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I should have felt comforted by the hush in my office. My dad huffed and curled up calmly, reminding me how little peace I’d felt since Moonbeam’s Eve on the horizon. Two nights. Gideon’s name pulsed at the back of my mind like an unattended burn.

Lists normally helped me, but not this time. I’d tried one at dawn and lost the thread halfway through, but as I looked down again, I wondered if I should try again.

· Interview teachers

· Inspect Wards

· Hide thoughts in a cell made of iron

· Save Stonewick

· Text Celeste and Mom before they think I’ve vanished

I set the unfinished list aside. A knock followed by a brisk triple tap that said goblin impatience more than courtesy.

“Come in.”

Twobble burst in, vest buttoned wrong, quill behind his ear, ink on his knuckles.

“Headmistress, Interviewee Number One is begging an audience,” he announced. “I only frightened her once.”

“Small miracles. Send her in, Twobble.”

He darted off. A woman entered with cedar-scented braids and wind-pinked cheeks.

“My name is Professor Lainsley Turnel,” she said with a resume that read of charm-binding and sigil work. Her handshake was dry and confident.

“Your goblin guide tells me most sprites here chew sigils like toffee,” she said, grey eyes bright.

“Only on Thursdays,” I teased. “And they favor lemon ink. You’d be a gift to our defensive charms. Honestly, our book sprites are full of life and our kitchen sprites love to dabble, but we do get the rogue every now and again.”

She chuckled, and I noticed how at ease I felt.

We spoke of chalk needs, ventilation, and whether she’d object to teaching near a corridor occasionally haunted by waltzing armor. She wouldn’t. Apparently, haunted armor makes excellent demonstrators.

Lainsley left with a contract and a smile. One vacancy solved, heartbeat fractionally steadier, though Gideon’s phantom remained at my shoulder. If I reached across the Veil on Moonbeam’s Eve, would I be ready?

Could a single Hedge witch, still learning to plug leaks in her mind, outmaneuver a mage who’d been sowing shadows since he was a teenager?

Before dread spiraled, Twobble ushered in the next candidate, Lara Benedim, who ducked beneath the doorframe with the ease of someone used to cramped classrooms. She wore a broad smile and even broader shoulders and managed to levitate my tea cup an inch to prevent a spill when Frank thumped awake.

“I teach kinetics,” she said. “By the fifth lesson, your students will be able to float a six‐stone trunk or their self‐doubt, whichever is heavier. If you’re curious, yes, I am of giant lineage.”

“Ceiling height?”

“Preferably cathedral.”

“Our west practice hall seats a gryphon comfortably.”

“That’ll do.”

Lara’s only other request was reinforced beams for safety. She thanked me with a slight bow and promised to keep my teacups grounded.

Time blurred after that, a spool of anxious thread pulled taut.

The corridors outside were filled with spring sunlight and the hum of rumors as students gossiped about newly arrived professors, each whisper turned into legend.

Moonbeam specialists, someone said; secret duel coaches, said another. I’d quash those tales later.

Interview three swept into my office like a greenhouse breeze carrying tea roses. Petrah Lineo, transfiguration mistress, ivy trailing from the brim of her hat.

“No toad transformations unless explicitly requested,” she declared, offering syllabi inked in spirals of green. “I convert fear to confidence. It’s tidier.”

When she asked about greenhouse access, I pictured vines snaking through lecture halls and approved her on the spot.

Yet between signatures, dragonfire flickered at the edge of memory: silver scales, lava‐lit cave, the voice that had told me to stand whole beneath the Moonbeam. Keep thoughts tight, Maeve. Dragons stay buried in bone‐deep silence. No leaks.

I swallowed and motioned for Petrah to join the staff.

By late morning, the scent of ink and newcomer perfumes mingled with the aroma of my tea. I rubbed the butterfly birthmark through my pants, reciting a silent vow that nothing of scaled secrets would trickle outward.

A gentle knock, more feather than fist, preceded Lemonia Prose, runic arithmetic savant. She carried charts that smelled of pine smoke and apologized for the ink on every fingertip.

“I can show adults why probabilities matter before they blow a hole through the practice yard,” she said shyly. Her only concern? “A classroom with calm acoustics.” I nearly hugged her. It was as if the Academy was doing this for me.

With every contract signed, the day’s schedule thinned. I had teachers, albeit ones needing orientation, and I had charms humming, requiring reinforcement.

What I didn’t have was a moment to breathe.

Twobble arrived, hair dusted with chalk.

“Emergency: Skonk is corralling newcomers in the dining hall for something he’s calling Moonbeam Bingo. The prizes may be cursed. The only reason I know this is that he did the same thing at his sister’s wedding, but it wasn’t called Moonbeam.”

I clenched my teeth together while I gathered my thoughts. “Tell him prizes must contain no maledictions.”

He saluted and dashed off.

I poured fresh tea and forced myself to take a sip. My mom’s last text blinked on my phone.

Checking in, love. How’s Stonewick life? I dare say I miss it.

Celeste’s followed.

Mom, midterms wrap on Friday. Any memory tips? I can’t believe they expect me to remember 167 paintings, along with their exact dates and the artists’ names. Miss you.

Their messages pulsed like soft lanterns of guilt. I typed back quick reassurances first to my mom.

All well here. Teacher avalanche, but good avalanche. Promise a proper call soon. Stay warm.

And then next to my daughter.

Sweetheart, use lavender under your pillow before exams and breathe on every third word. Trust me. Proud of you. Love you more than starlight. Summer is almost here!

I sent both and tucked the device away, heart wrung but lighter.

A knock sounded again, this time quiet and measured. Nova slipped in, raven hair twisted into a dark knot, emerald eyes assessing.

“How many were hired?” she asked.

“Four. And my sanity hovers at seventy percent.”

“So all of them that you interviewed,” she said, approving.

I frowned and laughed. “Come to think of it, why am I even interviewing them? The Academy obviously approved of them long before they arrived.”

“Ah, details.” She laughed, but her voice lowered. “The forge is ready tonight. Ardetia laid the grounding glyphs. You’ll practice holding what must be yours.”

I nodded, fear and relief tangled. “I can’t leak, Nova.”

Her gaze turned knowing. “Your secrets must be woven into you now. The forge will teach you to lock the weave.”

Footsteps thundered in the corridor. Students sprinting toward lunch.

Nova departed as quietly as she’d come, leaving frankincense scent behind.

The afternoon dissolved in charm testing and luminous threads stretched across windows, sigils refreshed where sprites had indeed nibbled.

Lainsley proved her worth by charming tin discs into sentinel mirrors; Lara tested levitation nets in the west hall, laughing when Petra’s ivy vines tried to help. Hope flickered in every corner.

But twilight gathered like silk, and I knew I had something I needed to conquer. So much depended on it.

Students drifted to the study halls, their chatter softer now, still curious and still excited, but buoyed by the confident presence of the new instructors.

Maybe Gideon would sense that strength and hesitate, just long enough for us to meet him on our terms.

I stood in my office with a barely eaten piece of toast in one hand and a list of new faculty in the other.

The fire crackled gently in the hearth behind me, and my dad let out a sleepy grumble from his spot by the warm stone, his little paws twitching like he was dreaming of chasing butterflies or, more likely, knocking over Twobble’s tower of tea tins again.

Twobble was perched on the windowsill like a smug little goblin gargoyle, swinging his legs and scribbling something onto his own version of a placement chart, which from the looks of it included smiley faces, frowny faces, and one column simply labeled Suspicious.

“They’re piling up,” he said without looking at me.

“Hmm?”

“The new teachers.” He turned his chart so I could see it. “And frankly, I’m running out of room in the not alarming column.”

I blew out a breath and walked over to my desk

“You know what? They’re already inside. The Academy let them in.”

Twobble blinked. “Yes… and?”

“That’s it.” I sank into my chair. “It means they belong here. The Academy chose them. So maybe it’s not about interviewing them anymore. Maybe it’s about trusting that magic already brought them to where they’re supposed to be.”

He stared at me, then slowly leaned forward, lowering his voice like we were discussing secret state matters. “You want me to… what, assign classrooms?”

I sipped my tea. “I want you to place them wherever you think they’ll fit best. Based on your weird intuition and your frankly terrifying knowledge of where every supply closet is hidden.”

Twobble beamed, nearly toppling off the sill. “This is the greatest honor I’ve ever received.”

“It’s also incredibly risky.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” He stood and brushed biscuit crumbs off his vest. “I already have a system.”

“Does it involve alphabetical order?”

“Worse,” he said brightly. “Vibes.”

I opened my mouth, paused, then nodded. “Vibes it is.”

And with that, I left Twobble humming to himself, already muttering about fire hazard zones and compatible cauldron energies.

I trusted him, mostly. He loved the Academy as fiercely as anyone could, and if anyone could sense which rooms hummed for which witches, it would be Twobble.

As for me, I needed to burn something.

When dusk deepened, I donned my cloak and crossed the shadowed alley toward Stonewick and followed the sidewalk leading to the Flame Ward.

Two nights. Dragons silent. Students safe. Teachers ready. Moonbeam approaches like a tide.

I tightened my cloak, squared my shoulders, and stepped forward, determined to keep every secret sealed until I chose to wield it.

The walk to the Flame Ward didn’t take long, but it still gave me time to consider every way this could go wrong. I was going to face Gideon in two days. My mind needed to be a fortress, not a garden gate. And that meant no more dancing around the parts of my magic that scared me.

I let myself into the Ward and scurried through the first floor, quickly reaching the stairs.

Nova and Ardetia were waiting at the top of the forge stairs.

The air was already thick with heat and something that tasted faintly like burnt cinnamon and ash. The moment I stepped into the chamber, I felt the forge pulse beneath my boots.

I wasn’t here to learn about fire.

I was here to protect what I loved from being stolen.

Ardetia gave me a nod that was almost approving. Nova handed me a small glass vial of something cool and violet.

“For focus,” she murmured. “If it starts to slip.”

I didn’t ask what it was. I’d find out soon enough.

The fire sprites were already circling, eyes bright, wings like slivers of ember. They knew me now. And they were ready to test me.

I stood between the cauldrons, the heat rising in waves, and I could feel them hovering at the edge of my thoughts, poking, pulling.

A memory tugged loose. Stella was in the kitchen, laughing and fixing my kitchen spells gone wrong.

I slammed the door on it.

Another tug. Celeste, as a baby, grasped my finger for the first time.

“No,” I whispered, voice cracking.

And then they tried again—harder. My time with the dragons. The silver one's voice echoing inside me. The newborn curled like moonlight. The vow I made.

My heart seized.

But I shoved the image deep into myself, wrapping it in layers of quiet, sealing it with the oldest word I knew: mine.

The sprite blinked once in confusion and drifted back.

Ardetia stepped closer, watching me like I was a strange bloom she’d never seen open before.

“You didn’t flinch,” she said.

I wiped a line of sweat from my temple. “Not outwardly.”

She nodded once. “That matters.”

And maybe it did.

Because for the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was splintering apart.

I felt solid.

Like I could hold.