Page 24

I stood at the edge of the square, the church behind me, the mansion still looming from the hill like a secret that refused to stay buried. My hands were trembling.

Not from fear, exactly. Not even from cold.

But from that pressure again. It was the kind I’d started recognizing more and more. It was the weight of knowing something before I understood it.

I turned in a slow circle. The fog shifted as I moved, parting reluctantly, revealing more of Shadowick’s broken bones.

And then it hit me.

The silence.

There was always silence in my dreams. In the visions. In the Hedge.

But here, tonight, something was missing .

A sound.

A breath.

A presence.

Every time I’d been pulled into the edges of Shadowick, whether in the Hedge or the forge, or the dreams left behind by Gideon, there had always been him.

A shadow in the periphery.

A whisper against my name.

A ripple of cold brushing too close.

But tonight… there was nothing.

My breath caught in my throat.

No Gideon.

No pull.

No tether humming under my skin.

I waited, just to be sure. I closed my eyes, tried to feel for that awful thread that sometimes tugged at my ribs like a fishhook. That subtle knowing that someone was watching.

But there was nothing.

The illusion held steady, fog curling, lights flickering, the mansion still threatening to breathe, but no him.

And the realization slammed into me like a tide.

He didn’t know I was here.

I was in his world, his domain, or some echo of it, and he didn’t feel me.

He couldn’t feel me.

I took a shaky breath and placed a hand over my heart.

This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t the Hedge. This wasn’t his crafted trap.

This was me, choosing.

And because I had chosen , he wasn’t ready for me.

A slow warmth began to bloom behind my ribs, small but certain. The kind of warmth that comes not from a spell or a flame, but from that quiet flicker of knowing you’ve taken back something someone tried to steal.

This is mine , I thought fiercely, scanning the ghost town. This space. This moment. This magic. It’s not his.

He could twist the Veil. He could send shadows. He could manipulate the Hedge and press against my dreams.

But this ?

This was me.

The fog curled around my feet as I stepped forward once more, but I didn’t hesitate this time. I turned left, down the crooked alley between the lantern-maker’s shop and the building I still didn’t have a name for. I didn’t need names.

I needed understanding.

I needed a way through.

And maybe this was how I’d get it.

Not by facing Gideon head-on. Not by asking him why. Not even by breaking the curse with some ancient incantation pulled from dragon breath and moonlight.

Maybe the key was walking here alone , while he wasn’t looking.

Owning what he thought he controlled.

If I could stand in this version of Shadowick without letting my fear drive me, without leaking magic, without spiraling into questions that didn’t have answers…

Then I could do it when it mattered.

Not easily.

Not cleanly.

But I could do it.

The thought steadied me more than any spell I’d ever cast.

I stopped by the broken fountain and looked down into its shallow basin, now filled with rainwater and creeping shadow. My reflection stared back, blurry, soft at the edges, but mine.

Not his.

Not twisted.

Mine.

I whispered, “You don’t own me.”

And the fog didn’t answer.

Because it couldn’t.

Because it never had .

The memory of the mansion flickered behind my eyes, but I didn’t look back at it this time. Let it watch me leave, if it wanted. Let it report back.

I had my truth now.

And no matter what happened on Moonbeam’s Eve, no matter how he tried to twist the story or use the Veil or call to something ancient and cruel, I would know the difference between fear and control.

I turned toward the edge of the illusion, toward the place the magic thinned and the real world waited.

The air warmed as I approached, the ground firmer beneath my steps. Somewhere, I thought I heard a bird squawk faintly in the distance.

It grounded me. Pulled me back.

But before I crossed the Veil entirely, I paused once more.

The thought came so fast, I nearly laughed.

He can’t see me here because I’m not afraid.

It wasn’t bravery, exactly.

It was ownership.

And maybe that was the secret.

Maybe fear was the invitation.

And I was finally, finally learning how to revoke it.

The fog curled low along the crooked street, a hushed breath held too long. My boots clicked softly on uneven stone as I wandered past the first shop front.

Its windows were smeared with the kind of soot that didn’t come from time but from something more intentional and unsettling.

I leaned in cautiously, my breath fogging the already-clouded glass. Inside, shelves slouched beneath the weight of forgotten wares—glass bottles with faded labels, empty birdcages, jars of what might have once been fruit preserves but now looked like curdled shadow.

A faint light flickered in the back of the shop, a lantern swinging on an invisible hook. It wasn’t the cozy flicker of flame but the pale, blue-tinged shimmer of magic that had gone too long untended.

I straightened and moved to the next building.

Its sign was hanging by a single nail, swaying slightly despite the stillness of the air. Needle & Bone, the carved wood read. The lettering had a strange gleam to it, as if someone had pressed something silver into the grooves and it hadn’t quite dried.

The windows here were clearer, though the interior was anything but.

Mannequins stood in tight rows, their heads tilted just a fraction too far, like they’d turned to listen and forgot to turn back.

Bolts of cloth were unspooling on the floor, forming strange spirals that reminded me of crop circles.

A single sewing needle hovered midair in the back corner, slowly rotating like it hadn’t realized time had passed.

I shivered.

This wasn’t just an illusion. This was memory. Echo. Impression.

A place trying to convince itself it was still real.

The next building had no door, just a yawning black archway with vines grown thick around the edges. I took a cautious step back. No sign. No windows. Just… dark.

I wasn’t ready to explore that one.

I turned the corner slowly, careful not to brush against the ivy-lined stone. Every detail felt like it mattered here, like one wrong touch might shift the whole illusion into something I couldn’t control.

The next shop was better. Or at least looked better.

It had bright, clean windows—so clean that I leaned in and gasped quietly when I saw the delicate arrangement of pastries inside.

There were loaves of bread, stacked in braided coils.

Sugar-dusted tea cakes. Even tiny frosted buns were arranged into a perfect heart shape on the counter.

It was sweeter than anything in Shadowick.

My stomach growled. I stepped closer, almost amused by my reaction.

And then I saw it.

Movement.

A blur.

A rustle of something living.

No, I thought immediately. Nothing else should be here. This is an illusion. Just me.

I peered closer, heart thumping, pressing my fingertips lightly against the glass.

There, on the far end of the counter. A rat.

Its slick body scurried along the wood, sniffing one of the sugar cakes before diving behind a canister.

I jerked back, nearly stumbling into the fog.

What in the hell—

My pulse surged.

It wasn’t that I’d never seen a rat before. But in here? In Shadowick’s echo?

This version of the town was conjured, built from maps, memory, and magic. Nothing living should move without purpose or permission. It was a pocket realm, a practice ground. A mirror.

And mirrors didn’t change on their own.

I looked up sharply, eyes scanning the rooftops, the doors, the corners of every building I could see. Nothing else stirred.

But now my ears were tuned to something different.

I listened harder.

The fog didn’t shift.

The wind didn’t rise.

But that sense I’d had earlier that Gideon couldn’t feel me was starting to twist into something else. Not fear. Not even dread.

Awareness.

Someone, or something , was here that wasn’t supposed to be.

Not a shadow. Not an illusion.

A stowaway.

A rat was never just a rat in a place like this.

A breath left me slow, tight, and controlled.

“Okay,” I whispered, backing up a step. “This is fine. It’s still mine.”

But I didn’t believe it.

Not completely.

And that was the problem.

I turned, scanning the buildings more carefully now. Not just admiring them for their oddness or decay. Searching.

I needed to know what else might be slipping through. What else had followed me in, or worse, beaten me here?

And yet, even as my nerves flared, a new thought struck me.

If something could slip through… it meant the Veil was even thinner than we thought.

Which meant Moonbeam’s Eve wasn’t going to be just a reckoning.

It was going to be raw.

Unforgiving.

Open.

I clenched my fists to ground myself.

Still, no shadows moved.

Still, no voice whispered.

But the illusion had shifted.

I wasn’t alone.

And whether that meant the illusion was evolving…

…or someone had learned how to tamper with it…

I wasn’t sure yet.

But I would find out.

And I would be ready.

Even if I had to burn the pastries down to the crumbs to prove it.

I turned from the church and headed back toward the edge of the illusion. My feet moved faster now. The fog didn’t pull so hard. The cold didn’t bite quite so deep.

At the gate, I paused and looked back.

This version of Shadowick, crooked, conjured, and humming with secrets, still felt too close. But I hadn’t flinched.

Not really.

And that had to count for something.

I stepped through the Veil and back into the still night of Stonewick. The warmth of its magic brushed against me like a sigh. Somewhere, an owl called once and fell silent.

The Academy waited ahead, lights still glowing, as if it had known I’d be back before the stars had fully risen.

And maybe it had.

Perhaps it always knew.