“Yes, thank you. I am okay.”
She squeezes my arm.
Fred joins us, smiling. “I have to go,” she says. “But before that”—her gaze sharpens—“I already know what you are going to say about the notes, Harper. We are family, so of course you will give us the magic to send them.”
I blink, then smile. “Of course. What a good idea.”
The magic already rests in them, but I nudge it anyway.
“You will be able to send magic notes to anyone you want to,” I say. “Just focus on the message and picture the recipient in your mind. This is pure magic at its finest—impossible to intercept. Thank you again for coming,” I add. “I am still a little shocked that you did.”
My thoughts drift: brick and tile, perfect grass and flowers, the long, silent years shattered by these women.
Monsters, treaties, councils, wars—such threats will return. There will be more spells, more crises, more peoplewho think ‘abomination’ is a reasonable word for someone different, someone who survived.
But next time, I do not need to stand alone.
Friends who stride into the Sector Assembly and lay their loyalty down like a gauntlet—that is no small gesture. It is immense.
They hug me, and I hug them back.
Beryl promises to see me soon. I must speak with her about what the ley line did to my magic—perhaps, with experimentation, we can return her to human form or grant Beryl peace. But those are conversations for another day.
I slip away. I need some fresh air.
The corridors are quiet, and my footsteps are muffled by yet more enchanted carpet. Two guards glance up as I pass, then look away, expressions carefully blank. No one stops me; diplomatic immunity, it seems, is good for something.
A glass door leads to a terrace garden. I push through and step into cool air.
It is almost dawn. The sky over Unity Gate is a pale grey-blue, the eastern rim bruised pink. Low shrubs edge the terrace, clipped into obedient shapes. Planters brim with white flowers that glow beneath the ward-lights, and a narrow bench curves along the wall.
I sink onto it and let my shoulders finally sag.
The silence feels strange. Inside, everyone is still arguing; out here, the only sounds are the hush of vents and the distant rumble of aircraft from the Unity Gate airport.
I stare at my hands. They look steady.
They are not.
You told them—everything that mattered. You did not let Lander take the fall.
It should feel like relief. I should be proud. Instead, I feel hollowed out, scraped clean.
A dark blur flashes past the corner of my eye. A moment later, claws grip my shoulder through the silk and a familiar weight settles there.
“Snack Thief,” I whisper.
“Bad,” Arthur croaks softly and leans in, pressing his head to my cheek. Feathers tickle my skin; he smells faintly of wind and whatever he has stolen recently. I scratch the base of his neck, and his eyes slide shut in bliss.
“Bad, Harper,” I whisper. “I am sorry I left you.”
He answers with a hoarse little caw that sounds very much like a reprimand.
Measured, unhurried footsteps halt just inside the doorway. I do not turn. My magic recognises him before my mind does, a faint pressure even through the dampeners.
“I wondered where he’d got to,” Lander says quietly.
I glance over my shoulder.
