Page 51 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

The possibility terrifies and thrills in equal measure.

I take a step, my form solidifying into adult configuration. This feels right for what needs doing—child-hands too small for the task ahead.

I lift Nikki's frozen body, and immediately grunt at the weight.

"She's heavy."

Not physically—the Fae are built like dancers, all lean muscle and hollow bones.But her presence carries weight.The pressure of potential futures, the mass of unresolved pasts,the density of connections that might reshape everything we thought we knew about our curses.

I begin walking back to the group, each step requiring more effort than the last. Time wants to resume its normal flow. Reality presses against my hold like water against a dam, seeking cracks through which to pour.

My teeth grit with effort. Eyes close for a moment, hoping I can pull through.

Please. Just a little longer.

Something responds—not my power but an echo of it. Sister-strength flowing through shared channels, supporting without overwhelming. It gets easier, though not easy. Enough to make it back to where the others sleep around their strange purple fire.

I lay Nikki down carefully in her spot, taking time to arrange her position naturally. She needs to think this was a dream, a nightmare dissolved by waking. The truth would be too much right now—for her, for me, for whatever fragile possibility exists between us.

I'm about to leave when I sense eyes on me.

Not the sharp awareness of adult perception but something softer.

Curious rather than suspicious.

I turn to find child-Gwenivere watching me.

Those impossible eyes—mirror of my own but holding different truths—study me with understanding that transcends her apparent age. We share a look that carries conversations too complex for words.

I try not to feel embarrassed, but warmth travels to my cheeks regardless.

Being caught in an act of caring feels like exposure of something meant to stay hidden.

My sister's gaze shifts from me to Nikki, then back. The evaluation is clear even without words—putting pieces together, solving puzzles I didn't know I was creating.

Then she does something that stops my heart.

She puts one small finger to her lips. The universal gesture of conspiracy, of secrets kept.

My secret is safe with her.

She leans back down, snuggling against Cassius with the trust of someone who knows they're protected. His shadows respond even in sleep, wrapping around her like armor made of night.

That's when I realize—time is still frozen.

But it's not my doing anymore.

It's hers.

My sister holds the temporal pause now, giving me time to retreat with dignity intact. Giving me space to process what just happened without the weight of maintaining magic I shouldn't be able to access.

I try not to smile, but the expression escapes anyway.

Small. Private. Real.

As I turn away, preparing to fade back into the space between spaces where I exist when not manifested, I whisper words meant only for her.

"Thanks, sis."