Page 92 of Magical Mayhem

His skin was sallow, drenched in sweat, his chest rising in shallow gasps. His dark hair was matted against his brow, andhis lips parted around a breath that rattled far too close to the edge.

Every eye turned to me as I entered.

For a moment, the weight of their gazes nearly drove me back. They expected me to do something—save him, condemn him, decide. And suddenly, clarity struck me, slicing through the haze of panic.

I knew what I had to do.

“Everyone out,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

They blinked, the silence thickening like smoke.

“Out,” I repeated, firmer this time. “I need to do this alone.”

Twobble stopped pacing, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Are you out of your…”

“Twobble,” Stella cut in. “She’s right. We give her space.”

Nova’s eyes narrowed, her staff tapping once against the floor. “You’re certain?”

“No,” I admitted, because lying to Nova never worked. “But I know I have to try.”

Ardetia tilted her head, studying me with those piercing fae eyes, before finally nodding. “We’ll be just outside the door.”

One by one, they filed out. Twobble grumbling under his breath, Stella brushing her shawl dramatically against my shoulder as if bestowing some blessing, Ardetia gliding like moonlight, and Nova, last of all, pausing in the doorway. Her gaze was heavy with warning and trust all at once. Then she was gone, and the door clicked shut behind her.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I turned back to Gideon.

Even now, in weakness, there was no denying his features. Handsome, cold, carved in angles that spoke of command. But beneath it all was something else…something I’d always known, even when I tried to bury it.

The images I’d seen through the Hedge, flickers of a boy staring longingly into Stonewick, wanting, needing. Not yet twisted by shadows, not yet hardened into cruelty.

Something had made him turn. Something more than hunger for power.

I drew closer, my heart hammering.

This was it. The moment to peel back every illusion, to strip away the fog. He was too weak to resist now, too close to the edge to play games. If I could open the Hedge to him, if I could show him truth without the tricks or the half-glimpses, maybe I’d find the answers.

Perhaps it would be enough to make him strong enough to survive.

Because that was the question, wasn’t it? Keegan was cursed too, but he was holding on, faring better, still burning like embers under ash. And Gideon? He was nearly gone.

They were both strong men, forged by battle and burden. So why was one slipping faster than the other?

I lowered myself into the chair beside his bed, reaching for his hand. His skin was clammy, too cold, his fingers twitching faintly under mine.

My throat tightened. “You’re not leaving me like this,” I whispered.

I closed my eyes.

The world seemed to sway, a low hum rising in my ears. I pushed past the fear, past the pounding in my chest, and reached, not just for his hand, but for the Hedge itself.

That place where truth and illusion twisted, where past and present folded like paper. That realm where I had seen him before, younger, softer, not yet the man Malore had molded.

The Hedge always came with risks, always demanded a toll. But tonight, I couldn’t afford to care.

I focused on the tether between us, that strange, unwanted thread that tied me to Gideon whether I wanted it or not.