“Yes,” he said simply.
The kettle filled with a familiar rush of sound. He moved easily through the small kitchen space, knowing where things were without asking. It struck me, not for the first time, how natural he looked here.
The cottage walls didn’t hum the way the Academy did.
They exhaled, and I let myself settle into that for a moment.
Because outside the Stone Ward, shifters were walking the edges. Orcs were watching. Shadows were moving faster than they should.
But inside the cottage, the fire burned steadily, and I just needed a moment to breathe.
Chapter Ten
There was still no sign of Grandma Elira or Miora, but the cottage still felt occupied.
Keegan carried two mugs into the living room and set them down on the low table. The tea smelled like chamomile and something darker beneath it.
He sat across from me, close enough that our knees nearly touched, and he leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs, hands loose. His posture said relaxed. His eyes said he absolutely wasn’t.
“So,” he said softly. “What’s happening in that head of yours?”
"Nothing," I lied.
He lifted his brows.
"I can't decide if I'm getting better at this," I said, "or if I'm just getting used to the feeling of the floor shifting under me."
Keegan's gaze stayed steady. "Both can be true."
"That's not comforting."
"It's honest."
I stared at my mug. The tea trembled with the smallest movement of my hands.
"I keep thinking about her," I admitted. "And the fact that she's not even here."
Keegan's jaw tightened. Almost nothing. Like stone setting.
"The Priestess," he said.
I nodded. Saying the title felt like tapping a glass and finding a crack, and pretty soon she’d flood the cottage.
"She's everywhere," I murmured. "In the way the orcs talk about their land. In the wolves pressing toward the Wards. In the people arriving and unpacking, like Stonewick is the last solid thing left."
Keegan didn’t interrupt. He never tried to patch over my fear with reassurances. It was one of the reasons I trusted him to sit in the dark with me.
“I hate that she can do this without lifting a hand,” I continued. “She destabilizes things, and then she waits for us to do what she expects.”
“What do you think she expects?” he asked.
The fire popped softly. Somewhere in the rafters, the cottage creaked like it was thinking.
I swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks I’ll be able to end it since I’m blood.”
Keegan’s eyes sharpened. “How.”
The word was simple, but the question wasn’t.
