The way he had looked past me.
The way he had known.
Another tremor rolled through the tunnel, weaker now, but still there, still present. Was the army above us or behind us?
Nova slowed slightly, her hand brushing the wall one more time as she sealed the last narrow opening behind us, the stone settling into place with a quiet, final sound.
“That should hold them for a while,” she said.
“For a while,” Stella repeated.
Twobble let out a breath. “It will take a while. It will give us enough time to warn everyone in the UnderLoom.”
“Dang bats,” Stella muttered.
But it wasn’t just the bats.
And it wasn’t just the wall.
There had been something else.
Something that we knew exactly where we would be.
And as Gideon’s words lingered in the back of my mind, quiet but insistent, I couldn’t help but wonder—
If the Priestess had found us…
Or if someone had led her right to us.
Chapter Eleven
“Word is that the army never made it to the goblin tunnels.” Twobble clapped his hands.
Nova gave a quick nod and didn’t waste another second, already turning toward the center of the village as if she could feel every crack that needed sealing before anyone else even noticed it was there. The rest of us moved in the opposite direction, our pace quick but not frantic, though it took everything in me not to break into a run.
Stonewick felt… off. It wasn’t empty, but it felt extremely…quiet.
The leaves still clung to the trees in warm bursts of orange and gold, and the crisp scent of fall hung in the air. But something underneath it all had shifted.
We cut through the alley that led toward the Butterfly Ward, the familiar path bringing a strange kind of comfort even as my thoughts refused to settle.
“Slow down,” Keegan said softly as I pushed ahead.
“I can’t,” I replied, though I did ease just slightly when his hand brushed mine again.
“We’ll get there,” he said.
“I know.”
But knowing didn’t make the waiting any easier.
The Butterfly Ward came into view. Its gentle glow spilled out across the path as the soft flutter of wings drifted through the air. Students lingered near the edges, their voices low, some practicing small spells, others simply watching as the butterflies moved in slow, steady patterns through the Ward.
A few of them turned as we approached, smiled, and waved.
They had no idea what was waiting on the edges of Shadowick, and for a moment, I envied that.
“Headmistress,” one of them greeted as we passed, her tone warm, respectful.
