If the two academies are connected in ways I never understood...
"Academy of the Wicked," I whisper, the pattern becoming clear, "and Deathshire Academy."
Gabriel's smile confirms what I'm beginning to piece together.
"Two sides of one coin," he whispers, turning to face the vista before us with something like satisfaction in his expression. The golden gates gleam brighter, as if responding to the revelation—ancient magic recognizing the moment when hidden truths finally surface.
"Mother clearly had a darker amusing viewpoint of the world of the wicked," he murmurs, and there's fondness beneath the words despite everything Elena has done to corrupt our mother's memory. The woman who created these institutions,who conceived of twin academies that would mirror each other across dimensions—she was complicated in ways I'm only beginning to appreciate.
"And Dad..." Gabriel's smirk grows. "Well, Deathshire holds its reputation, it seems."
The relief that washes through me is profound enough to weaken my knees.
He'll be okay.
Genuinely okay.
Not just surviving but actually living, in a place that was designed to receive him, with people who will support his journey forward.
But the tears come anyway.
They track down my cheeks with the particular heat of emotions too large to contain, falling onto the silver-gold grass beneath our feet where they glow briefly before being absorbed. This dreamscape allows them after all—perhaps because they're not entirely sad, perhaps because relief and grief can coexist in the same expression.
"So Nikki's with you," I manage, the words half-statement and half-question.
Gabriel's face transforms into a pout so dramatic it borders on theatrical, his attempt to hide the truth so obvious that it circles back around to confirmation. He looks like a child caught with stolen sweets, all exaggerated innocence that fools absolutely no one.
The sight makes me laugh despite the tears—or perhaps because of them, emotions tangling together in ways that defy simple categorization.
But the laughter fades as other emotions surface.
Guilt.
Shame.
The particular weight of wrongs I can never fully undo.
I lower my head, unable to meet his eyes as the confession builds in my throat.
"Please apologize on my behalf," I whisper, and the words carry the particular rawness of vulnerability I rarely allow myself. "I treated her cruelly. No matter if our world is destined for wickedness... I was angry. Emotionless. Rude... and I should have done better in supporting her, especially with the trauma at hand."
The admission costs me more than I expected—each word a blade I'm turning against my own chest, every syllable an acknowledgment of failures I can't take back.
"I couldn't really decipher between her entity and Nikolai," I continue, forcing myself to complete the confession even as it threatens to break me. "And I won't deny there's a clear bias there because Idolove Nikolai... but I don't think my heart could have loved Nikki the way you do."
The silence that follows feels like judgment—though I know that's my own guilt projecting, know that Gabriel has never been the type to condemn without understanding.
I lift my head.
Gabriel issmiling.
Not the smirk I've grown accustomed to, not the playful grin that accompanies our verbal sparring. This is something deeper—a smile that reaches his eyes and makes them shine with light that seems to come from within rather than from the impossible twilight surrounding us. His entire face has transformed into an expression of such genuine warmth that it steals my breath.
He reaches for me, hands cupping my cheeks with gentleness that contrasts sharply with the roughness of his calloused palms. His thumbs trace across my cheekbones, wiping away tears I can barely feel through the emotional dampening, leaving trails of warmth in their wake.
"I know your heart, Gwenievere."
His voice carries certainty that brooks no argument.
