“You’re feeling nervous about where this is going,” he said finally.
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Because the town’s filling.”
“Yes.”
“Because the inn’s filling.”
“Yes.”
“Because your Academy just had an orc on its steps who wanted to battle a shifter with the audience of midlife students.”
I let out a slow breath. “Yes.”
He waited.
“And because I think it’s time,” I said carefully, “to open the Academy.”
He blinked once. “It’s open.”
“Not like this.”
His brows drew together. “Maeve.”
“I think it’s time to open it to more than midlife witches.”
The words felt solid once they were out.
Keegan stared at me.
“Witches,” he said slowly, as if reminding me of something foundational. “This is a midlife witch Academy.”
“I’m aware.”
“It’s never mattered what kind of witch,” he continued. “Goblin. Vampire. Hedge. Fae-origin. The craft is what brings them together.”
“I know.”
“But they’re witches,” he said. “That’s the common thread.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re suggesting—”
“That we remove the thread,” I finished.
He sat back fully now, absorbing that.
“You want non-witches roaming these halls,” he said.
“Learning,” I corrected.
“Learning what?”
“Our craft.” I cleared my throat and turned to face him. “Think about all it offers, paired with their own abilities. Protection. Cooperation. The mechanics of Wards and why they’re important. How not to tear each other apart when pressure rises. Magic shouldn’t just be for a select few.”
