith something strong enough to make Stella proud. The scent alone made my shoulders drop.
“Well,” Celeste said, blinking at the spread. “Either the Academy’s apologizing or it’s bribing us.”
“Possibly both,” I replied, smiling despite myself.
We settled onto the sofa, the cushions sighing beneath us. I poured tea while Celeste reached for a scone. She broke it open with the care of someone who’d been eating crappy campus food for too long.
But as she took a second bite, Celeste stiffened.
I followed her gaze just in time to see Gideon pass the open doorway, moving down the corridor with quiet purpose. He didn’t look in. Didn’t slow. He was simply… there.
Her shoulders tightened instantly.
“He’s still here?” she asked.
There was no alarm in her voice. Just disbelief edged with tired anger.
I set my mug down and nodded. “Yes.”
Her jaw clenched. “Why?”
“Not by our choice,” I said gently. “Last night the Academy made it very clear that, for whatever reason, it wanted him here.”
Celeste turned toward me, frustration flashing across her face.
“So why does that matter?” she asked. “Shouldn’t our safety matter more?”
The question landed hard because it was the right one to ask.
I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I pulled her into a hug, pressing my cheek to the top of her head, breathing her in. She leaned into me without hesitation, the way she always had, and the familiarity of it steadied me.
“It does matter,” I said softly. “Your safety matters more than anything to me.”
“Then why let him stay?” she pressed.
I leaned back just enough to look at her, meeting her eyes honestly.
“Because I have to believe the Academy understands more than we do.”
She frowned. “That’s a lot of faith in a building.”
I smiled faintly. “I know. But this is the same Academy that opened its doors when everyone thought it never would. That woke itself up when it was supposed to be dormant. That found professors when no one was even looking for them.”
