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Getting them upstairs was like guiding two cats who had eaten far too much and wanted to nap in a patch of sun instead.

Celeste yawned so wide I half expected her to turn into a dormouse.

Skye waddled behind her with a hand on her lower back and the kind of dramatic groan that only comes from growing a small human and carrying it everywhere, all the time.

“I’m not even tired,” Celeste mumbled, tripping slightly on the first step.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been yawning for the last twenty minutes.”

“That’s a reflex,” she said, blinking slowly. “Aesthetic exhaustion.”

I snorted, reaching up to ruffle her hair. “Come on, aesthetic or not, you need sleep.”

Skye puffed up the stairs behind her, clutching the rail like she was summiting a mountain. “If anyone needs sleep, it’s me. I’ve been carrying around a bowling ball with opinions for months. My ankles are the size of soup cans. I swear this baby is building a cottage in there.”

Celeste took one look at the bed and flopped into it like a log, letting out a muffled “Yesssss” into the pillows.

Skye rolled her eyes fondly. “I guess this one’s done for the night.”

“I’ll grab you extra pillows,” I offered. “And maybe something for your feet?”

“Unless you can conjure up a new pelvis, I think I’m good.”

Despite everything, I laughed. I helped her settle next to my daughter, adding the thickest quilt to her side and placing an old stool nearby in case she needed something to prop her legs up on.

The room dimmed slowly as the sconces faded into warm golds, as if the cottage were lowering its voice for the night.

Celeste had already drifted into a light snore, her cheek smushed against the pillow, her hair splayed in every direction. I tucked the quilt higher over her shoulders before turning to Skye, who was blinking slowly, her hand resting protectively over her belly.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “For letting us come. I know it’s... sudden.”

I shook my head. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

She gave me a tired smile and let her eyes fall shut.

I stood in the quiet a moment longer, watching them both—the woman who knew me better than anyone, and the daughter who’d made me believe in love that didn’t need rationality or logic.

They had no idea what they’d walked into, no idea how closely I was still dancing along the edges of something shadowed and waiting.

But they were here. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel torn between worlds. I just felt whole.

Downstairs, the fire had burned low, crackling gently. The cottage creaked like it always did at night—settling, stretching, sighing in its bones. I moved slowly through the kitchen, pouring the last of the tea into a mug and carrying it to the window seat that overlooked the dark.

Outside, the woods were hushed. The stars shimmered overhead, veiled slightly by mist rolling in from the east. Somewhere in the garden, a hedgehog rustled through the mint patch, and the wind chattered in the vines around the porch.

I sipped the tea and let myself breathe.

They came all this way.

Without knowing what was here, without knowing who I’d become.

And the cottage had let them in.

It hadn’t warned me. It hadn’t sent me a whisper or shimmer or anything.

It had simply opened.

Because maybe it knew I needed them, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it.

Skye and Celeste were the last threads I’d kept loosely knotted to my old life, the one filled with back-to-school nights, overcooked pasta dinners, and text threads full of snarky emojis and mom complaints.

I’d always thought keeping them separate from Stonewick was how I protected them. But now that they were here...

Maybe it wasn’t about keeping them away.

Maybe it was about letting them in on my terms.

I stared into the woods beyond the garden, toward the place where the trees grew just a little too thick and the mist curled unnaturally.

Shadowick waited out there.

And it wasn’t going to wait forever.

But for now, just for tonight, I could let the world pause. I could breathe in the comfort of quilts and honeyed tea and old laughter echoing through the walls.

They were safe.

They were here.

And so was I.

I didn’t realize I needed a break until the cottage handed it to me.

The Academy, with its humming Wards, its unpredictable stairs, its endless hallways filled with voices and spellwork and my looming expectations, hadn’t followed me here. At least, not entirely.

For the first time in what felt like ages, I didn’t feel like a headmistress or a hedge witch or a woman trying to outrun a legacy carved in shadows.

I just felt like Maeve.

And that, oddly enough, was what I needed most.

The screen door creaked behind me.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Keegan’s boots were unmistakable, somehow quiet and solid at once. He stepped onto the porch with the kind of presence that made space shift around him. The man had all the weight of a storm rolling in, but none of the chaos. Not unless he wanted it.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. “I came in through the kitchen.”

I shook my head and gestured to the second rocking chair. “It’s quieter here. Feels like breathing again.”

He dropped into the chair beside me with a grunt, then leaned back with an easy stretch. “You needed a break.”

“I didn’t think I did,” I said. “But now that I’m here, I don’t know how I was standing upright.”

His gaze flicked toward the cottage windows. “Having them here must be… a lot.”

“It is,” I admitted. “But it’s good. It’s grounding. They’re a part of me that has nothing to do with prophecy or curses or accidentally reawakening ancient wards. Just love. And bad ski trips.”

He gave a small smile at that. “Celeste seems sharp. Observant.”

“Too observant,” I said, sipping my tea. “She’ll figure something out eventually.”

Keegan studied me in the moonlight, that unreadable expression of his settling across his features. “And what will you do when she does?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because I didn’t know.

“I guess I’ll stop lying,” I said. “Or, trying to lie badly.”

He nodded once, like he already knew that’s where I’d land.

We rocked in silence for a while, the stars glinting through the trees, the mist curling just at the edge of the garden.

Then his voice came again, lower this time. More careful.

“You still thinking about him?”

I didn’t have to ask who.

“Yes,” I said honestly. “But not the way you think.”

Keegan turned to face me more fully. “I don’t trust him, Maeve. And I don’t like that he keeps surfacing in your path. It’s not by chance.”

I met his eyes. “He can’t charm me, Keegan.”

He arched a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said too quickly. Then added, “Probably.”

He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “That’s not good enough. Not with someone like Gideon.”

I looked down at my hands, thumb tracing the rim of the teacup. “It’s not charm. It’s… curiosity. I want to understand what made him who he is. That’s not the same thing.”

“It starts that way,” Keegan said. “Then it turns into empathy. Then it turns into excuses. And when someone like him has that kind of influence, you don’t even realize what you’ve given away until it’s gone.”

I swallowed. “You think I’m going to fall under his spell?”

“I think,” he said gently, “that you already want to save him.”

The words lodged in my chest like a stone dropped into deep water.

“I just want answers,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said. “But I also know you. And you don’t know how to turn off your heart, even when it should be guarded.”

I let out a slow breath. “That’s… not entirely untrue.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “When it’s time, I want to go with you.”

I blinked. “Into Shadowick?”

He nodded. “I’ve faced worse. I’m not letting you walk into something like that alone.”

My throat tightened, not with fear, but with the weight of being seen. Truly seen.

“We’ll see,” I said softly. “For now, they’re here. And tomorrow is Saturday—no classes. I thought I might take them into town. Show them the tea shop. Let Celeste meet Luna more formally, if Luna doesn’t start explaining ley lines over yarn, that is.”

He grinned. “You sure you’re ready to juggle two whole worlds in the middle of the market?”

“I’m not sure of anything right now,” I admitted. “But I think they need it. Something familiar. Something touristy.”

Keegan stood slowly, stretching his arms over his head. “Do you want me to stick around? Keep the goblin and the bulldog from doing anything noticeable?”

I smiled. “I think I’ve got it. But maybe let Twobble know it’s just me, my daughter, and my best friend here for the day.”

“No magical antics?” he teased.

“None,” I said firmly. “If he wants pastries, he can wear a hat and pretend to be someone’s eccentric uncle.”

Keegan chuckled, lingering near the door. “Call if you need backup.”

“I always do,” I said.

He gave me one last look, eyes lingering with something unspoken, and then stepped back inside, soft as the wind behind him.

I stayed on the porch for a while longer, looking at the stars above spinning quietly.

My worlds were melding.

And for better or worse…

I was right in the middle.