And then I go inside and lock the door behind me, every hinge suddenly too loud.
That night,I sit at the kitchen table with the grimoire open and my hands clenched so tightly the skin over my knuckles turns white. The words swim, dense and complicated, loops of protective spells and legal defense rituals written in Johanna’s meticulous hand. But I can’t focus. My vision won’t hold still.
He found me.
I thought we were too far. I thought the Hollow would hide us, hold us close and out of reach. But Michael has a way of slipping past defenses that were never built for the kind of cold he brings.
Mari’s asleep on the couch, curled under her favorite patchwork quilt, her tiny fingers clutched around that stuffed lizard she refuses to name. Her brow’s smooth, peaceful. She doesn’t know.
She doesn’t remember the way he used to smile at her with that same plastic kindness, then correct the way she sat, the way she held her fork, the way she laughed too loud. He never hit us. He didn’t have to. He just bent the air around us until we couldn’t breathe unless he said we could.
The memory of it makes my skin crawl.
The worst part is how fast it all comes back. How easy it is to shrink. To second-guess. I’m here, in this place that feels like the first real home I’ve ever had, and still, his voice gets into my bones like cold water soaking through floorboards.
I close the book. My hands are shaking too hard to read.
The next morning, the council calls me in.
Delphina watches Mari for me. I don’t even have to ask. She just shows up with warm bread and a quiet look that says she already knows.
The council chamber smells like wax and old stone, and it echoes more than it should. Vess stands at the center, serene as always, her face unreadable.
“Krista,” she says, not unkindly. “We’ve had an official visitation request. Your former husband has filed an inquiry into custody arrangements.”
My stomach knots. “And?”
Roderik speaks next, voice as smooth as polished steel. “He made compelling points. Legal ones. He brought documents. Backgrounds. Financials.”
Therrin hasn’t spoken, but his eyes burn low, watching me like a creature assessing a possible threat, or ally.
Sariah stands near the edge, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I didn’t like him.”
That, more than anything, makes something in me loosen. Just slightly.
Vess clears her throat. “The Hollow protects its own. But the question remains: are you part of it?”
I inhale, slow. Deliberate. “I live here. My daughter lives here. I’ve upheld your laws, learned your magic, honored your boundaries. If that doesn’t count as being part of it, I don’t know what does.”
There’s a long silence.
Then Vess nods once. “You’ll have a hearing. Three nights from now. He’s asked for formal arbitration.”
“He’s trying to look reasonable,” I murmur. “He always does. That’s how he wins.”
“You’re not on trial,” Sariah says, stepping closer. “He is.”
I look at her, and I want to believe it.
I want to.
But all I can feel is the old fear crawling up my spine, whispering that none of this magic will matter once he starts talking. That they’ll hear his calm, corporate logic and wonder if maybe I really am unstable. That maybe I’m just some burned-out divorcee with a kid and a few tricks who ran off to the woods to play witch.
I nod. Because what else can I do?
They dismiss me with quiet nods and flickering glances.
When I step back outside, the fog’s thick again. It clings to my skin like sweat. The leaves feel sharp underfoot. Every tree looks like it’s watching me, waiting to see if I’ll run again.
