The corridor felt different after the dragon den. I didn’t feel so alone.
When I pushed open the office door, I expected darkness.
What I didn’t expect was the faint rustle of parchment and the unmistakable crinkle of candy wrappers.
I froze in the doorway.
Twobble sat in my chair triumphantly. He wasn’t perched or cautiously occupying the seat. He acted as if he had declared a small but decisive coup to gain access to my candy stash.
There were at least six brightly colored sweets scattered across my desk. One was already halfway to his mouth. Anotherwas being unwrapped with surgical precision, and my neatly stacked papers were no longer stacked. They were all over the place.
He looked up, and we stared at each other.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he said. “I’m having a meltdown. Candy makes me feel…better. A lot is going on in these halls and outside of them. I just helped haul up some herbs from the UnderLoom, and I’m just…exhausted. The kitchen sprites chased me away, so here I am.”
Twobble immediately stuffed the candy into his mouth as if that would erase the evidence.
His cheeks puffed slightly before he swallowed.
I stepped closer to the desk toward the chaos and smiled.
“Do what you’ve got to do, buddy. If I thought candy would take away my worst nightmares, I’d do it too.”
His brows lifted. “Have you tried it?”
I chuckled and glanced at the scattered papers and realized they weren’t just in a mess because of the candy. He’d been perusing.
“What made you want to rifle through professor applications at midnight?”
He froze mid-reach toward another sweet, but then his shoulders, usually held with goblin confidence and mild theatrical indignation, sagged.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted.
“Neither could I,” I said, nodding.
“I was scouring and offering administrative oversight. You know, just reviewing any possible staffing developments.”
“With candy?”
“With strategic sustenance.” He nodded. “It makes my mind quicker and my gaze more focused.”
I snickered and studied Twobble, his small feet dangling slightly, his hands faintly stained white with sugar dust.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.
“For what?” My gaze met his.
“For not stopping her,” he said again.
The words landed gently but heavily.
“You’re not her keeper.”
“I feel like I could have done a better job of slowing her down,” he muttered.
“She would have found another way,” I replied softly.
He shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
