She’d been right. I’d known that at the time. But nobody knew just how much power and danger he could hold over the heart.
In my waking hours, I’d found myself torn. I hadn’t experienced that yesterday. Then, I’d only hated him.
With just one kiss, the brazen-tongued male had managed to get into my head and under my skin.
It took time and effort to shove him aside and drag my focus back to the one thing that mattered.
Today, I was leaving.
But the reminder didn’t stop me from thinking about him. I just stopped letting it derail me.
I got up and dressed for comfort in pants and a plain threadbare shirt, nothing that would snag or slow me down. Then I slipped out into the small garden beneath my window and practiced my time-slowing spell on anything that moved: a pair of butterflies drifting between blooms, and a few spiders skittering along the stone.
It worked. Quicker and smoother than last night. No stuttering and snapping back like time itself were mocking me. This time, the magic slid into place, clean and seamless, as if it had been waiting for me to remember how to hold it.
I stayed outside for nearly an hour, repeating the spell until the motions felt natural and the control settled into my bones.
Then I went back inside, checked the map again, and packed only what I could justify in a satchel without drawing attention. I kept it light, packing my journal and one book from the library. That was all.
I left the spellbook behind.
It would be an asset, yes, but it was forbidden in the mortal lands, and it would be foolish to carry anything that could expose me if I were stopped, searched, questioned. The risk wasn’t worth it.
The timepiece on the wall read seven.
I had roughly an hour before the manor fully woke—before footsteps and voices filled the halls and breakfast became another performance I had to play my part in.
One hour to prepare, then I'd head downstairs and put on a convincing performance. I'd make them believe I was resigned to staying, that I was channeling my energy into mastering mymagic instead of fighting them. And when they least expected it, I'd be gone.
My thoughts circled back to phasing.
Last night, after I returned to my room, I’d read more about it until my eyes blurred. I’d been tempted to try, just once, just to see if I could, but I hadn’t. One mistake could unravel everything. One wrong turn into the Void, and the manor would know exactly what I was attempting.
I could just imagine doing something catastrophically stupid like phasing into Wolfe’s bedroom by accident.
So, no rehearsals. And no second chances.
I only needed to do it once. When I left.
That would also be when I’d cast the spells.
One to slow, or stop, anyone trying to track me.
The other for the shackle.
Both relied on the same principle:time could not be followed or wielded by those who could not command it.
The problem was knowing if they worked. Without someone confirming it, I’d still be relying on a wing and a prayer.
I looked down at my wrist, at the shackle I couldn’t see but could feel. The band of magic bound to my skin, tethering me to Wolfe like an invisible leash. Soon it wouldn’t be.
I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the timepiece, forcing myself to breathe steadily as the minutes crawled by. Each tick felt like an eternity, but I made myself wait. Patience would be the difference between freedom and disaster.
Seven fifteen. Seven thirty. Eight.
The manor began to stir around me. Distant footsteps sounded in the corridors below, followed by the soft murmur of voices carrying through the walls.
It was time to get moving.
