Nothing.
Not a scrape. Not a shift. Not even the faint vibration of stone protesting.
The pedestal didn’t budge.
I tried again, jaw clenched, shoulder protesting with every movement.
Still nothing.
The mirror stayed perfectly still, perfectly calm, perfectly unhelpful.
My breath came faster from panic, trying to grab me by the throat.
“Show me again,” I whispered, voice shaking despite my best effort. “Show me what that was. Was that real? Was that a warning? A possibility? A—”
The pedestal didn’t budge.
It sat there in silent refusal, as if it had given me exactly what it meant to give me, and now it was finished.
I stared at my own reflection, and the pale, wide-eyed expression I couldn’t wipe off my face.
And somewhere upstairs, the cottage creaked softly, the way an old home did when it settled.
I could almost hear Keegan’s voice in my mind—Maeve? You sure you’re okay down there?
I swallowed hard, forcing my breath to slow, forcing my hands to unclench.
Whether I wanted to believe it or not, I had seen it.
Mariselle was inside a library that felt too close to the Academy’s bones.
And me, older and steadier, walking into her compound like I was choosing it.
My stomach twisted again, and I reached out one more time and pressed my palm to the pedestal, gentler now, like negotiation instead of force.
The pedestal stayed inert.
And up in the quiet above, I could feel time continuing forward—tea cooling in cups, wood settling into place, the world shifting outside the cottage walls.
I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed down the sick rise of fear, and opened them again to face the mirror’s blank surface.
Whatever that vision meant, it wasn’t nothing.
But if the pedestal wouldn’t budge, then I’d have to.
And I’d have to do it smart.
And cautious.
Because the last thing I was going to do was walk into my grandmother’s compound just because a mirror decided to frighten me into it.
Chapter Twelve
The cellar steps creaked the moment I shifted my weight, and I hated that it felt like a confession.
I sat there anyway, trying to remember how breathing worked. My palms were damp, my throat was too tight, and my stomach was rolling with something that wasn't really nausea. It was my body deciding it didn't want to be in the same world as what I'd just seen.
Above me, the cottage settled. The fire gave a soft crackle somewhere in the living room. The wind tapped the windows like it hadn’t heard the news.
