“Maeve, she walked in because she believes she can bargain.”
My stomach dropped.
Gideon’s gaze stayed on mine, dark and intent.
“And bargains,” he said quietly, “are how Mariselle eats families whole.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
“I was there. I’d been watching Stonewick, trying to find a time to reach out to you, when I saw your mother advance toward the Priestess on the outskirts of the Wilds. I followed them, staying far behind the shadows and using some of my own. Your mother willingly walked into her compound, and she is alive. For Now.”
A chill crept through me.
Keegan’s voice was tight in my ear. “Inside. Now.”
And I couldn’t agree more.
Caleb moved with him, the pack shifting subtly, closing us back into the Ward’s protection like a living net.
“Maeve, when you’re ready for me to hand this over, you know how to call me.” He held up the stone, and my stomach clenched.
Gideon didn’t cross the line.
He only watched me retreat, the stone still in his hand, hood shadowing the planes of his face again like he was already becoming rumor.
The last thing I saw before the porch light swallowed me was Gideon’s mouth moving—silent words shaped for me alone.
And though I couldn’t hear them, my birthmark pulsed once, steady as a vow.
As if whatever he’d said had already lodged itself somewhere deep in my bones.
And I knew, with a cold clarity that had nothing to do with dreams anymore, that this night wasn’t ending with a warning.
It ended with a door opening, and we had no idea what we would step into next.
Chapter Nineteen
The cottage could be as cozy as it wanted. My stomach still felt like it had been wrung out.
Keegan shut the door behind us, and the sound of the latch sliding home should have been reassuring. It should have meant:We’re inside. We’re safe. We’re protected.
Instead, it sounded like punctuation at the end of a sentence I didn’t understand.
Caleb and my father stepped in next, shedding cold morning air and moonlight. Twobble trailed after them, and he was still unusually quiet, his small shoulders hunched as if he was trying to make himself smaller than his usual goblin-sized self.
Grandma Elira paced slowly near the fireplace, her hands clasped behind her back. Her face had that steady, thoughtful look she got when she was working something out in her mind. She looked calm, but I knew better. Elira only paced when the stakes were high.
Miora stood near the kitchen doorway, watching all of us. Her hands kept flexing at her sides, like she wanted to fix something. She was used to mending the cottage after a fight—patching beams, resetting wards, stitching things back together. But this wasn’t the cottage.
This was us.
No one seemed quite sure where to settle. We moved around the room quietly, like guests in our own cottage.
I crossed to the couch and sat down. The cushions sank under me, soft and familiar. For a second, I almost convinced myself this was an ordinary morning.
Keegan crouched by the hearth and stirred the embers until the fire caught again. The light brightened across the room.
My father settled into the armchair and rested his hands on his knees. He looked calm, the way he always did when things went wrong—steady voice, steady eyes, holding everything together so no one else had to.
