"No," I snapped, too fast.
He watched me. "You saw it as a possibility.”
It wasn’t a question, and I hated that I couldn't answer.
"She plays with reflections," he said. "Possible futures. Possible selves. She'll show you whichever version of you frightens you most."
"And you," I said. "Are you real right now? Or am I dreaming you the way she'd want?"
His eyes flashed. "Maeve, I’m not her. And I’m not your mind's puppet."
“Thank you.”
"I don't have long. She's hunting me. I can feel her threads."
Threads.
"What do you want to give me?" I asked again, slower.
Gideon’s gaze slid past me, toward a darker patch between the trees.
“I can’t do it here,” he repeated. “Not while the cottage’s Ward is listening. She might hear since she’s already touched you through the pedestal.”
“Then where? You came to me. You called me in my dream.”
His mouth tightened, and his eye darkened. “I didn’t call you.”
My blood ran cold. “What?”
His eyes held mine. “You came to me.”
I stared at him.
“No… I didn’t.”
But the air around us… It did feel like it had been waiting for me, somewhat like a pull, like the pull to the pedestal.
Gideon’s gaze sharpened.
“The Priestess isn’t the only one who knows how to reach through reflection,” he said softly. “She’s just the one who taught everyone to fear it.”
My heart started hammering.
“Who else?”
“If you want answers, you need to stop thinking of her as the only player,” he cautioned.
“Then tell me who else is.”
His jaw tightened again. “Not yet.”
“Gideon—”
A sudden sound cut through the dream.
I heard a scraping and heavy thud, but it wasn’t between Gideon and me. It was deeper, more physical.
Gideon’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing toward the trees.
