Hours later, after medical cleared us and stabilized Raven, the four of us stood in the healing ward observation room.
Raven lay unconscious behind the glass. Lucas sat beside her, holding her hand, his face drawn with worry. His bird familiar perched on the chair behind him.
She gave you the phrase, Keane said quietly. Her core self is intact.
She’s still corrupted, I said. Still broken.
But alive, Cyrus corrected. We got her out. That’s what matters.
Elio studied the corruption monitors tracking poison we couldn’t fully remove. He knew we were coming. Learned exactly how we operate under pressure. But we got her anyway.
At a cost, I said.
Yeah, Cyrus agreed. It hurt. But we’re all still here.
Raven’s fingers twitched on the bed. Lucas leaned forward hopefully, but she didn’t wake.
Recovery will take weeks, Keane said. Maybe months.
Three weeks to prepare for the real fight.
We were all standing.
That would have to be enough.
20
Keane
MARIGOLD’S SUITE CAUGHT THE PALE morning light differently than mine—west-facing windows instead of east, which meant dawn crept in gradually rather than all at once. I’d been tracking the shift for the past hour as I watched her sleep.
Not surveillance, just monitoring.
The way her breathing had finally evened out after yesterday’s rescue. The way Scout had settled on the nightstand instead of pacing her shoulders like he’d done all night in the medical center.
She’d pushed too deeply yesterday. Her necromancy had strained past safe limits. I’d felt it through the portal connection, the way her magic had pulled taut like overwound wire.
She was here. We were here. But the cost showed in the tension lines still present even in sleep.
I’d already checked on Raven twice since dawn. Already coordinated with Parker about defensive updates. Already run the calculations for how much portal strain I could sustain before solstice without compromising dimensional stability.
The numbers weren’t encouraging, but they were manageable. Everything was manageable if I planned correctly.
Wisp curled at my feet, content in the early morning stillness. Her spectral form barely was visible in the growing light.
Elio had claimed the couch in the corner at some point during the night. I’d tracked his arrival around 3 a.m., noted the way he’d moved quietly to avoid waking Marigold. Echo dozed on the cushion back now. The suite’s sitting area was smaller than mine with more books and research scattered across surfaces, but the couch fit him comfortably enough. He looked up when I shifted, catching my eye with a questioning look.
I gestured toward Marigold, and he nodded understanding. She needed more sleep.
Cyrus stood near the window, monitoring campus below. The bandage on his forearm from yesterday’s burn was visible beneath his rolled sleeve. Ember folded into his shoulder, glowing dimly like a banked coal.
We’d migrated here after leaving the medical center last night—no discussion, no explicit decision point I could identify. Just a collective gravitational pull toward her space. Cyrus by the window. Elio on the couch. Me in this chair. All of us within line of sight of the bed, making sure she wasn’t alone when she woke up.
The coffee I’d made twenty minutes ago sat on Marigold’s nightstand. Two sugars, the way she liked it. Still warm.
When she finally stirred, I stayed quiet, letting her surface naturally without the pressure of immediate attention.
Scout stretched in a beam of pale sunlight, his bones clicking softly. Outside, campus held that early morning stillness before students started moving between buildings.
