Page 22

I waited until the light truly awakened, and the sun turned everything bright. That quiet time in between as the sun shifted and the world expanded.

Hedge witches were meant for the in between.

I walked alone to the garden’s farthest edge, to where the Butterfly Ward faded into untamed brush. I moved past the carefully pruned paths and charming herb beds, and went into the sloped, half-forgotten stretch of thicket and ivy that had always been left alone.

I’d never thought much about this space before, but now it called to me.

I stepped carefully, pressing into damp soil. The air changed as soon as I crossed the threshold. Warmer. Wilder. Less curated by the Academy’s hand. The vines here didn’t wind politely. The moss glowed faintly in places it had no business glowing.

And the boundary was strong.

I could feel it.

It felt like the outermost ring of a Ward that I hadn’t cast but somehow belonged to. This was the edge of something, where the meeting place between what was held and what was not claimed itself.

The Hedge.

A breath caught in my throat.

Okay. Now what?

I closed my eyes and reached, not with my hands, but with something older. Something in my bones.

I didn’t call a spell since I was horrible at them, and I didn’t whisper a charm. I just let the energy around me rise.

Letting out a deep breath, I pressed my presence into it like a finger against glass.

And it responded.

The world tilted.

Not outward. Inward.

Not violently, but with weight.

It felt like I was stepping into a memory that wasn’t mine and a hum of ley lines beneath my feet pulled at me .

The mix of the Academy’s steady pulse of magic and the wild just ahead created an awareness of how little control I had.

This wasn’t the kind of magic you controlled. This was the kind that watched back.

I thought of the message.

The circle was never broken. Only bent.

And suddenly, I could sense the energy in that strange inner way that dreams made sense when you’re in them, but not outside of them.

I saw a ring, wide and silver and alive, stretched like woven light. It shimmered, glowed, and buckled. It didn’t snap or shatter, only bent.

Warped inward like a pressed loop, like it had given way to pressure and let something in.

And because I stood at the edge, because I was between, I followed the bend.

Forward.

Further.

And then…

I saw something.

Not clearly. Not with names or faces.

But with truth.

The air around me changed again into a colder and thinner blanket. My heartbeat kicked up, with fast and urgent pulses.

What I saw wasn’t a memory.

It was a future.

Not the future, but a version.

And it was—

My eyes flew open with a gasp.

I staggered back two steps, my hand clutching a branch that suddenly felt sharp, too real, too solid. The ground spun. My breath came fast.

I was back.

The sky above me looked the same.

The moss still glowed. The air still shimmered.

But everything was different now.

Because I’d seen something no one was meant to see yet.

And I had no idea if I’d been alone in seeing it.

Or if someone else had seen it too.

The ache in my hip hadn't subsided.

It sat under the butterfly mark like a warning, not sharp, but deep. A flick of chill that didn't soothe so much as say, pay attention.

The vision lingered in the corners of my mind, like a candle just blown out where smoke still rose.

I wanted to shake it loose and call it just a ripple, a trick of Hedge magic.

But I knew better.

I hadn’t imagined the bent circle.

I hadn’t imagined the dark thread coiling through the Academy like smoke looking for a match.

And I hadn’t imagined the way the ground changed as I began to walk back to the place I belonged.

Whatever the Hedge had given me, it had done so willingly.

That unsettled me more than anything else.

The Academy offered lessons.

The Hedge offered truths.

And not all truths made good company.

I was nearly back to the stone path when I felt it— that prickle.

It wasn’t the familiar one of wild magic brushing along my skin or the pulse of a Ward reacting to my presence.

No.

Someone was watching me.

I stopped walking, and the air thinned again as the hairs on my arms rose.

I turned slowly.

And there, just beyond the arch of vines where wild met tame, where the Butterfly Ward began to reassert itself, stood a figure.

Not moving. Not threatening.

Just there.

Cloaked. Hood up.

Not glowing. Not shrouded in smoke.

But still, somehow, wrong.

I stared.

They didn’t speak.

Didn’t gesture.

Didn’t step forward.

A wind stirred between us, catching the ends of my scarf and dragging dry leaves across the moss.

New student?

New teacher?

Something in me whispered to go back.

Something else whispered, not yet.

I squared my shoulders. “Can I help you?”

The figure tilted their head, just barely.

No answer.

The Ward behind me pulsed softly.

I took a single step forward. “You don’t belong inside the Hedge.”

Still no reply.

The longer I looked, the less sure I was about what I was seeing. The cloak was mottled, like bark and shadow stitched together. I couldn’t make out a face, only the shape of it in a veiled shade of confusion despite the full light of the afternoon.

Another breeze rolled through that rattled the vines.

And still, they didn’t move.

I didn’t like the weight settling into my stomach. It didn’t feel like fear, exactly, more like… recognition.

Which was far more unsettling.

Something about the way the figure stood told me they’d been waiting for me, not following

My fingers itched. I didn’t reach for magic. Not yet. This moment didn’t feel like a fight.

But it didn’t feel like a blessing either.

I tried again. “You’re trespassing. That Ward is closed to non-students.”

Nothing.

And then, finally, they raised a hand and pointed, no fingers…just shadow and shape to guide me.

It wasn’t at the Academy or at the path, but at the Hedge.

My mouth went dry.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

The vision I’d just seen, with the flickering image of the circle bending, the shadow in its wake, the future I didn’t want to believe, rose again in my mind.

Is that what you’re here for?

I didn’t ask it aloud.

Because somehow, I already knew the answer.

And they… knew I knew.

The pointing hand dropped slowly and deliberately.

And then they turned.

The gesture wasn’t made in haste, nor did it seem like they feared being stopped.

In fact, it was as if they had nothing to fear at all.

The figure stepped once, twice, and then faded, not into the woods, not behind trees, but into the Hedge itself.

The vines didn’t move. The moss didn’t stir.

They were simply gone.

I didn’t breathe for a long moment.

Then my legs remembered what walking was, and I staggered backward onto the path, heart hammering against my ribs. But I wasn’t fooled.

Nothing about this was normal.

I knew what I’d just seen.

What I’d just felt .

Even if I didn’t want to name it.

Even if saying it out loud felt like opening a locked door and begging whatever was on the other side to come through.

Gideon.

The name curled in my gut like fog…familiar, acrid, wrong in a way that didn’t make sound but shape.

He hadn’t appeared. Not fully.

But I’d felt him.

And worse, I’d recognized that absence of fear . That creeping calm he always wore like a badge. He’d been playing with the hedge.

This sensation wasn’t the kind of fear that made your heart pound or your breath catch.

The feeling was subtler.

That was always Gideon’s gift, though, wasn’t it?

He’d manage to make himself feel like the reprieve before revealing he’d been the cage all along, ready to trap you.

And here I was.

Tired.

Unnerved.

Barely holding onto the fraying edges of what I’d just seen and what I still didn’t understand.

Had I invited him in?

Or had he simply walked in on his own?

Slipped through the bend.

Because if that vision, if that future , was more than just a warning, then the boundary had already bent.

Not shattered. Not breached.

Warped enough to let him pass.

But maybe that meant it could be bent both ways.

And the moment I stepped into the Hedge, the moment I listened, opened myself up, and followed that pull, I might have cracked the door just wide enough.

My stomach rolled as I walked into the Academy.

I slid down the wall slowly, sitting on the cold floor, hugging my knees to my chest like I hadn’t done since the first night after my divorce, when the house felt empty in a way no spell could soften.

The hallway was empty now and blessedly quiet. The students were tucked away in classrooms or the library, chasing charms, enchanting teacups, or writing love letters with invisible ink.

They didn’t know.

I didn’t even know.

That message. The one Keegan brought.

The circle was never broken. Only bent.

Was it a warning?

Or a threat?

Or a clue to the next chapter?

It hadn’t been signed. No marker. No magical signature we could trace. Just a sentence, written in that old, silver script I’d seen in the deep shelves of the Academy's forgotten wings.

But Gideon was clever.

He wouldn’t leave his name.

He never had to because he’d let you doubt yourself first and then let you invite the questions that could unravel everything.

But was what happened outside and the note related?

A warning left long ago by someone who had seen what I was only just beginning to understand?

Either way… the timing wasn’t an accident.

Krina had just broken a tether.

A thread had been severed between her and a man who used shadows like leashes and possibly had ties to Gideon.

Was that a coincidence or a signal?

Was I being tested by the Academy or Gideon?

Did he want to see if I would follow where he pointed?

I leaned my head back against the stone, letting its chill bleed into my thoughts, trying to ground myself.

No answers came to mind, only the same steady silence that crept in when magic was done speaking and was busy waiting, politely, for you to respond.

I wanted to tell someone.

Nova. Keegan. Even Stella.

But my tongue felt too heavy, and my thoughts were still half-soaked in Hedge light.

What if I told them and it wasn’t Gideon?

What if it was something worse?

Or nothing at all?

And what if they started looking in the wrong direction because I said his name out loud?

What if saying it gave him power?

I curled my fingers into the fabric of my sleeve.

No.

Not yet.

I would never give him the power of silence.

But until I knew, I had to hold this close.

Let it settle.

Let it bloom.

Even if it hurt and even if it meant carrying the secret a little longer.