Page 72 of Haunt Me, Maybe

I watched my words land with bruising force, and she looked down at her hands like she was ashamed that I’d seen her consider that route. Again.

“I can’t keep running,” she whispered.

Thank God she’d at least figured that out. I yanked my anger back, shoving it down. Aven didn’t deserve it, and it would do nothing but hurt her right now.

“No, you can’t,” I agreed.

Because Gideon would find her eventually. Because running was exhausting her. Because every time she gave in to it, she lost another piece of herself. I didn’t say any of that out loud, but I didn’t need to. Aven stood and walked over to the desk. Pulling open the drawer, she revealed her family’s linen-wrapped spell book. Her fingers hovered over it, indecisive.

Fenn hopped closer.

Hiding bought us time, he said, carefully. But it’s no longer a sufficient strategy.

Aven’s shoulders were hiked to her ears; they only drooped a little at Fenn’s encouragement. She was still torn on what to do. Play it safe or jump? She exhaled.

“If I flare, he will see me immediately,” her fingers lightly brushed the book. “But if I keep suppressing my magic, he will keep narrowing and eventually find me regardless.”

She looked over at me, her eyes so full of fear and trust that my heart rocked. My pulse didn’t exist anymore, but something thrummed in me anyway.

“You already know what I think,” I told her, and then nodded toward the book. “I vote we go on the offensive.”

Fenn’s eyes gleamed in the lamplight as we let the idea take a turn through our minds. Aven finally picked the book up, but still didn’t open it. She stared at the cover as if it held all the answers.

“He’ll expect resistance.”

She said it like there was no point in fighting if he came ready for it. Like she didn’t trust herself yet to handle what he threw at her. But I did. With our help, I trusted that she could finally free herself from a lifetime of hiding.

“Let him,” I growled, fists tightening at my sides.

I watched her make note of my body language, of the confidence in my gaze as it rested on her. She studied me, trying to see whether I understood what choosing to fight meant.

“I’ll have to get better,” she explained. “Faster.”

“You will.”

Hope flickered in her expression—with anxiety right alongside it. I stepped even closer, until my chest brushed hers. Fenn grumbled an incoherent complaint, but I tuned him out. There was only Aven. Only her and the truth I didn’t speak out loud.

If Gideon refined to this attic, if he reached through the wards and found her, he would have to go through me first. I spent decades learning how to haunt; he wouldn’t know what hit him. The lamp flickered once, sharp and bright. The inn and I were on the same page. Together, we would give her the time she needed, come hell or high water.

“Tell me what you need to learn.”

Time had no meaning in the attic. The lamp burned low, an amber halo against the slanted ceiling. Dust drifted lazily through the air like suspended ash, catching the light every time Aven shifted. The old beams creaked faintly with the inn’s magic while outside, the town breathed in quiet ignorance.

Here, we remained locked in a triad of tension. It felt like standing at the edge of something sharp, knowing you’d have to step forward eventually.

Aven hovered by the desk, her hands curled lightly over the spellbook, though she made no move to open it. She was listening to Fenn list off the skills she needed to master to survive an encounter with Gideon.

Control, was the first thing he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. You already burn bright—power isn’t your issue. It’s that when you burn, you burn honestly.

She flinched at that, but I didn’t. I already knew she had an aversion to using her magic to “lie,” as she called it. She preferred using illusions to enhance rather than deceive. It was something I admired about her. But apparently, it was a problem.

“What’s wrong with honesty?” Aven asked, lips pressed into a faint, petulant frown.

Fenn’s throat bulged. Your magic expresses your emotional state with very little filtration: fear spikes. Anger flares. His dark eyes flicked to me. Attachment radiates.

“So what does she need to do?” I asked, harsher than I intended.

She needs to learn how to lie.